[Movement from the couch draws Vergil's eye, and he comes to a stop when Nero speaks to him. He doesn't answer immediately, giving what he can see of Nero a once over, and finding more relief in it than he would ever care to acknowledge. He covers the scrutiny with a brief look to the television.]
No. I wasn't even aware you were still awake. [His brow furrows a little.] You are planning on going to bed soon, aren't you?
[He's still gazing at Vergil, trying to puzzle out what's bugging him. Apart from seeing his father awake at this hour at all. He... thinks Vergil tends to stay in his room once he retires, whether or not he's actually asleep in there? But he's up and he looks... exhausted, maybe? Sick?
I'm fine. [Which isn't inherently a lie. He is physically fine, and whatever lingering sense of being rattled because of the nightmare there may be will fade in time. Even if he felt he could get into any of it with Nero, Vergil doesn't think talking about it will particularly help with a nightmare. It's better to just put it out of his mind. Vergil spares a glance towards it before he walks towards the kitchen,] I was just getting something to drink.
[...Vergil is far from a particularly gifted liar.]
Nero's brow immediately knits at that answer and not in a way to suggest he's convinced, either. He watches Vergil cross the room to the kitchen, frowning a little deeper with every step.
If he thinks he's escaping The Inquiry, he's about to be just as wrong as Dante always is.
By the time Vergil emerges, Nero has crossed to the other end of the couch to sit on the arm, watching for him to come back.]
You look a little shaky, that's all. Are you sick? [... does he get sick?]
[When Vergil finds Nero on the arm of the couch rather than where he left him, he's almost impressed with the restraint in not simply following him into the kitchen given that the look on Nero's face really says it all. This child of his... Vergil knows better to think that Nero will be anything less than as stubborn as the day is long about this now that he's zeroed in on anything being amiss. Much as Vergil is liable to be just as stubborn in avoiding the subject if it at all possible. It's not really a battle of wills that Vergil wants to get into this time of night.]
[He sighs a little.]
You don't need to start worrying, Nero. It's late and I haven't had enough sleep. That's all.
I'm not worried. Just want to know if I can help. That's all.
[He gives Vergil a knowing Look there. Both for echoing his phrasing back at him and for his stubbornness in refusing any acknowledgement of his poor sleep and whatever led to it.]
Look. If you really want me to piss off, I can. [Probably. He's not interested in getting into an actual argument about it, but he's just as aware Vergil wouldn't admit it even if he did need something. Which is why he's not dropped it yet.]
But you wouldn't do that to me without checking in. It sucks, waking up feeling like shit.
[He wants to protest. That much is likely obvious even to Nero in the way Vergil's expression pinches, his jaw flexing ever so slightly. But it's difficult to make much of a protest when Nero's form of prying is as gentle and subtle as it is. He avoids any overt questioning or pushing, and ultimately leaves it as Vergil's choice what he says or does, but neither does Nero play stupid about the matter. He's ignorant of the specifics, not the broad strokes after all. In the absence of protest, however, Vergil has little to offer Nero. Or, at least, it feels that way. So, for a moment, it's just the sounds of Dante's sleep in the other room over the soft theatrics coming from the television after Vergil minutely nods because it does. Suck, that is. To wake up like that. Mortal panic and terror coupled with the worst possible fears and anxieties coursing through one's self over what boils down to a trick of the mind...]
[Nero had called it stupid last time. The label still applies even if Vergil doesn't give it more than passing, private acknowledgment. But it feels more...frustrating than that now when it's not just the past coming forward into the present. What happened in that dream has never come to pass, and Vergil would sooner lay down his life than allow anything remotely like it. But for those moments in his dream, and when his waking mind now glances upon it, it feels too achingly real with the image still so fresh. Vergil looks away from Nero, belatedly realizing he's been absentmindedly staring at him. It's something perhaps easy to chalk up to his poor sleep, but Nero is far too sharp to not have it likely bring a few questions to his mind all the same.]
[Vergil takes a step back towards his bedroom, trying to will it to leave things there before some larger part of him decides that he might as well. It's not as though Vergil is necessarily convincing Nero all that much that he doesn't need anything whatsoever and it's not a matter that he doesn't know what he needs. So, he detours to the couch and gives into the impulse of embracing his son as tightly as he can, letting Nero's physical presence alone serve as its own reminder that Nero is safe and whatever ways in which Vergil has failed Nero as his father have not somehow amounted to such irreparable harm. Dante called Nero a pretty great kid once, after all, and that isn't even the half of who and what Nero is.]
It was just a bad dream, [he says, letting Nero go and leaving a great deal unsaid.] So, you can help me by finishing your terrible movie and getting to bed soon.
[It's not like anybody is keeping score here. But it feels good when Nero feels like he scores a point with Vergil, in various forms. Getting through to him, getting him to understand what he means to say, getting him to explain something he likes or to ask Nero about one of his projects. Feeling like they've connected somehow. They've gotten to know each other better over all this time, but sometimes the gulf still feels so wide. So it's satisfying when he thinks they've thrown another rope across it to bridge it, even if it's as simple as Vergil not blowing him off when he shows concern for his well-being.
He's not sure what he's expecting when Vergil comes over. A hug certainly isn't it, and the way Nero's sitting on the couch arm it does create a bit of a funky angle for him to have to twist. But after the initial surprise wears off, he wraps a firm arm around his father to return the gesture for as long as he wants it.
Nero frowns sympathetically when he admits it was a nightmare. Sincerely doubts Vergil will say more, nor does he want to pry, but jeez... this really is a mirror of that night he woke up sick a few months back.]
