[With one hand still holding Yamato, Vergil merely keeps that arm tightly wrapped around Nero once he finally relents and allows for Vergil to hold him. His hold on Nero's opposite shoulder with his free hand does not last long. Nero rests against him, hiding his face in Vergil's shoulder, and Vergil cradles the back of his head. He's not bothered at the lack of reciprocation and Nero's hands remaining balled into tight fists at his side because Vergil remembers what it was like when he was small. When he would grow so frustrated and angry that all the thoughts inside his head would jumble themselves together until he couldn't explain why he was so angry in the first place, not even to himself. He just knew it was white hot anger and he hated every second of it until he found himself on the verge of tears. And that would just reignite his temper all over again because he felt it was stupid and childish and so far below what he should be that he couldn't speak and it was even more all of those horrible things that he was about to cry over it.]
[Vergil can't really say he's necessarily gotten better about it per se. It comes out a little differently now at forty-four than it did at five or eight, after all. But he knows the only way past it is through, and he knows now it's better when he's not riding the flood of emotion all by himself. Even if in some ways it feels awful not to deal with it on his own, it's ultimately better knowing someone is there on the other side of it.]
It's okay, [he says, quietly.]
[He does not urge Nero one way or another on how to handle it any more than he really attempts to rush him along. He lets Nero find his own way through, trusting that he knows it better than Vergil possibly could. Vergil's hand drops from Nero's head to between his shoulders, rubbing a few circles there as Nero shakes and trembles before stilling his hand again. Vergil keeps his own breath steady and even against Nero's more labored, agitated breathing.]
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[Vergil can't really say he's necessarily gotten better about it per se. It comes out a little differently now at forty-four than it did at five or eight, after all. But he knows the only way past it is through, and he knows now it's better when he's not riding the flood of emotion all by himself. Even if in some ways it feels awful not to deal with it on his own, it's ultimately better knowing someone is there on the other side of it.]
It's okay, [he says, quietly.]
[He does not urge Nero one way or another on how to handle it any more than he really attempts to rush him along. He lets Nero find his own way through, trusting that he knows it better than Vergil possibly could. Vergil's hand drops from Nero's head to between his shoulders, rubbing a few circles there as Nero shakes and trembles before stilling his hand again. Vergil keeps his own breath steady and even against Nero's more labored, agitated breathing.]
You're okay.