[Vergil wrinkles his nose slightly at the comparison, but eats his bite of dinner rather than attempting to talk around it to comment. He lets it go in the end.]
Regardless of how much aggravation you feel at the prospect of training like that, it will be worth it in the end.
[And a better way to learn than either Sparda twin learned even if Nero is justified in complaints of tedium with the method. In all honesty, Vergil finds himself a little envious of Nero even if he's unwilling to say as much out loud. While Vergil would never diminish his own accomplishments by implying it ultimately inferior, it would have been better to have Sparda guiding him in mastering his abilities rather than being left to figure it out on his own and through necessity. That was simple objective fact as far as Vergil was concerned, and not just mere speculation.]
But you had best think twice before attempting to show me up if you start outpacing me, child. I won't allow for that.
[He's teasing, of course. Not about the prospect that Nero could someday grow greater in strength and talent than his father before him, but the notion that Vergil would feel such immediate envy that he would feel the need to put Nero back in his place. Just as Dante and Vergil have arguably surpassed their father, it should only be natural that Nero ought to someday surpass Vergil as well. There may be a bit of a bruised pride and ego there still with as much as Vergil has sought the ability to dominate over all others with his power, of course, but it would be summarily eclipsed by the pride he would feel in Nero that it would not matter.]
["Child." Nero can't help but twitch a little every time he hears it. Though it's become obvious now that it's Vergil's stilted, stuffy attempt at a nickname or... an endearment, even, rather than some kind of insult meant to belittle or patronize him. It still earns his father a side-eye and a smirk, along with that teasing warning.]
Sorry to say, old man, showing you up's gonna be my victory lap.
[So far, "old man" has been reserved for Dante in the sense that Nero frequently calls him old. Maybe it's a good sign that he's comfortable enough to try it out on Vergil... in the sense that Vergil is, in fact, his old man.
And also old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, and with his other hand turns down the volume on his wrestling match. They've started pummeling each other with chairs now, and this indicates he actually wants to chat with Vergil.
Nero would ask how Vergil trained his powers back when he was young, except he gets the feeling he already knows the answer. And that he wouldn't get a straight one out of Vergil anyway.]
My powers always have been kind of fucky. Always been more or less how I could best make it work, rather than actually knowing how anything worked.
[It's rare that Vergil finds himself taken off-guard. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that it's rare for him to find himself taken off-guard in this specific manner where the surprise of it doesn't fill him with frustration or leave him agitated. But Nero calls him "old man" and not by his name, and it doesn't really matter whether he means it in the familial sense or the way Dante does when he's trying to get a rise out of Vergil; the surprise is a pleasant and warm one. As Nero sets about with adjusting the volume on his Relic, Vergil simply remains still a moment with just the faintest of smiles before he returns to eating.]
[There's a thoughtful hum to Nero's brief albeit colorful means of describing coming into his powers.]
I suppose more awareness is one small benefit Dante and I both had in the brief time our father was with us. [Sparda never had the opportunity to teach his boys properly, but they were at least aware of their heritages and had more to go on than...whatever exactly happened to Nero.] How old were you when your powers began to emerge?
[Nero smiles a little crookedly at the question. It's the sort of wry amusement that comes after many, many years of processing, learning, and dealing with how difficult and complicated his heritage has made his life. These days, he's learned to accept his powers as a vital part of who he is. It's easier now to look back with empathy and even some fondness on his prior struggles. Frustration. Abject fear.]
I was always more athletic than the other kids. Ran faster. Way stronger, even more than the adults, especially when I joined the knights. But I didn't think anything was wrong until my arm happened.
[He absently reaches over to touch his now human-looking right forearm.]
[It's hard not to at least glance at Nero's arm, especially when he reaches over to touch it, but Vergil keeps it to just a glance before quickly averting his gaze. He's apologized, and for all intents and purposes, he is forgiven. But there is still a tug of some kind of complicated emotion that he doesn't particularly wish to dwell upon any further than he already has.]
What happened exactly?
[Body parts suddenly becoming permanently demonic wasn't exactly part of Vergil's own experience, and he would hazard a guess the same was true for Dante. So, he cannot even begin to guess what would cause something like that in the first place.]
[Incredibly, Nero's not even thinking about the loss of his arm at the moment. He's focused further back, to that day in the woods and the troubles that followed.]
I got hurt, saving Kyrie and some kids from a demon. Slashed my arm up pretty good. Then instead of healing the wound... changed. Turned weird colors, and started to spread until it overtook my whole arm. [He does not feel a particular need to describe the specifics of how it looks. Vergil's seen it.]
At first, I thought I got infected with something. Totally thought I was gonna die. Then I realized it was demonic. I just... felt it and knew.
[Which was, at the time, worse than thinking he was dying.]
I thought I was turning into a demon. I was really scared, and I knew the Order would freak out if they knew. So I pretended my arm was still hurt, wore a sling, and learned to fight one-handed.
[He was too frightened to tell even Credo or Kyrie. Especially Kyrie. And at the time he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it forever. Fortunately, his instincts back then had been correct; if Order freaks like Agnus had found out about his powers, at best he'd have been thrown in a cage and experimented on. At worse, plugged into the false Savior as a battery much, much sooner.]
[Vergil continues to eat while he listens to Nero's recounting of how his arm came to be, and hums thoughtfully at its conclusion. It sounds as though perhaps his healing factor was attempting to manifest, but it was not able to do so completely. The reasons for why it would not awaken completely, if Vergil had to hazard a guess, likely stemmed from Nero's ignorance of his heritage. Not knowing of the demonic blood that flowed within his veins, he wouldn't have any idea of the power within him to properly awaken it. It is little wonder that it's taken him this long to begin truly tapping into the full potential of his abilities. Had he never crossed paths with Dante and everything else that unfolded, it's likely it would have taken longer. Assuming that it ever happened at all, of course.]
Given the circumstances, you did the best you likely could have. [Which is not some form of awkward praise from Vergil, so much as it's his observation of what Nero's shared with him about what happened when his demonic powers first manifested. Vergil finally reaches for his own hot chocolate and takes a sip. Unlike Nero's there's no spicy kick to Vergil's; it's a white chocolate with lavender instead.] I assume when you came to possess it, Yamato was able to awaken more of your power.
[It is, after all, what it did for Vergil. It would only make sense that the blade would do the same for Nero, especially if it was willing to submit to him as a temporary master in Vergil's absence.]