I'm sorry. You know what always works for bad dreams?
[Vergil cannot help but meet the question with skepticism made evident by the look on his face and the way he loosely folds his arms. It is, after all, the same sort of skepticism he'd met suggestions as a precocious child too proud to admit he wants his mother's help or a dismissive older brother who thinks if he seems too interested, he's indulged his little brother too much. It's not harsh or unkind towards the other inherently (although it can understandably be taken that way, especially by those who do not know him well enough to know otherwise), so much as a reflection of Vergil's tendency to refuse to change his mind. He already decided he could handle it on his own and didn't need his mother. It's just a given fact that whatever his brother might say is foolish nonsense. He's doing them a kindness in hearing them out. And if what they have to say happens to work out... Well, it wouldn't have been likely, but all the better he heard them out instead of shutting the conversation down then, isn't it?]
[Little is different here and now. He's certain whatever Nero is about to suggest has a significant chance of being a joke in an attempt to lighten the perceived mood. But on the chance it's not, Vergil doesn't have much hope that it will actually be effective. Regardless, just as he had with his mother and brother though, he doesn't shut Nero down. For all the ways in which his independent streak has only grown stronger as he grew older, he still at least maintains it's an important kindness to always hear his family out even if his mind is made up and unlikely to change.]
[Nero smiles at that answer. Honestly, there was pretty much no answer that would have dissuaded him beyond maybe a curt "go to bed, Nero." Which only would have made him double down on this idea even harder.]
Go lay down again and I'll bring it in for you. [He stands up off the couch and pulls the hoodie down from his head, rolling his shoulders as he crosses the room to turn off the TV.]
Five minutes. And don't lock your door, obviously. [You know... in case the thought occurred...]
[Vergil watches Nero closely, scrutinizing him as he gets up and turns the television off. Unfortunately for Vergil though, no amount of scrutinizing is going to reveal to him what exactly Nero's plan is, and he's left with little choice but going along with it at this point.]
Very well... [he says with an acquiescing sigh before retreating back to his bedroom.] Five minutes.
[Vergil pushes the door closed behind him without locking it. (Not that he had any intention of doing so. Now if it was Dante... That's a different story. And even then, he may still not actually follow through considering the fuss he'd no doubt make.) Settling back under the covers, Vergil rests on his side with his back to the door. In the quiet dark of his room, he can't say he's completely shaken the nightmare off. It's not immediately threatening to replay itself again and again, but Vergil knows if he's not carefully keeping his attention elsewhere, thoughts of it will return easily enough. So, he lies there somewhat glowering into the dark as he waits for Nero, keeping his mind as occupied as he can with speculating on what he thinks is going to help.]
[A little bit longer than five minutes, but not by much. Nero tests the doorknob and is relieved not to find it locked. He did say not to, but... honestly, he wouldn't put it past Vergil to "forget" and "fall asleep" if it meant sulking in his own miserable solitude like he thinks he's supposed to.
He steps in, holding a small plate in one hand and a mug of something hot in the other. Then he uses his foot to close the door behind him and makes his way over to the bed, setting them both on Vergil's nightstand beside him. Golden yellow tea with a faint apple scent. On the plate, a piece of toast dressed with melted butter and something sweet.]
Here ya go. Chamomile tea and honey toast. One of the sisters at the orphanage used to whip this up whenever I had bad dreams.
[Then, without asking, he flops over on the other side of the bed, sitting against the headboard. He fully intends to stay a while.]
I know you might not be hungry but at least try a few bites. Works like a charm, honest.
[At the sound of his door opening, Vergil looks over his shoulder at Nero. There's a confused furrow to his brow at first. Tea and toast weren't really on the list of possibilities that Vergil had been speculating on while waiting for Nero, and it seems a strange choice. But the expression lessens once Nero explains them to be a childhood comfort.]
[...Well. The honey toast, anyway. Based on the faces Vergil's witnessed Nero stifling when he makes his little demands to try Vergil's teas, he can't imagine the chamomile was particularly favored or comforting to Nero as a child. But he knows his father's preference for tea, so he includes it anyway even if the toast is the star. It's a...sweet and kind gesture in sharing something of himself in an earnest attempt to be helpful and look after Vergil.]
[Normally, Vergil would be prone to bristling over it. He hasn't needed help with a bad dream since he was a child, and he wasn't keen on being treated in any manner that implied otherwise now. But the boy's sincerity cannot be misconstrued as condescending or patronizing, or as though there were some hidden insults to Vergil's pride beneath the gesture. So, instead, Vergil is left uncertain what he's meant to do with it.]
[For as much as Vergil has others around him these days, his independence is usually still something he's enforced and carefully protected. It leaves gestures like this one few and far between, but leave it to the boy to find his way so cleanly past everything Vergil may put up as resistance. There are times Vergil wants to be resentful for it—vulnerability of any kind still rings as the incorrect choice to him even now—but whatever he could possibly summon against Nero is undone in an instant for no greater reason than he is Vergil's son and the knowledge that adding him further to the lengthy list of Vergil's regrets would surely kill him. So, he remains far more tolerant and less argumentative were it likely anyone else.]
[He remains still while Nero flops himself down on the other side of the bed, only pushing himself to sit up once Nero is settled. Vergil takes the mug, but leaves the plate of toast where it is for the moment.]
Thank you.
[He says it somewhat stiffly, likely letting it be known to Nero that he plainly does not know what to do with any of this. He's no less sincere, however, despite the awkwardness of it.]
[It's hard to be a tough guy. It's hard to let yourself be vulnerable when you've been hurt so bad in the past. Nero knows that firsthand, and though he still has no idea the extent, he knows for a fact that Vergil knows it too. What else would explain that standoffishness, the prickly defensiveness, the insistence on solitude?
Too bad for him, Nero's been practicing maneuvering around it as easily as he could run up a wall. Not out of anything less than a sincere desire to help. Because harder still than being tough and fearing vulnerability is dealing with shit all on your own, thinking you can't ask for help even when things are overwhelming or unpleasant or just plain suck to handle alone.
Nero, for all his status as an outcast and a black sheep, always had Kyrie. She never put up with it when he tried to shove her away and play Mr. Hardcore Do It Myself, and he knows he's a better man for it. Vergil (and Dante too) get to learn that lesson too, if he has anything to say about it.
He settles in, reclining with his arms pillowing his head, by all accounts making himself very comfortable on Vergil's bed. The real effectiveness of this method, he thinks, is the company. The slice of normalcy to ground one back in the real world and banish away the nightmare. Whether or not Vergil ends up wanting to talk about it, the interlude should create enough distance to help him go back to sleep.]
It sounds really saccharine, but when Kyrie has nightmares, I do the same for her. And vice versa. Even works on Dante, the stubborn ass. So you KNOW there's something to it.
[He turns his head and smiles at his father, looking pretty proud of himself.]
I'd suggest some tunes too, but I know you're not gonna like anything I put on.
[Vergil rolls his eyes at Nero's cocky grin, but says nothing that would threaten to take it away. Not that he thinks there's much that could. Once Nero has his footing and confidence, he's more prone to taking criticism as further prove rather than anything to the contrary. As he takes a sip of tea, Vergil hums his agreement though that any music Nero would choose wouldn't do much for him. He understands that Nero finds it soothing, but he can't say he has a similar experience of it regardless of whether he likes it or not.]
As a child, I would have only accepted the lullabies your grandmother would sing for your uncle and me if there was any music before sleep. I don't believe Dante would have settled down enough to sleep in the first place without them, but I was fine without them. [He pauses a moment before admitting without looking at Nero,] Unless I had a bad dream.
Dante usually came to me whenever he had a bad dream, but I usually went looking for Mother if I couldn't fall back asleep on my own.
[Which was more often than not the case after a bad dream, but not for a lack of trying. He'd lie there with a vice grip on his stuffed animal reminding himself that he's a son of Sparda and has nothing to be afraid of over and over until he broke down and went looking for his mother. If she was already in bed, she let him stay with her. Otherwise, he curled up in her lap. He knew he was allowed to stay as long as it took for him to fall asleep, and some part of him would stubbornly try to fight off sleep to have the rare moment with just his mother alone last a little longer. But he never managed to hold out for long with as warm and safe as he felt, and before he knew it, it was morning and he was waking up in his bed.]
[That all came to an abrupt end after the attack on their home, however, and Vergil grew accustomed to riding it out on his own. Honestly, barring a few nights in Dante's room after that woman managed to rattle Vergil, he's always handled it on his own. He never bothered Beatrice with any of it when they were together. He still won't wake Mizu on the nights he spends with her, and he never goes knocking on Dante or Nero's doors when they happen here. If Nero hadn't still been awake, it's likely Vergil would have crept out of his room long enough to wash his face and returned to read until it was time either for sleep or to get ready for the day.]
[The anecdote is charming. He's seen the family portrait now, so he has a very clear image of little Dante and Vergil seeking solace with their mother. Dante needing a lullaby to knock him out, while Vergil stubbornly insisted he didn't, until he did. Sounds like they've not changed at all.]
Yeah, you definitely don't want me singing you lullabies. [He breaks into a chuckle at the end of the sentence, no doubt picturing the scene.
It must have been nice... having a mother. Or a brother, for that matter. The other orphans were more like classmates than family members, and Nero got along with them differently at different times as kids came and went. But not him. All he had were the sisters who took care of the place. Sister Maria, the one who came up with the honey toast idea to soothe a restless and crying little Nero. Maybe a few times, when she was around at bedtime, he crawled into the lap of Kyrie's mother just to see what it was like.
He doesn't really want to get into any of that out loud. As much as it's sharing a piece of himself, it feels to him like a lowkey indictment of Vergil. If things were different, Nero could have crawled into his lap, or Beatrice's. But they weren't.
And anyway... it's not about him right now. They're here to take care of Vergil.]
What kind of stuff did she sing? Like, old folk songs or... [He barely knows any that aren't about Sparda. Which he imagines would be weird for her to sing.]
cw: references to parent death, attempted murder of a child
[Vergil also chuckles near the end of Nero's sentence, shaking his head a little at the thought. He doesn't know whether or not Nero can actually carry a tune, but it seems unlikely. And even if he could, the scenario could not get much more absurd. Looking to Nero, Vergil's smile fades slightly at the question.]
Her bedtime stories were always stories of Father, so we didn't miss him as much and it still felt like he was there with us. I think she made her lullabies for us for a similar reason, [he says, gaze dropping to the tea in his mug with a furrow in his brow. Vergil is quiet a moment before he continues,] But I've forgotten most of the words and melodies. I never heard them again after she died.
[Not that Vergil would have been able to stand it if he had heard them again after her death. For so long, he carried the guilt of not being strong enough to save her or Dante, and carried a resentment over being left to die alone that only grew when he thought her final act had been to save Dante. Back then, they would have just felt little more than pretty lies while nowadays, it would be difficult to not have no small amount of grief overshadow whatever comfort there might be. And for that, he does feel a sense of shame. Eva's lullabies were a gift of love that Vergil never learned to really accept, discarding them out of guilt and grief and resentment, and now finding himself without years and years later.]