[Nero nods. It's not necessarily meant to be a compliment, he doesn't think, but he does appreciate Vergil's insight on his... learning process. (Some part of him is too ready to imagine him scorning Nero for being weak or incomplete, fumbling pathetically to utilize his power. At this point, he suspects that's more of him projecting than it is any judgment or view of Vergil.)]
It was broken. The Order had it in pieces in their lab, and their asshole chief alchemist was fucking around with it. When I went down there, his demons attacked me and... [He pauses a moment before he goes on.] I think I might have died? Or I at least came close.
Then Yamato saved me. Or my real power woke up. Maybe both? But the sword fixed itself and that's when I was able to use it.
[There's the barest shift in Vergil's expression when Nero discloses his near-death experience. When he assumed that the Yamato must have done for Nero what it did for him, he did not think nor intend for it to be that similar... If anything, he would hope that was one thing they would not share out of all the possibilities. What sort of parent would he be if he were not to hope for as much? When he glances down toward his food, that shift in his expression remains, his quiet afterward now tinged by a sort of ache he does not entirely know how he would describe.]
We've that in common then, [he says, offering a mild explanation for his reaction, but otherwise choosing to let the matter rest. There is no need to dig into the specifics of his past now.]
[That info is clearly painful for Vergil somehow. Well, really... take your pick. Nero (nearly) dying? Yamato being broken and used by Order scumbags?
When he reveals that Yamato once saved him too, Nero makes a weak smile and glances away. He's certainly not going to ask for the specifics, there.]
Good ol' Yamato. [By reflex, he reaches over and sets a hand on Vergil's elbow as though to comfort him. So reflexive he isn't even aware he's doing it until he does, at which point he pauses and then slowly withdraws it once he... thinks it won't be awkward. Is he allowed to touch Vergil yet?] Dante said that's how he knew who I was. The way Yamato responded to me.
[Of course, Nero had not the slightest clue at the time. Not who Vergil was, not what Yamato was capable of, not even really why it was the catalyst to pull that phantom demon out of Nero's skin. First it was his arm. Then the voices in his dreams. Then that ghostly reflection that echoed Nero's true power, even if he wasn't strong enough to manifest it yet.]
At some point... I stopped being afraid. My arm was weird, but it never hurt and never felt wrong. And I realized everything my power could do, if I chose to embrace it. So I thought, maybe my arm was turning into what it was always meant to. I was always different from everyone else... and maybe I was supposed to be.
[He meets Vergil's eyes briefly, then glances back down at his hands wrapped around the cup of cocoa.]
Being part demon hasn't always been easy. But it's part of me. I stopped hiding my arm after the Savior shit. People can either take me as I am, or get bent.
[Vergil glances at the hand on his elbow, but there is no further reaction to it even if he finds it initially a little puzzling. It's only as Nero takes his hand back that Vergil realizes it was meant to be a gesture of comfort, and he feels a touch foolish for not immediately recognizing it as such. Vergil recovers quickly from the mild amount of embarrassment, however, and refocuses on Nero, nodding a little at Dante's telling of how he knew for certain who Nero was since he'd received the same story from Dante as far as that was concerned. The rest earns a smile from Vergil. It starts off small as Nero begins to describe the change, but by the end, it's likely the most Nero has ever seen his father smile yet. More than that, however, there is a distinct sense of pride in his eyes as he looks at Nero.]
Good. [While not exactly timid or presenting as wilting, Vergil has a noticeable tendency to be quite careful in the words he chooses to use with Nero. Now, there is no such care taken insomuch it's clear that it is from his own convictions, from his very core that Vergil now speaks. It is something that he knows rather than something he's spent a great deal of time overthinking before attempting to voice. To that end, Nero may very well reject what Vergil has to say, and that is entirely his prerogative. But for Vergil? This remains firmly true for him.] Your demonic heritage is a gift that should be embraced, but it does not come without its price.
[For all that Dante likely believes that Vergil so blindly embraced demonic power and only relished in the strength it provided him, he did not entirely. After Eva's death, he spent his life hunted because he refused to conceal himself. While it was impossible for him to understand the full extent of what that meant he lost and what he ended up sacrificing in the name of that power until much later, he was not so ignorant that he didn't understand the connection between those that pursued him and his choice to not hide and embrace his father's legacy in the only ways he knew how. It was simply a hardship he was willing to accept.]
It is unlikely that the Order will be the last of those you find who would covet the power in your blood, but you will find there are also some who would doubt your strength because of the heart your mother gifted you with. [Demonic blood sullied by a human womb. Words that still to this day settle uncomfortable within his memories and yet he knows are unlikely to be the last ever spat about their mixed heritage.] But they only succeed in rending your strength from you when you surrender yourself to them. If you remain certain of yourself—the whole of yourself—and you allow no one to lay claim to your power, you will always possess the strength to protect what matters most to you.
[It feels a little like staring into bright lights-- catching a glimpse of the way Vergil's looking at him. It's not the first time he's seen that expression, in little flashes here and there. But this is the first time Vergil's smiled at him so openly-- or at least, the first time he's noticed it so keenly, and known what it means.
His father is proud of him.
For once, he finds himself unwilling to divert his eyes and look away, even though he's keenly aware how brightly he's flushing, and how close he is to the verge of abrupt, impulsive tears. Tearing up, at least. He exhales shakily and wrests back control of his emotions, and knows exactly the sentiment behind them.]
That means a lot, coming from you.
[Merely human. Petulant mortal flesh. Cursed, the moment you were brought into this world. Even as they came in the midst of exhaustion and agony, Nero hasn't forgotten those scornful words, nor has he forgotten that they came from one (dark, unmitigatedly cruel, concentratedly wicked) side of his own father. To see him now, contained, humanized, balanced and proud of him...
When it becomes too much, he glances away, somewhere across the room. He unconsciously grazes his fingers over his chest (over the heart his mother gave him,) and quietly nods.]
That's all I ever wanted. The power to protect the people I care about. Kyrie, and... [One more very brief sideways glance at Vergil before he adds, almost shyly,] my family.
[Vergil's expression softens slightly as Nero adds the mention of family, heart clenching in a way that feels both at once a pleasant warmth and pained all at once. It's never a responsibility that Vergil ever intends to place upon Nero's shoulders even if he's technically done so once before albeit without his knowledge. It simply is not the natural order of things for a son to have a duty in protecting his father like that. But the want being there...]
You have that power. You always have. Even if you haven't always understood it or been able to access it, it's always been within you from the moment you were born.