I was never particularly inclined towards music like your uncle though, [he says before he can allow that feeling to settle too much. Vergil lifts his gaze again, but still does not look at Nero again just yet as he continues,] And I'd say I've been a little too old for lullabies for a long time.
Oh. [Is all he says for a moment. He didn't intend to cross over into a sad memory with that question. On second thought, he feels like kicking himself for asking about Eva at all. She died when the twins were eight. But it's hard to know where the line is when he only knows the broad strokes. Even more so when he knows he doesn't really have the experience to guess as much by empathy. He never had a mother. Or he did, rather, and lost her so long ago it was like she was never real in his eyes.
How's that old saying go? Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have known love at all? Something like that.
At least Vergil gives him something to recover with.] I think music's like food. Everybody needs it... you just gotta find what you like.
[He gives his father a slight sidelong glance and smiles faintly.] I'd peg you for a classical guy, with the poetry and all but. I don't know. Maybe you're a secret metalhead and we don't know it yet.
[He looks at Nero when he carefully pivots the conversation topic away from any further discussion of Eva, raising an eyebrow before shaking his head at the accusation of classical music being his preferred genre. The assumptions that are made about his tastes... Okay, they're perhaps not unfair, but he still finds it absurd to be so pigeonholed and stereotyped so readily. It's along the lines of the assumption that he just portals all over Folkmore whenever he wants to go somewhere.]
This isn't going to lead to you and Dante dragging me to music stores and venues to try various albums and genres, is it? [With one hand, he reaches over and ruffles Nero's hair. It's no less affectionate, but it is a bit rougher than usual so there's a perfect excuse to put Nero in a loose headlock when he inevitable squirms.] Because I think I already put up enough with the two of you staring at me when I eat, don't I?
[He's teasing, of course. While Vergil might not have as much personal investment as the other two in finding his favorite foods or show much sign of changing his eating habits towards anything resembling indulgence, he doesn't have a tendency to complain about it. Vergil may not know what to do with Dante and Nero caring as much as they do (or understand the ways that they care) but he knows better now than to take something like that entirely for granted. So, the complaints are kept to a minimum, and provided he isn't in a foul mood, Vergil has been willing to humor it each time.]
[Look, Vergil, he could be stereotyping you based off of his initial impressions of you... the classical music thing is quite generous a stereotype at this point, even if it isn't true.
... is it true? He's not been terribly clear...]
What, that doesn't sound fun to you? [Teasing back. Here is when he's hair-ruffled and pulled into a headlock. Nero grunts and puts up the cursory, expected amount of fussing before giving up and letting his head flop against Vergil, lazily turning to rest his head against the side of his shoulder at an easy angle.
He nudges an elbow back to gently rib him.]
We could skip it if you tell me like, ONE genre you like. Or even one song.
[Vergil allows for the gentle ribbing and lets Nero rest against him still.]
One piece of music that I like, and you would skip all that? [Vergil has plain and obvious doubts that it won't just encourage it all the same. The only thing he thinks would actually change is there would perhaps be bit more of a guided direction rather than taking random stabs in the dark based on what he supposes someone with Vergil's temperament would like.] Somehow, I just don't believe you.
[Vergil threads his fingers through Nero's hair, but gentler this time. More in the usual manner that he tends to pet Nero's hair.]
But I don't find most classical music any more interesting to listen to than you likely do. I only listened to a few composers from the 19th century when I was still a child.
[Which if Nero can piece it together by artistic movement that means, yes, Vergil absolutely was listening to music that would have been contemporary to his favorite poets. But the fact Vergil was that much of a nerd when he was younger that he would have gone looking for music that the poets he admired would have heard and appreciated shouldn't come as some great shock to Nero at this point.]
And some of that was because I didn't want to like the same things as Dante did. So, I listened to things I knew he wouldn't have the patience for, and even if I did like some of the same songs he did, I pretended to hate them.
[So, shocker upon shockers, Vergil actually isn't about to faint or wrinkle his nose at the sound of a guitar or power chords and call it all noise. He might not be up for the metal Nero listens to necessarily, but he's not so stuffy or even all that snobbish in his tastes to think there's no merit to it.]
[He grins a little at Nero.]
You know, I once memorized the entire soundtrack to Singin' in the Rain just to retaliate and annoy him right back when he wouldn't leave me alone. Didn't work for long because you know how your uncle is. [He always manages to find a way to turn things on their head. All it took was an interest in it even feigned and Vergil had to abandon it.] But it gave me a small reprieve.
I'd at least skip the shops and albums I know you won't like.
[He can't help but laugh low under his breath at the anecdote. Little baby Vergil listens to things because he thinks Dante hates them, unless Dante likes them, at which point he decides to hate them. That sounds like the kind of joke Nero would make about the twins.]
What a contrary little brat. [Said fondly though, as dubbed such by another contrary little brat.
The important thing is, he got a damn answer! Sort of!]
Kyrie likes those kind of musical movies too. I've seen more than you probably bet I have. [He also won't admit he enjoys them. Corny as they can be, the sheer entertainment value of real singing and dancing... it's cool, you know?
In response to the hair-petting, he flops a hand on Vergil's knee and gives it a friendly little squeeze. Only because it's a weird angle for him to try going for his hair, over here.]
And look, maybe it's annoying when we're staring at you, but I like learning about you. Stuff you like and what makes you happy.
[Vergil huffs a small chuckle at the (correct) accusation of being a brat in his youth and hums his agreement on the likelihood that Nero has seen more of those sorts of movies than Vergil even if most of his viewings have been an incidental by-product of his relationship rather than anything he sought out for himself to watch. A lot ceased to be of particular priority for Vergil after his mother died, and consumption of art of any kind was one of them. It's not to say he didn't ever indulge, but... Well, he probably saw, listened to, and read more in his time with Beatrice than he had since he was eight years old.]
[He doesn't know what to say to Nero saying he likes learning about him though, and the words hang there in the air without a response right away. Vergil takes another sip of his tea before setting the mug aside on the nightstand. He takes the plate and places it in his lap, taking his arm and hand back to begin tearing the slice of toast in half.]
That hasn't been a concern of mine in a long time. [It's not much of a confession considering that Nero likely figured that out for himself. But what he says next, Vergil has to take a moment to take a breath and part with it because it's something Vergil has never acknowledged aloud let alone to Nero.] I didn't care much for things while I was still in the human world, and I missed a lot in the decades I was away.
[He offers half the slice of toast to Nero without him having to ask for it. He's not liable to eat all of it anyways, so he'd rather it not go to waste.]
[He accepts the piece of toast. Hopes he isn't about to get crumbs all over Vergil's bed, too. He'll be extra careful.
Things feel a little more solemn when Vergil admits that he didn't care much for things-- either because he didn't or because he couldn't. He was "away" from the human world? That mention puts a little pit in Nero's stomach. The only other option he's aware of is the demon world, the underworld. The place Nero came here to try and rescue him from to begin with. Does that mean...]
Yeah. I kinda figured that much.
[He takes a bite of toast while he figures out what else to say.]
All the more reason you should try lots of things now, right?
When I want to, [Vergil says. Which he recognizes may sound a bit strange. He knows Nero's smart enough to understand the unspoken implication of where Vergil had been if he wasn't in the human world. It wouldn't be an unfair assumption to think Vergil would be like a man starved, eager to consume everything and anything he can get his hands on. Perhaps if his temperament or the circumstances of why he was gone for so long were different, he might. Vergil doesn't take a bite of the toast just yet in trying to think of how exactly to explain it better to Nero without necessarily getting into the worst parts of it. He nods in the direction of his bookshelf.] I used to have a bookshelf about that size in my bedroom with nearly every shelf filled. I shared it with Dante, but it felt like it was mine more than his. Most of the books were mine, and he only ever really touched them to hide them from me so I'd pay attention to him.
The book that I— That V carried. I only had it for a few days before... I didn't even get a chance to properly read it. And I'd left it behind the day Mother died. I didn't bring it with me to the playground and I never went back for it. I simply took the Yamato and left. [There had been nothing left for Vergil to go back for, only a path forward.] But it survived. Of all the books that were once mine, it was the only one to truly survive the fire and the elements and time.
[He glances at Nero, smiling faintly.]
It was the first thing I reclaimed as my own, but it still felt strange in some ways to call it mine.
[He doesn't know if that actually clarified anything for Nero, but Vergil hopes it does. He hopes Nero understands that the times where he seems indifferent or even outright resistant to new things and experiences isn't because he's a stick in the mud or because of some haughty perspective that nothing new can possibly be as good as what he knew. The day he lost his family was the day Vergil began to lose pieces of himself, and he never once went looking for them again. It's those fragments that he's looking for now. He knows it's an impossible task to reclaim them all and living entirely in the past would serve no purpose, but. He wants as many pieces of himself as he can find back. He owes it to himself and to his family—both those lost and those found—to be the better man he's trying to be. So, he's not always ready for something new. He's not always open to it when there are missing or broken pieces he's trying to account for.]
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No. I wasn't even aware you were still awake. [His brow furrows a little.] You are planning on going to bed soon, aren't you?
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[He's still gazing at Vergil, trying to puzzle out what's bugging him. Apart from seeing his father awake at this hour at all. He... thinks Vergil tends to stay in his room once he retires, whether or not he's actually asleep in there? But he's up and he looks... exhausted, maybe? Sick?
It's like trying to diagnose a cat over here.
So just in case, Nero offers a careful question.]
Everything okay?
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[...Vergil is far from a particularly gifted liar.]
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Nero's brow immediately knits at that answer and not in a way to suggest he's convinced, either. He watches Vergil cross the room to the kitchen, frowning a little deeper with every step.
If he thinks he's escaping The Inquiry, he's about to be just as wrong as Dante always is.
By the time Vergil emerges, Nero has crossed to the other end of the couch to sit on the arm, watching for him to come back.]
You look a little shaky, that's all. Are you sick? [... does he get sick?]
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[He sighs a little.]
You don't need to start worrying, Nero. It's late and I haven't had enough sleep. That's all.
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[He gives Vergil a knowing Look there. Both for echoing his phrasing back at him and for his stubbornness in refusing any acknowledgement of his poor sleep and whatever led to it.]
Look. If you really want me to piss off, I can. [Probably. He's not interested in getting into an actual argument about it, but he's just as aware Vergil wouldn't admit it even if he did need something. Which is why he's not dropped it yet.]
But you wouldn't do that to me without checking in. It sucks, waking up feeling like shit.
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[Nero had called it stupid last time. The label still applies even if Vergil doesn't give it more than passing, private acknowledgment. But it feels more...frustrating than that now when it's not just the past coming forward into the present. What happened in that dream has never come to pass, and Vergil would sooner lay down his life than allow anything remotely like it. But for those moments in his dream, and when his waking mind now glances upon it, it feels too achingly real with the image still so fresh. Vergil looks away from Nero, belatedly realizing he's been absentmindedly staring at him. It's something perhaps easy to chalk up to his poor sleep, but Nero is far too sharp to not have it likely bring a few questions to his mind all the same.]