[It is only a matter of learning to master it now, and that is something that will come with time and practice, all of which Nero is willing to take until he gets it right.]
[He says it reflexively, then goes quiet for a moment. Then there's a loud, ugly snort, the distinctive sound of forcibly sniffling back tears. Another moment of quiet, tense with the possibility of another snort, but he manages to fight it off without one.
There's another moment as he debates saying what's on his mind. And finally, he glances back at Vergil for a moment.]
And thanks for... you've been trying really hard. I know it's been weird and difficult but I-
[He looks away, cracking the edges of a smile.] I see you. It means more to me than I can say. Thank you.
[Part of Vergil wants to dismiss the notion that it's been weird or difficult. Or, at the very least, the latter. There's been more difficult things in Vergil's life with significantly less benefit to it than getting to know his son, and trying to figure out with him how they might fit into one another's lives now that they know of each other's existences. But just because there's been more challenges than this, that does not mean it has been easy. For either of them albeit likely for different reasons. So, Vergil says nothing to the contrary even if the recognition and the expressed gratitude...]
[Well, they're admittedly part of that weird aspect of all of this. It has not been often and certainly not in a long, long time that Vergil's efforts have been met with positive acknowledgment never mind overt gratitude. He has to look away from Nero for a moment as well when Nero claims to see him. As much as Vergil knows so much of his circumstances were of his own making, he knows his self-imposed isolation was only truly tolerable because he did not allow for the possibility of an alternative. Without his mother, without his father, and without his brother, he carried himself as one who was always destined to be alone in the world, cutting off and burning every possible bridge others might try to form before it could even begin.]
[Except... Just once, he didn't. Even if he ultimately did not possess the courage or strength to stay back then, to allow himself that want of being understood and seen once more, he could not deny that just once, he let himself indulge in that feeling of being wanted and loved. The proof of it, after all, was seated with him at this very table now.]
[Vergil swallows thickly, tempering the swell of emotion in his chest for the moment.]
Even if based upon your own reasons, you had chosen to reject and refuse me as your father, there would be no greater fool than me if I were to abandon you again, Nero. [There would be no factor of ignorance that would have led to that outcome as it had in the past. And it never could have been through any fault of Nero's regardless of how gentle or harsh his rejection of Vergil would have been. It would have been purely Vergil's own shortcomings, a lack of strength and courage, that would lead him to make such a poor choice as that in those circumstances.] I am not here or doing any of this because of guilt or a drive to rectify the past, or out of a sense of paternal duty and obligation to my kin.
[He looks at Nero again.]
I am here because you are more important to me than you will likely ever understand.
[He finds it terribly endearing when Vergil has to look away from him. Particularly when he does the same thing a moment later, and they're left catching glances in very small bursts or out of the corner of their eyes.
Honestly? He wouldn't have held it against Vergil if he did make an effort with Nero out of guilt, or duty, or obligation. Vergil could have stuck around because he wanted to borrow Red Queen and Nero would have agreed to it, at least initially. None of that really mattered when it all led to the same outcome: a father who existed in his life. A father who wanted him.
Hearing him say that...]
I can't explain it, you can't explain it... we're really sitting here grunting back and forth, huh?
[There's the other snort. And this time Nero is definitely crying, though it's in the form of a few tears spilling and his chest shaking, while he stays in control of his voice.]
[The words leave Nero so casually that for a brief moment, it doesn't exactly register what Nero said at first. Vergil huffs a soft sound, quietly amused and perhaps even a touch pleased at the similarities between them. It has, after all, been a bit difficult for Vergil to really see much of himself in Nero. Outside of his temper at least. That much is quite obvious. But then it actually registers what Nero said and Vergil does a double-take.]
[You really are my dad.]
[There's never really been a distinction for Vergil. Father is just as much of a term of endearment as it is a sign of respect rather than a word to keep one's distance or signal a sense of detachment (or often resentment in Dante's case). But he knows Nero does not hold the same perspective. That much is obvious in how Vergil's name is often used to keep him at a safe distance while not denying him as a person. Father is a term that reflects fact and a position more than a person. Not to say that there is no emotion, no connection behind it whatsoever, but it's colder than just using Vergil's name instead. Dad, on the other hand... Even as a descriptor like this...? It's... Well, it's just...]
[It's for just a moment, but Vergil has forgotten how to breathe. Or perhaps he was too frightened to breathe because if he did, some illusion would shatter and he'd realize he misheard Nero after all, and it was merely wishful thinking in the end. But he breathes when he remembers it or perhaps the air in his lungs simply needs to move. Whatever the case may be, he breathes and nothing changes. Not in an unpleasant way, in any case. Not really. Even if stings a bit on that next breath, the air feeling sharper than it did a moment ago and he has to blink back uninvited emotion welling up in his eyes that he makes no direct acknowledgment of beyond looking away from Nero for a moment again.]
[Since learning of Nero's existence, Vergil hoped that Nero might make the allowance for him to be part of his life. However, beyond not casting him completely aside, Vergil didn't allow himself to envision what it might look like. Some of that was arguably due to a lack of imagination, but the real reason for it was the hope. Vergil could not allow for himself to hope because it would have been his ruin. Oh, if Nero could not have found it within himself to give Vergil the chance or to forgive him, it would have been awful. There is no scenario in which Vergil could find that ideal or anything less than terrible, but he could have lived with it. Provided that he did not allow himself hope, he could have done exactly as he said a moment ago and still refused to abandon Nero even while being kept at such a distance that the gulf between them is ultimately insurmountable.]
[He could not if he allowed himself to hope.]
[But he feels it now, and it's what took his breath away and brought unspent tears to his eyes as for the first time, a future feels all the more within his reach for the first time in... Well, he doesn't know exactly how long. But it's something he knows with every fiber in his being that he will do everything he can to fiercely protect it, no matter what it takes. Which feels so alien to Vergil as everything at once feels so large and overwhelming, and yet so quiet and simple all at once.]
[He doesn't know what to say, but it's not a loss of words that comes riddled with anxieties he's about to say the wrong thing that could spoil it all. No, it's a decidedly much better way to be rendered speechless. He draws another breath before he tries to speak, gathering enough of himself to borrow words in lieu of his own.]
I have no name. I am but two days old, [he recites, which Nero may very well recognize the lines from one of Vergil's books.] What shall I call thee? I happy am. Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee.
Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee; thou dost smile. I sing the while sweet joy befall thee.
[He doesn't know if Nero will understand it. There's a good chance he won't given the times his nose wrinkled whenever V would recite lines of poetry. But it's close enough to an explanation and perhaps better than just grunting back and forth that he very well might.]