[Vergil takes a step back towards his bedroom, trying to will it to leave things there before some larger part of him decides that he might as well. It's not as though Vergil is necessarily convincing Nero all that much that he doesn't need anything whatsoever and it's not a matter that he doesn't know what he needs. So, he detours to the couch and gives into the impulse of embracing his son as tightly as he can, letting Nero's physical presence alone serve as its own reminder that Nero is safe and whatever ways in which Vergil has failed Nero as his father have not somehow amounted to such irreparable harm. Dante called Nero a pretty great kid once, after all, and that isn't even the half of who and what Nero is.]
It was just a bad dream, [he says, letting Nero go and leaving a great deal unsaid.] So, you can help me by finishing your terrible movie and getting to bed soon.
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He's not sure what he's expecting when Vergil comes over. A hug certainly isn't it, and the way Nero's sitting on the couch arm it does create a bit of a funky angle for him to have to twist. But after the initial surprise wears off, he wraps a firm arm around his father to return the gesture for as long as he wants it.
Nero frowns sympathetically when he admits it was a nightmare. Sincerely doubts Vergil will say more, nor does he want to pry, but jeez... this really is a mirror of that night he woke up sick a few months back.]
I'm sorry. You know what always works for bad dreams?
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[Little is different here and now. He's certain whatever Nero is about to suggest has a significant chance of being a joke in an attempt to lighten the perceived mood. But on the chance it's not, Vergil doesn't have much hope that it will actually be effective. Regardless, just as he had with his mother and brother though, he doesn't shut Nero down. For all the ways in which his independent streak has only grown stronger as he grew older, he still at least maintains it's an important kindness to always hear his family out even if his mind is made up and unlikely to change.]
Enlighten me.
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Go lay down again and I'll bring it in for you. [He stands up off the couch and pulls the hoodie down from his head, rolling his shoulders as he crosses the room to turn off the TV.]
Five minutes. And don't lock your door, obviously. [You know... in case the thought occurred...]
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Very well... [he says with an acquiescing sigh before retreating back to his bedroom.] Five minutes.
[Vergil pushes the door closed behind him without locking it. (Not that he had any intention of doing so. Now if it was Dante... That's a different story. And even then, he may still not actually follow through considering the fuss he'd no doubt make.) Settling back under the covers, Vergil rests on his side with his back to the door. In the quiet dark of his room, he can't say he's completely shaken the nightmare off. It's not immediately threatening to replay itself again and again, but Vergil knows if he's not carefully keeping his attention elsewhere, thoughts of it will return easily enough. So, he lies there somewhat glowering into the dark as he waits for Nero, keeping his mind as occupied as he can with speculating on what he thinks is going to help.]
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He steps in, holding a small plate in one hand and a mug of something hot in the other. Then he uses his foot to close the door behind him and makes his way over to the bed, setting them both on Vergil's nightstand beside him. Golden yellow tea with a faint apple scent. On the plate, a piece of toast dressed with melted butter and something sweet.]
Here ya go. Chamomile tea and honey toast. One of the sisters at the orphanage used to whip this up whenever I had bad dreams.
[Then, without asking, he flops over on the other side of the bed, sitting against the headboard. He fully intends to stay a while.]
I know you might not be hungry but at least try a few bites. Works like a charm, honest.
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[...Well. The honey toast, anyway. Based on the faces Vergil's witnessed Nero stifling when he makes his little demands to try Vergil's teas, he can't imagine the chamomile was particularly favored or comforting to Nero as a child. But he knows his father's preference for tea, so he includes it anyway even if the toast is the star. It's a...sweet and kind gesture in sharing something of himself in an earnest attempt to be helpful and look after Vergil.]
[Normally, Vergil would be prone to bristling over it. He hasn't needed help with a bad dream since he was a child, and he wasn't keen on being treated in any manner that implied otherwise now. But the boy's sincerity cannot be misconstrued as condescending or patronizing, or as though there were some hidden insults to Vergil's pride beneath the gesture. So, instead, Vergil is left uncertain what he's meant to do with it.]
[For as much as Vergil has others around him these days, his independence is usually still something he's enforced and carefully protected. It leaves gestures like this one few and far between, but leave it to the boy to find his way so cleanly past everything Vergil may put up as resistance. There are times Vergil wants to be resentful for it—vulnerability of any kind still rings as the incorrect choice to him even now—but whatever he could possibly summon against Nero is undone in an instant for no greater reason than he is Vergil's son and the knowledge that adding him further to the lengthy list of Vergil's regrets would surely kill him. So, he remains far more tolerant and less argumentative were it likely anyone else.]
[He remains still while Nero flops himself down on the other side of the bed, only pushing himself to sit up once Nero is settled. Vergil takes the mug, but leaves the plate of toast where it is for the moment.]
Thank you.
[He says it somewhat stiffly, likely letting it be known to Nero that he plainly does not know what to do with any of this. He's no less sincere, however, despite the awkwardness of it.]
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[It's hard to be a tough guy. It's hard to let yourself be vulnerable when you've been hurt so bad in the past. Nero knows that firsthand, and though he still has no idea the extent, he knows for a fact that Vergil knows it too. What else would explain that standoffishness, the prickly defensiveness, the insistence on solitude?