[Nero recognizes that glance-away maneuver, knows it intimately. Honestly, every time he looks at Vergil and sees one of his own mannerisms unconsciously mirrored, it dawns on him once more, in sharper relief. But now that he's said it aloud, it's easier to think it without dodging around the word, or using his name, or tripping over a far too stuffy "father." This is his dad. And for the first time, he can admit that he means it as more than a bland descriptor. Vergil is his dad. He wants to be. He's fighting to be. And Nero wants him to be, too.
A quick swipe at his eyes isn't enough to fully hide the tears, but it takes care of most of them. With another snort he's through the worst of it, and he can even vaguely look in Vergil's direction again. Seeing him struggling with his own emotions hurts, but in the good way. Like stretching a sore muscle to the point it finally relaxes.
Then, for lack of a better description, Vergil can't hold back anymore and bursts forth an explosion of poetry. Nero smirks the moment he recognizes it, thinking fondly of V and his inscrutable soliloquies. Only this time, he recognizes it from somewhere else.]
William Blake, right?
[He reaches over and clasps Vergil on the forearm, a gesture of affection that isn't too over-the-top and doesn't require Nero getting up from his chair. Mostly because if he somehow coerces a hug from Vergil right now he's gonna fucking cry hysterically.
And with it comes a profound statement of understanding and empathy. The only thing he can really think to say to something like that.]
[Beneath Nero's hold, Vergil's arm turns just enough that he's able to return the gesture. His hold on Nero's forearm is firm, but it's fair from tight. There's no desperation, so much as it is a reflection of his words. And Nero's as well. Even if Nero is far more succinct. Vergil does not dismiss it out of hand because of its brevity or its simplicity. After all, it's not as though Vergil summoned a word of his own. Nero at least managed one. It pulls a faint, fond smile to Vergil's face. Well, that and Nero's recognition of the poetry he just recited. Vergil had his suspicions that Nero was reading his books after weeks of finding them just slightly off from where he left them and Dante not taking ownership of it as some sort of prank wherein he's testing to see how long it takes for Vergil to say something, but that confirms it.]
[He says nothing else beyond that, not feeling the need to, and leaves his hand there on Nero's arm for a moment or two longer before ultimately taking back his arm to gather up the empty takeout containers to dispose of them. He leaves the open container of dumplings still in the middle of the table for Nero, and his own unfinished hot chocolate. Vergil isn't particularly concerned about it getting cold as he won't likely be gone long enough for that.]
I should shower. And you... [he says, rising to his feet. Before he picks up his dishes as well to bring to the sink, he leans over far enough to gently ruffle Nero's hair. The gesture is equal parts affectionate and grateful.] You should finish with Blue Rose.
[Vergil may be far from an expert when it comes to firearms, but he knows Nero can't leave her half-cleaned like that.]
[They're not holding hands, they're... they're finding something that works for the both of them. Words don't come easily to either of them, and so they find ways to do without them. Borrow them. Communicate in other ways that they can both understand. That's been the name of the game so far, but... hard to deny that something about it must be working.
He takes a moment to trace it in his mind: the way it feels when his father squeezes his arm. The way it looks when he smiles at him. He's entirely memorized it by the time Vergil lets go.]
Yeah. I'm almost done. Two chambers to go.
[Then Vergil ruffles his hair in the same manner Dante always does. Nero doesn't swat at him, though... not yet. Maybe in another few times when it'll come across more facetiously bratty than as a rejection. Maybe when Nero isn't so enamored by the novelty he doesn't want to at all.]
[Vergil tosses the takeaway containers into the trashcan before rinsing his dishes off in the sink. He simply sets them in there for the time being rather than washing them for now. For as much grief as he receives over his fastidiousness, Vergil is occasionally capable of leaving behind a little mess. To deal with later, of course. But still. He's not about to lose sleep over an unwashed plate in the sink.]
I'll be up reading at least for a little while. See if your uncle decides to grace us with his presence tonight or not.
[That's not said as scathing or critical as Vergil might otherwise say it, but there is a weight to it all the same.]
[Vergil is often the last one to bed most nights. When he was in this apartment by himself, that pattern of staying up relatively late each night was just one he hadn't managed to give up just yet. For a long time, he's slept as much as he needed minimally, avoiding whatever nightmares may come to him and keeping certain he remained safe when there was no one else for him to rely upon in watching over him. But now? Now, Vergil knows there is some part of him that does not and cannot entirely relaxed until he knows Dante and Nero are at least settled in for the night when he's here. When he's with Mizu in her cabin, it's much the same with her. Even if they're not entirely asleep by the time he closes his eyes, it's enough to know whether it's Mizu or Dante and Nero that they're close by and they're within reach. They're safe.]
[So, despite the fact he hasn't grilled Dante about his whereabouts on the nights he doesn't come home, nor does he even really kick up a fuss that Dante doesn't seem to consistently inform anyone that he won't be home seeing as how he comes home the next morning no worse for wear, it still does not sit well with Vergil to have Dante out and his whereabouts generally unknown by the time Vergil knows he must sleep.]
[That's "I'm going to sleep in your room tonight" in not as many words. Sure, he could take the pullout since Dante's not around, but he doesn't want to get jostled awake in the middle of the night by a returning Dante when he gets in. If he gets in.
Maybe he's out at one of those all night clubs or something? That'd make sense.
Also maybe he just wants to sleep next to HIS DAD tonight, so there!
Vergil's niggling discomfort over Dante being out does not escape his notice, though.]
I can send him a message if you want. [He will not go on to suggest that Dante's fine or he shouldn't worry or anything to even imply such a thing. Nor will he remind Vergil that HE could send Dante a message if he wasn't so goddamn stubborn and old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, then resumes cleaning Blue Rose. Should only be another five or ten minutes before she's pristine.]
[Vergil moves from the kitchen over to his closet, sliding it open and pulling out his sleep clothes.]
That's not necessary, [he says on his way to the bathroom for his shower with a slight shake of his head.] Dante can take care of himself.
[...Vergil may be more convincing himself than Nero by saying that, but it's also not inherently untrue either. Both of them have been on their own for long enough that Vergil and Dante absolutely know how to look after themselves, and stay safe. There also just really isn't that much that could pose as a threat to either son of Sparda in Folkmore realistically speaking. So, there's probably nothing to really worry about, but... Well, he's just as intent on being the older brother that he always should have been to Dante as is to be a father to Nero, and Vergil simply does not believe in half-measures when it comes to anything. But he will at least avoid nagging his brother even through his son.]
[Disappearing into the bathroom for his shower, Vergil's glad to be out of his clothes more than anything else. They're mostly dry now, but it's never particularly comfortable remaining in clothes that were previously dampened or outright soaked by the snow. He's quick with his shower and readying for bed likely as Nero is finishing up with Blue Rose. Plucking one of his books from the shelf, Vergil returns to the table only long enough to pick up his hot remaining hot chocolate as a substitute for his nightly cup of tea before heading to bed. The hot chocolate ends up on the nightstand as he props his pillows against the headboard to comfortably sit up in bed and read. Since Nero intends to turn in, he turns on the light on the nightstand so the rest of the apartment can be darkened and Vergil's reading is less likely to bother Nero while he sleeps.]
[He almost argues that it's not a matter of taking care of himself, or anything of the sort. It just seems kind of stupid to sit around obviously bothered about Dante's whereabouts and yet refuse the easy, technological solution to that.
But hey, whatever. Nero will just message Dante of his own volition.
Vergil heads off to shower and Nero finishes up his cleaning, then neatly puts Blue Rose back together and stores her in her case. He packs up his cleaning supplies and turns off the relic, then heads into the kitchen to wash those dishes in the sink. By the time he's done, Vergil's out of the bathroom and he can head in himself.
He heads into the bedroom, teeth brushed, dressed down in a tank and boxers, and says nothing as he slips into bed on the other side of Vergil. Only then does he muster his courage and get out what he's been thinking ever since Vergil headed off.]
[Vergil glances over at Nero as he settles into his side of the bed. It's just a brief look as he turns a page, not interrupting his reading as his eyes return to the page once more before Nero's even fully reclined and settled. He's only brought to a halt when he hears that name, gaze immediately pulled from the words in front of him to the son lying beside him. Oh, it's so foolish the way his heart leaps into his throat upon hearing it, but... Well, it's not so small and simple a thing, is it? Not to a man who didn't dare hope for anything and set his expectations so very low.]
[He avoids staring at the boy, turning his gaze back to his book, but without any ability to read even if that were his intention. He merely stares at the pages before him, drawing a shaky breath as his vision blurs. Before Vergil can catch it, there's a soft plop against one of the pages, wetting one of the corners.]
[If he were asked, there is absolutely no way Vergil could possibly articulate the swell of emotion he feels in his chest. The moment he knew Nero was his son, that was simply it. He loved Nero beyond words, beyond anything or anyone he's ever loved before. There was no real choice in the matter, Vergil thinks. Each day that he's gotten to know him better has only solidified and strengthened those feelings even further. Vergil lives less and less solely for himself, and it feels that his continued survival through everything that has happened to him, that he has brought upon himself, takes on a greater meaning and purpose. It was all in service of this. But he knows it's not that simple for Nero. He's grown up without a mother or a father. He's found family in his own way, and he doesn't really need Vergil. But it's been his choice to give Vergil a chance. It's been his choice to forgive him for his wrongdoings and his shortcomings. It's been his choice to accept him as his father, as his...dad.]
[He'd have to be an idiot not to recognize how much of a gift that is.]
[He swipes at his eyes with the back of one of his hands before wiping away some of the moisture from the page to avoid it wrinkling later. If there's a little sniffle, he'd deny its obvious existence. It's clearly just a sound from him adjusting his hold on his book again so he can reach over to Nero with the hand closest to him to run his fingers through his hair ever so gently just the once. Quietly, he says,]
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Regardless of how much aggravation you feel at the prospect of training like that, it will be worth it in the end.
[And a better way to learn than either Sparda twin learned even if Nero is justified in complaints of tedium with the method. In all honesty, Vergil finds himself a little envious of Nero even if he's unwilling to say as much out loud. While Vergil would never diminish his own accomplishments by implying it ultimately inferior, it would have been better to have Sparda guiding him in mastering his abilities rather than being left to figure it out on his own and through necessity. That was simple objective fact as far as Vergil was concerned, and not just mere speculation.]
But you had best think twice before attempting to show me up if you start outpacing me, child. I won't allow for that.
[He's teasing, of course. Not about the prospect that Nero could someday grow greater in strength and talent than his father before him, but the notion that Vergil would feel such immediate envy that he would feel the need to put Nero back in his place. Just as Dante and Vergil have arguably surpassed their father, it should only be natural that Nero ought to someday surpass Vergil as well. There may be a bit of a bruised pride and ego there still with as much as Vergil has sought the ability to dominate over all others with his power, of course, but it would be summarily eclipsed by the pride he would feel in Nero that it would not matter.]
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Sorry to say, old man, showing you up's gonna be my victory lap.
[So far, "old man" has been reserved for Dante in the sense that Nero frequently calls him old. Maybe it's a good sign that he's comfortable enough to try it out on Vergil... in the sense that Vergil is, in fact, his old man.
And also old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, and with his other hand turns down the volume on his wrestling match. They've started pummeling each other with chairs now, and this indicates he actually wants to chat with Vergil.
Nero would ask how Vergil trained his powers back when he was young, except he gets the feeling he already knows the answer. And that he wouldn't get a straight one out of Vergil anyway.]
My powers always have been kind of fucky. Always been more or less how I could best make it work, rather than actually knowing how anything worked.
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[There's a thoughtful hum to Nero's brief albeit colorful means of describing coming into his powers.]
I suppose more awareness is one small benefit Dante and I both had in the brief time our father was with us. [Sparda never had the opportunity to teach his boys properly, but they were at least aware of their heritages and had more to go on than...whatever exactly happened to Nero.] How old were you when your powers began to emerge?
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I was always more athletic than the other kids. Ran faster. Way stronger, even more than the adults, especially when I joined the knights. But I didn't think anything was wrong until my arm happened.
[He absently reaches over to touch his now human-looking right forearm.]
I was 16.
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What happened exactly?
[Body parts suddenly becoming permanently demonic wasn't exactly part of Vergil's own experience, and he would hazard a guess the same was true for Dante. So, he cannot even begin to guess what would cause something like that in the first place.]
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I got hurt, saving Kyrie and some kids from a demon. Slashed my arm up pretty good. Then instead of healing the wound... changed. Turned weird colors, and started to spread until it overtook my whole arm. [He does not feel a particular need to describe the specifics of how it looks. Vergil's seen it.]
At first, I thought I got infected with something. Totally thought I was gonna die. Then I realized it was demonic. I just... felt it and knew.