Too bad for him, Nero's been practicing maneuvering around it as easily as he could run up a wall. Not out of anything less than a sincere desire to help. Because harder still than being tough and fearing vulnerability is dealing with shit all on your own, thinking you can't ask for help even when things are overwhelming or unpleasant or just plain suck to handle alone.
Nero, for all his status as an outcast and a black sheep, always had Kyrie. She never put up with it when he tried to shove her away and play Mr. Hardcore Do It Myself, and he knows he's a better man for it. Vergil (and Dante too) get to learn that lesson too, if he has anything to say about it.
He settles in, reclining with his arms pillowing his head, by all accounts making himself very comfortable on Vergil's bed. The real effectiveness of this method, he thinks, is the company. The slice of normalcy to ground one back in the real world and banish away the nightmare. Whether or not Vergil ends up wanting to talk about it, the interlude should create enough distance to help him go back to sleep.]
It sounds really saccharine, but when Kyrie has nightmares, I do the same for her. And vice versa. Even works on Dante, the stubborn ass. So you KNOW there's something to it.
[He turns his head and smiles at his father, looking pretty proud of himself.]
I'd suggest some tunes too, but I know you're not gonna like anything I put on.
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As a child, I would have only accepted the lullabies your grandmother would sing for your uncle and me if there was any music before sleep. I don't believe Dante would have settled down enough to sleep in the first place without them, but I was fine without them. [He pauses a moment before admitting without looking at Nero,] Unless I had a bad dream.
Dante usually came to me whenever he had a bad dream, but I usually went looking for Mother if I couldn't fall back asleep on my own.
[Which was more often than not the case after a bad dream, but not for a lack of trying. He'd lie there with a vice grip on his stuffed animal reminding himself that he's a son of Sparda and has nothing to be afraid of over and over until he broke down and went looking for his mother. If she was already in bed, she let him stay with her. Otherwise, he curled up in her lap. He knew he was allowed to stay as long as it took for him to fall asleep, and some part of him would stubbornly try to fight off sleep to have the rare moment with just his mother alone last a little longer. But he never managed to hold out for long with as warm and safe as he felt, and before he knew it, it was morning and he was waking up in his bed.]
[That all came to an abrupt end after the attack on their home, however, and Vergil grew accustomed to riding it out on his own. Honestly, barring a few nights in Dante's room after that woman managed to rattle Vergil, he's always handled it on his own. He never bothered Beatrice with any of it when they were together. He still won't wake Mizu on the nights he spends with her, and he never goes knocking on Dante or Nero's doors when they happen here. If Nero hadn't still been awake, it's likely Vergil would have crept out of his room long enough to wash his face and returned to read until it was time either for sleep or to get ready for the day.]
[Vergil glances at Nero, but says nothing else.]
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Yeah, you definitely don't want me singing you lullabies. [He breaks into a chuckle at the end of the sentence, no doubt picturing the scene.
It must have been nice... having a mother. Or a brother, for that matter. The other orphans were more like classmates than family members, and Nero got along with them differently at different times as kids came and went. But not him. All he had were the sisters who took care of the place. Sister Maria, the one who came up with the honey toast idea to soothe a restless and crying little Nero. Maybe a few times, when she was around at bedtime, he crawled into the lap of Kyrie's mother just to see what it was like.
He doesn't really want to get into any of that out loud. As much as it's sharing a piece of himself, it feels to him like a lowkey indictment of Vergil. If things were different, Nero could have crawled into his lap, or Beatrice's. But they weren't.
And anyway... it's not about him right now. They're here to take care of Vergil.]
What kind of stuff did she sing? Like, old folk songs or... [He barely knows any that aren't about Sparda. Which he imagines would be weird for her to sing.]
cw: references to parent death, attempted murder of a child
Her bedtime stories were always stories of Father, so we didn't miss him as much and it still felt like he was there with us. I think she made her lullabies for us for a similar reason, [he says, gaze dropping to the tea in his mug with a furrow in his brow. Vergil is quiet a moment before he continues,] But I've forgotten most of the words and melodies. I never heard them again after she died.
[Not that Vergil would have been able to stand it if he had heard them again after her death. For so long, he carried the guilt of not being strong enough to save her or Dante, and carried a resentment over being left to die alone that only grew when he thought her final act had been to save Dante. Back then, they would have just felt little more than pretty lies while nowadays, it would be difficult to not have no small amount of grief overshadow whatever comfort there might be. And for that, he does feel a sense of shame. Eva's lullabies were a gift of love that Vergil never learned to really accept, discarding them out of guilt and grief and resentment, and now finding himself without years and years later.]
I was never particularly inclined towards music like your uncle though, [he says before he can allow that feeling to settle too much. Vergil lifts his gaze again, but still does not look at Nero again just yet as he continues,] And I'd say I've been a little too old for lullabies for a long time.
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How's that old saying go? Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have known love at all? Something like that.
At least Vergil gives him something to recover with.] I think music's like food. Everybody needs it... you just gotta find what you like.
[He gives his father a slight sidelong glance and smiles faintly.] I'd peg you for a classical guy, with the poetry and all but. I don't know. Maybe you're a secret metalhead and we don't know it yet.
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This isn't going to lead to you and Dante dragging me to music stores and venues to try various albums and genres, is it? [With one hand, he reaches over and ruffles Nero's hair. It's no less affectionate, but it is a bit rougher than usual so there's a perfect excuse to put Nero in a loose headlock when he inevitable squirms.] Because I think I already put up enough with the two of you staring at me when I eat, don't I?
[He's teasing, of course. While Vergil might not have as much personal investment as the other two in finding his favorite foods or show much sign of changing his eating habits towards anything resembling indulgence, he doesn't have a tendency to complain about it. Vergil may not know what to do with Dante and Nero caring as much as they do (or understand the ways that they care) but he knows better now than to take something like that entirely for granted. So, the complaints are kept to a minimum, and provided he isn't in a foul mood, Vergil has been willing to humor it each time.]
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... is it true? He's not been terribly clear...]
What, that doesn't sound fun to you? [Teasing back. Here is when he's hair-ruffled and pulled into a headlock. Nero grunts and puts up the cursory, expected amount of fussing before giving up and letting his head flop against Vergil, lazily turning to rest his head against the side of his shoulder at an easy angle.
He nudges an elbow back to gently rib him.]
We could skip it if you tell me like, ONE genre you like. Or even one song.
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One piece of music that I like, and you would skip all that? [Vergil has plain and obvious doubts that it won't just encourage it all the same. The only thing he thinks would actually change is there would perhaps be bit more of a guided direction rather than taking random stabs in the dark based on what he supposes someone with Vergil's temperament would like.] Somehow, I just don't believe you.
[Vergil threads his fingers through Nero's hair, but gentler this time. More in the usual manner that he tends to pet Nero's hair.]
But I don't find most classical music any more interesting to listen to than you likely do. I only listened to a few composers from the 19th century when I was still a child.
[Which if Nero can piece it together by artistic movement that means, yes, Vergil absolutely was listening to music that would have been contemporary to his favorite poets. But the fact Vergil was that much of a nerd when he was younger that he would have gone looking for music that the poets he admired would have heard and appreciated shouldn't come as some great shock to Nero at this point.]
And some of that was because I didn't want to like the same things as Dante did. So, I listened to things I knew he wouldn't have the patience for, and even if I did like some of the same songs he did, I pretended to hate them.
[So, shocker upon shockers, Vergil actually isn't about to faint or wrinkle his nose at the sound of a guitar or power chords and call it all noise. He might not be up for the metal Nero listens to necessarily, but he's not so stuffy or even all that snobbish in his tastes to think there's no merit to it.]
[He grins a little at Nero.]
You know, I once memorized the entire soundtrack to Singin' in the Rain just to retaliate and annoy him right back when he wouldn't leave me alone. Didn't work for long because you know how your uncle is. [He always manages to find a way to turn things on their head. All it took was an interest in it even feigned and Vergil had to abandon it.] But it gave me a small reprieve.
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[He can't help but laugh low under his breath at the anecdote. Little baby Vergil listens to things because he thinks Dante hates them, unless Dante likes them, at which point he decides to hate them. That sounds like the kind of joke Nero would make about the twins.]
What a contrary little brat. [Said fondly though, as dubbed such by another contrary little brat.
The important thing is, he got a damn answer! Sort of!]
Kyrie likes those kind of musical movies too. I've seen more than you probably bet I have. [He also won't admit he enjoys them. Corny as they can be, the sheer entertainment value of real singing and dancing... it's cool, you know?
In response to the hair-petting, he flops a hand on Vergil's knee and gives it a friendly little squeeze. Only because it's a weird angle for him to try going for his hair, over here.]
And look, maybe it's annoying when we're staring at you, but I like learning about you. Stuff you like and what makes you happy.
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[He doesn't know what to say to Nero saying he likes learning about him though, and the words hang there in the air without a response right away. Vergil takes another sip of his tea before setting the mug aside on the nightstand. He takes the plate and places it in his lap, taking his arm and hand back to begin tearing the slice of toast in half.]
That hasn't been a concern of mine in a long time. [It's not much of a confession considering that Nero likely figured that out for himself. But what he says next, Vergil has to take a moment to take a breath and part with it because it's something Vergil has never acknowledged aloud let alone to Nero.] I didn't care much for things while I was still in the human world, and I missed a lot in the decades I was away.
[He offers half the slice of toast to Nero without him having to ask for it. He's not liable to eat all of it anyways, so he'd rather it not go to waste.]
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Things feel a little more solemn when Vergil admits that he didn't care much for things-- either because he didn't or because he couldn't. He was "away" from the human world? That mention puts a little pit in Nero's stomach. The only other option he's aware of is the demon world, the underworld. The place Nero came here to try and rescue him from to begin with. Does that mean...]
Yeah. I kinda figured that much.
[He takes a bite of toast while he figures out what else to say.]
All the more reason you should try lots of things now, right?
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The book that I— That V carried. I only had it for a few days before... I didn't even get a chance to properly read it. And I'd left it behind the day Mother died. I didn't bring it with me to the playground and I never went back for it. I simply took the Yamato and left. [There had been nothing left for Vergil to go back for, only a path forward.] But it survived. Of all the books that were once mine, it was the only one to truly survive the fire and the elements and time.
[He glances at Nero, smiling faintly.]
It was the first thing I reclaimed as my own, but it still felt strange in some ways to call it mine.
[He doesn't know if that actually clarified anything for Nero, but Vergil hopes it does. He hopes Nero understands that the times where he seems indifferent or even outright resistant to new things and experiences isn't because he's a stick in the mud or because of some haughty perspective that nothing new can possibly be as good as what he knew. The day he lost his family was the day Vergil began to lose pieces of himself, and he never once went looking for them again. It's those fragments that he's looking for now. He knows it's an impossible task to reclaim them all and living entirely in the past would serve no purpose, but. He wants as many pieces of himself as he can find back. He owes it to himself and to his family—both those lost and those found—to be the better man he's trying to be. So, he's not always ready for something new. He's not always open to it when there are missing or broken pieces he's trying to account for.]
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