[Which was, at the time, worse than thinking he was dying.]
I thought I was turning into a demon. I was really scared, and I knew the Order would freak out if they knew. So I pretended my arm was still hurt, wore a sling, and learned to fight one-handed.
[He was too frightened to tell even Credo or Kyrie. Especially Kyrie. And at the time he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it forever. Fortunately, his instincts back then had been correct; if Order freaks like Agnus had found out about his powers, at best he'd have been thrown in a cage and experimented on. At worse, plugged into the false Savior as a battery much, much sooner.]
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Given the circumstances, you did the best you likely could have. [Which is not some form of awkward praise from Vergil, so much as it's his observation of what Nero's shared with him about what happened when his demonic powers first manifested. Vergil finally reaches for his own hot chocolate and takes a sip. Unlike Nero's there's no spicy kick to Vergil's; it's a white chocolate with lavender instead.] I assume when you came to possess it, Yamato was able to awaken more of your power.
[It is, after all, what it did for Vergil. It would only make sense that the blade would do the same for Nero, especially if it was willing to submit to him as a temporary master in Vergil's absence.]
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It was broken. The Order had it in pieces in their lab, and their asshole chief alchemist was fucking around with it. When I went down there, his demons attacked me and... [He pauses a moment before he goes on.] I think I might have died? Or I at least came close.
Then Yamato saved me. Or my real power woke up. Maybe both? But the sword fixed itself and that's when I was able to use it.
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[There's the barest shift in Vergil's expression when Nero discloses his near-death experience. When he assumed that the Yamato must have done for Nero what it did for him, he did not think nor intend for it to be that similar... If anything, he would hope that was one thing they would not share out of all the possibilities. What sort of parent would he be if he were not to hope for as much? When he glances down toward his food, that shift in his expression remains, his quiet afterward now tinged by a sort of ache he does not entirely know how he would describe.]
We've that in common then, [he says, offering a mild explanation for his reaction, but otherwise choosing to let the matter rest. There is no need to dig into the specifics of his past now.]
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When he reveals that Yamato once saved him too, Nero makes a weak smile and glances away. He's certainly not going to ask for the specifics, there.]
Good ol' Yamato. [By reflex, he reaches over and sets a hand on Vergil's elbow as though to comfort him. So reflexive he isn't even aware he's doing it until he does, at which point he pauses and then slowly withdraws it once he... thinks it won't be awkward. Is he allowed to touch Vergil yet?] Dante said that's how he knew who I was. The way Yamato responded to me.
[Of course, Nero had not the slightest clue at the time. Not who Vergil was, not what Yamato was capable of, not even really why it was the catalyst to pull that phantom demon out of Nero's skin. First it was his arm. Then the voices in his dreams. Then that ghostly reflection that echoed Nero's true power, even if he wasn't strong enough to manifest it yet.]
At some point... I stopped being afraid. My arm was weird, but it never hurt and never felt wrong. And I realized everything my power could do, if I chose to embrace it. So I thought, maybe my arm was turning into what it was always meant to. I was always different from everyone else... and maybe I was supposed to be.
[He meets Vergil's eyes briefly, then glances back down at his hands wrapped around the cup of cocoa.]
Being part demon hasn't always been easy. But it's part of me. I stopped hiding my arm after the Savior shit. People can either take me as I am, or get bent.
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Good. [While not exactly timid or presenting as wilting, Vergil has a noticeable tendency to be quite careful in the words he chooses to use with Nero. Now, there is no such care taken insomuch it's clear that it is from his own convictions, from his very core that Vergil now speaks. It is something that he knows rather than something he's spent a great deal of time overthinking before attempting to voice. To that end, Nero may very well reject what Vergil has to say, and that is entirely his prerogative. But for Vergil? This remains firmly true for him.] Your demonic heritage is a gift that should be embraced, but it does not come without its price.
[For all that Dante likely believes that Vergil so blindly embraced demonic power and only relished in the strength it provided him, he did not entirely. After Eva's death, he spent his life hunted because he refused to conceal himself. While it was impossible for him to understand the full extent of what that meant he lost and what he ended up sacrificing in the name of that power until much later, he was not so ignorant that he didn't understand the connection between those that pursued him and his choice to not hide and embrace his father's legacy in the only ways he knew how. It was simply a hardship he was willing to accept.]
It is unlikely that the Order will be the last of those you find who would covet the power in your blood, but you will find there are also some who would doubt your strength because of the heart your mother gifted you with. [Demonic blood sullied by a human womb. Words that still to this day settle uncomfortable within his memories and yet he knows are unlikely to be the last ever spat about their mixed heritage.] But they only succeed in rending your strength from you when you surrender yourself to them. If you remain certain of yourself—the whole of yourself—and you allow no one to lay claim to your power, you will always possess the strength to protect what matters most to you.
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His father is proud of him.
For once, he finds himself unwilling to divert his eyes and look away, even though he's keenly aware how brightly he's flushing, and how close he is to the verge of abrupt, impulsive tears. Tearing up, at least. He exhales shakily and wrests back control of his emotions, and knows exactly the sentiment behind them.]
That means a lot, coming from you.
[Merely human. Petulant mortal flesh. Cursed, the moment you were brought into this world. Even as they came in the midst of exhaustion and agony, Nero hasn't forgotten those scornful words, nor has he forgotten that they came from one (dark, unmitigatedly cruel, concentratedly wicked) side of his own father. To see him now, contained, humanized, balanced and proud of him...
When it becomes too much, he glances away, somewhere across the room. He unconsciously grazes his fingers over his chest (over the heart his mother gave him,) and quietly nods.]
That's all I ever wanted. The power to protect the people I care about. Kyrie, and... [One more very brief sideways glance at Vergil before he adds, almost shyly,] my family.
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You have that power. You always have. Even if you haven't always understood it or been able to access it, it's always been within you from the moment you were born.
[It is only a matter of learning to master it now, and that is something that will come with time and practice, all of which Nero is willing to take until he gets it right.]
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[He says it reflexively, then goes quiet for a moment. Then there's a loud, ugly snort, the distinctive sound of forcibly sniffling back tears. Another moment of quiet, tense with the possibility of another snort, but he manages to fight it off without one.
There's another moment as he debates saying what's on his mind. And finally, he glances back at Vergil for a moment.]
And thanks for... you've been trying really hard. I know it's been weird and difficult but I-
[He looks away, cracking the edges of a smile.] I see you. It means more to me than I can say. Thank you.
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[Well, they're admittedly part of that weird aspect of all of this. It has not been often and certainly not in a long, long time that Vergil's efforts have been met with positive acknowledgment never mind overt gratitude. He has to look away from Nero for a moment as well when Nero claims to see him. As much as Vergil knows so much of his circumstances were of his own making, he knows his self-imposed isolation was only truly tolerable because he did not allow for the possibility of an alternative. Without his mother, without his father, and without his brother, he carried himself as one who was always destined to be alone in the world, cutting off and burning every possible bridge others might try to form before it could even begin.]
[Except... Just once, he didn't. Even if he ultimately did not possess the courage or strength to stay back then, to allow himself that want of being understood and seen once more, he could not deny that just once, he let himself indulge in that feeling of being wanted and loved. The proof of it, after all, was seated with him at this very table now.]
[Vergil swallows thickly, tempering the swell of emotion in his chest for the moment.]
Even if based upon your own reasons, you had chosen to reject and refuse me as your father, there would be no greater fool than me if I were to abandon you again, Nero. [There would be no factor of ignorance that would have led to that outcome as it had in the past. And it never could have been through any fault of Nero's regardless of how gentle or harsh his rejection of Vergil would have been. It would have been purely Vergil's own shortcomings, a lack of strength and courage, that would lead him to make such a poor choice as that in those circumstances.] I am not here or doing any of this because of guilt or a drive to rectify the past, or out of a sense of paternal duty and obligation to my kin.
[He looks at Nero again.]
I am here because you are more important to me than you will likely ever understand.
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Honestly? He wouldn't have held it against Vergil if he did make an effort with Nero out of guilt, or duty, or obligation. Vergil could have stuck around because he wanted to borrow Red Queen and Nero would have agreed to it, at least initially. None of that really mattered when it all led to the same outcome: a father who existed in his life. A father who wanted him.
Hearing him say that...]
I can't explain it, you can't explain it... we're really sitting here grunting back and forth, huh?
[There's the other snort. And this time Nero is definitely crying, though it's in the form of a few tears spilling and his chest shaking, while he stays in control of his voice.]
You really are my dad.
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[You really are my dad.]
[There's never really been a distinction for Vergil. Father is just as much of a term of endearment as it is a sign of respect rather than a word to keep one's distance or signal a sense of detachment (or often resentment in Dante's case). But he knows Nero does not hold the same perspective. That much is obvious in how Vergil's name is often used to keep him at a safe distance while not denying him as a person. Father is a term that reflects fact and a position more than a person. Not to say that there is no emotion, no connection behind it whatsoever, but it's colder than just using Vergil's name instead. Dad, on the other hand... Even as a descriptor like this...? It's... Well, it's just...]
[It's for just a moment, but Vergil has forgotten how to breathe. Or perhaps he was too frightened to breathe because if he did, some illusion would shatter and he'd realize he misheard Nero after all, and it was merely wishful thinking in the end. But he breathes when he remembers it or perhaps the air in his lungs simply needs to move. Whatever the case may be, he breathes and nothing changes. Not in an unpleasant way, in any case. Not really. Even if stings a bit on that next breath, the air feeling sharper than it did a moment ago and he has to blink back uninvited emotion welling up in his eyes that he makes no direct acknowledgment of beyond looking away from Nero for a moment again.]
[Since learning of Nero's existence, Vergil hoped that Nero might make the allowance for him to be part of his life. However, beyond not casting him completely aside, Vergil didn't allow himself to envision what it might look like. Some of that was arguably due to a lack of imagination, but the real reason for it was the hope. Vergil could not allow for himself to hope because it would have been his ruin. Oh, if Nero could not have found it within himself to give Vergil the chance or to forgive him, it would have been awful. There is no scenario in which Vergil could find that ideal or anything less than terrible, but he could have lived with it. Provided that he did not allow himself hope, he could have done exactly as he said a moment ago and still refused to abandon Nero even while being kept at such a distance that the gulf between them is ultimately insurmountable.]
[He could not if he allowed himself to hope.]
[But he feels it now, and it's what took his breath away and brought unspent tears to his eyes as for the first time, a future feels all the more within his reach for the first time in... Well, he doesn't know exactly how long. But it's something he knows with every fiber in his being that he will do everything he can to fiercely protect it, no matter what it takes. Which feels so alien to Vergil as everything at once feels so large and overwhelming, and yet so quiet and simple all at once.]
[He doesn't know what to say, but it's not a loss of words that comes riddled with anxieties he's about to say the wrong thing that could spoil it all. No, it's a decidedly much better way to be rendered speechless. He draws another breath before he tries to speak, gathering enough of himself to borrow words in lieu of his own.]
I have no name. I am but two days old, [he recites, which Nero may very well recognize the lines from one of Vergil's books.] What shall I call thee? I happy am. Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee.
Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee; thou dost smile. I sing the while sweet joy befall thee.
[He doesn't know if Nero will understand it. There's a good chance he won't given the times his nose wrinkled whenever V would recite lines of poetry. But it's close enough to an explanation and perhaps better than just grunting back and forth that he very well might.]
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A quick swipe at his eyes isn't enough to fully hide the tears, but it takes care of most of them. With another snort he's through the worst of it, and he can even vaguely look in Vergil's direction again. Seeing him struggling with his own emotions hurts, but in the good way. Like stretching a sore muscle to the point it finally relaxes.
Then, for lack of a better description, Vergil can't hold back anymore and bursts forth an explosion of poetry. Nero smirks the moment he recognizes it, thinking fondly of V and his inscrutable soliloquies. Only this time, he recognizes it from somewhere else.]
William Blake, right?
[He reaches over and clasps Vergil on the forearm, a gesture of affection that isn't too over-the-top and doesn't require Nero getting up from his chair. Mostly because if he somehow coerces a hug from Vergil right now he's gonna fucking cry hysterically.
And with it comes a profound statement of understanding and empathy. The only thing he can really think to say to something like that.]
Ditto.
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[He says nothing else beyond that, not feeling the need to, and leaves his hand there on Nero's arm for a moment or two longer before ultimately taking back his arm to gather up the empty takeout containers to dispose of them. He leaves the open container of dumplings still in the middle of the table for Nero, and his own unfinished hot chocolate. Vergil isn't particularly concerned about it getting cold as he won't likely be gone long enough for that.]
I should shower. And you... [he says, rising to his feet. Before he picks up his dishes as well to bring to the sink, he leans over far enough to gently ruffle Nero's hair. The gesture is equal parts affectionate and grateful.] You should finish with Blue Rose.
[Vergil may be far from an expert when it comes to firearms, but he knows Nero can't leave her half-cleaned like that.]
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He takes a moment to trace it in his mind: the way it feels when his father squeezes his arm. The way it looks when he smiles at him. He's entirely memorized it by the time Vergil lets go.]
Yeah. I'm almost done. Two chambers to go.
[Then Vergil ruffles his hair in the same manner Dante always does. Nero doesn't swat at him, though... not yet. Maybe in another few times when it'll come across more facetiously bratty than as a rejection. Maybe when Nero isn't so enamored by the novelty he doesn't want to at all.]
You gonna go to bed after that?
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[Vergil tosses the takeaway containers into the trashcan before rinsing his dishes off in the sink. He simply sets them in there for the time being rather than washing them for now. For as much grief as he receives over his fastidiousness, Vergil is occasionally capable of leaving behind a little mess. To deal with later, of course. But still. He's not about to lose sleep over an unwashed plate in the sink.]
I'll be up reading at least for a little while. See if your uncle decides to grace us with his presence tonight or not.
[That's not said as scathing or critical as Vergil might otherwise say it, but there is a weight to it all the same.]
[Vergil is often the last one to bed most nights. When he was in this apartment by himself, that pattern of staying up relatively late each night was just one he hadn't managed to give up just yet. For a long time, he's slept as much as he needed minimally, avoiding whatever nightmares may come to him and keeping certain he remained safe when there was no one else for him to rely upon in watching over him. But now? Now, Vergil knows there is some part of him that does not and cannot entirely relaxed until he knows Dante and Nero are at least settled in for the night when he's here. When he's with Mizu in her cabin, it's much the same with her. Even if they're not entirely asleep by the time he closes his eyes, it's enough to know whether it's Mizu or Dante and Nero that they're close by and they're within reach. They're safe.]
[So, despite the fact he hasn't grilled Dante about his whereabouts on the nights he doesn't come home, nor does he even really kick up a fuss that Dante doesn't seem to consistently inform anyone that he won't be home seeing as how he comes home the next morning no worse for wear, it still does not sit well with Vergil to have Dante out and his whereabouts generally unknown by the time Vergil knows he must sleep.]
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[That's "I'm going to sleep in your room tonight" in not as many words. Sure, he could take the pullout since Dante's not around, but he doesn't want to get jostled awake in the middle of the night by a returning Dante when he gets in. If he gets in.
Maybe he's out at one of those all night clubs or something? That'd make sense.
Also maybe he just wants to sleep next to HIS DAD tonight, so there!
Vergil's niggling discomfort over Dante being out does not escape his notice, though.]
I can send him a message if you want. [He will not go on to suggest that Dante's fine or he shouldn't worry or anything to even imply such a thing. Nor will he remind Vergil that HE could send Dante a message if he wasn't so goddamn stubborn and old.
He takes another sip of his cocoa, then resumes cleaning Blue Rose. Should only be another five or ten minutes before she's pristine.]
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That's not necessary, [he says on his way to the bathroom for his shower with a slight shake of his head.] Dante can take care of himself.
[...Vergil may be more convincing himself than Nero by saying that, but it's also not inherently untrue either. Both of them have been on their own for long enough that Vergil and Dante absolutely know how to look after themselves, and stay safe. There also just really isn't that much that could pose as a threat to either son of Sparda in Folkmore realistically speaking. So, there's probably nothing to really worry about, but... Well, he's just as intent on being the older brother that he always should have been to Dante as is to be a father to Nero, and Vergil simply does not believe in half-measures when it comes to anything. But he will at least avoid nagging his brother even through his son.]
[Disappearing into the bathroom for his shower, Vergil's glad to be out of his clothes more than anything else. They're mostly dry now, but it's never particularly comfortable remaining in clothes that were previously dampened or outright soaked by the snow. He's quick with his shower and readying for bed likely as Nero is finishing up with Blue Rose. Plucking one of his books from the shelf, Vergil returns to the table only long enough to pick up his hot remaining hot chocolate as a substitute for his nightly cup of tea before heading to bed. The hot chocolate ends up on the nightstand as he props his pillows against the headboard to comfortably sit up in bed and read. Since Nero intends to turn in, he turns on the light on the nightstand so the rest of the apartment can be darkened and Vergil's reading is less likely to bother Nero while he sleeps.]
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But hey, whatever. Nero will just message Dante of his own volition.
Vergil heads off to shower and Nero finishes up his cleaning, then neatly puts Blue Rose back together and stores her in her case. He packs up his cleaning supplies and turns off the relic, then heads into the kitchen to wash those dishes in the sink. By the time he's done, Vergil's out of the bathroom and he can head in himself.
He heads into the bedroom, teeth brushed, dressed down in a tank and boxers, and says nothing as he slips into bed on the other side of Vergil. Only then does he muster his courage and get out what he's been thinking ever since Vergil headed off.]
G'night. Dad.
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[He avoids staring at the boy, turning his gaze back to his book, but without any ability to read even if that were his intention. He merely stares at the pages before him, drawing a shaky breath as his vision blurs. Before Vergil can catch it, there's a soft plop against one of the pages, wetting one of the corners.]
[If he were asked, there is absolutely no way Vergil could possibly articulate the swell of emotion he feels in his chest. The moment he knew Nero was his son, that was simply it. He loved Nero beyond words, beyond anything or anyone he's ever loved before. There was no real choice in the matter, Vergil thinks. Each day that he's gotten to know him better has only solidified and strengthened those feelings even further. Vergil lives less and less solely for himself, and it feels that his continued survival through everything that has happened to him, that he has brought upon himself, takes on a greater meaning and purpose. It was all in service of this. But he knows it's not that simple for Nero. He's grown up without a mother or a father. He's found family in his own way, and he doesn't really need Vergil. But it's been his choice to give Vergil a chance. It's been his choice to forgive him for his wrongdoings and his shortcomings. It's been his choice to accept him as his father, as his...dad.]
[He'd have to be an idiot not to recognize how much of a gift that is.]
[He swipes at his eyes with the back of one of his hands before wiping away some of the moisture from the page to avoid it wrinkling later. If there's a little sniffle, he'd deny its obvious existence. It's clearly just a sound from him adjusting his hold on his book again so he can reach over to Nero with the hand closest to him to run his fingers through his hair ever so gently just the once. Quietly, he says,]
Goodnight, Nero.