I don't know. Can't tell if that'll make it better or worse.
[He does, actually, because putting it to words might be enough to banish the fucking thing from doing laps in his head. But how the hell is he supposed to tell Vergil what has him so upset when the answer is him? The dark, cruel, wicked side of him that Nero met before he ever knew his name or their relationship? The one who caused very real harm, least of all to Nero personally?
It'd be honest, but it also feels like he'd be confronting him all over again, and that's the last thing he wants to do when he feels this miserable-- to make Vergil feel miserable too.]
I don't believe I would call it stupid... [It certainly didn't sound stupid if it managed to catch Vergil's attention before Nero got up and vomited that something was wrong. Vergil opts not to point that out explicitly, however, allowing Nero to perhaps assume that conclusion is drawn from Nero wishing to avoid sleep because of it.] But whatever it may have been, it remains only a dream made by this fever.
[Regardless of whether what Nero dreamed is something he fears will happen or already has happened, the fact remains that it was something his feverish mind concocted and not his current reality.]
The only power it holds over you now is what you concede to it.
[That comes out a bit more flat than he would have liked it to. But, well... it's true. And he gets the feeling Vergil wouldn't think it was quite so stupid if he heard the details.]
It was all... stuff that happened. But it can't change now. Just decided to remind me about it for some damn reason. [Fever. Upset stomach. Ongoing insecurities about Vergil and the ripples of their relationship thus far.
Credo's death. Again. That's a nightmare he's had a hundred times in the past five years.]
Stupid how a dream can make you feel this shit. Or. Other way around, whatever.
[So, it was something that already happened? Vergil... Well, he wishes he could say that comes as a surprise. He assumes it to be a natural instinct one feels towards their child that nothing should have ever happened in their life that would lead to such dreams to ever be a possibility. But Vergil need only look so far as their first time meeting to find a potential source for nightmares, and he's not foolish enough to believe it to be such a rare exception in Nero's life even in the absence of so many details of Nero's life.]
[Vergil faintly hums his agreement to that sentiment.]
The past possesses an unpleasant ability to find its way into the present. Most often when it is liable to be the most distressing or otherwise inconvenient.
[He remains even in speaking. There's no stuttering to the circles on Nero's back, nor a hesitation in refreshing the cloth once more. Nothing reveals Vergil's internal world at that precise moment. But there is a guilt all the same that gnaws at Vergil in his chest, knowing it was a nightmare of the past. He knows it's entirely possible that the dream tonight had little or absolutely nothing to do with him, but that's irrelevant. The chance is not zero, and even if it was not tonight, who is to say it would not be some other night? And what is Vergil to do then? How is he meant to soothe his own child when he is the very source of his nightmares?]
And as you've said, it is not anything that can be changed. Even when it exists in the present, the past remains as it was. It's... [A maddening feeling of such helplessness for Vergil, quite frankly, and one of those emotions he previously did not need to contend with before allowing more of his own humanity to exist. But, to borrow Nero's vernacular rather than even beginning to explain something like that, which is largely irrelevant here,] Stupid.
[Vergil's longwindedness does have its advantages sometimes. Nero's relieved to find his voice... soothing somehow, at the moment. Maybe it's hearing it from this position, curled up with his head resting on his lap. Or maybe it's hearing it as it is now, in reality, free of the deep mutation that haunted it when he was Urizen-- the voice Nero can still hear gnawing at the back of his consciousness.
He focuses on the sound of Vergil's voice and his continuing gentle ministrations. Nero shifts a little, laying a little more relaxed, and one of his hands comes up to rest atop Vergil's knee. A solid little grip that he hopes feels affectionate.
But Urizen wasn't the only distressing image in his nightmare.]
[Vergil pays little mind to the hand on his knee. Or, at the very least, the hand on his knee alone does not stand out as anything particularly remarkable to him. It's the coupling of the gesture with that more relaxed state that stands out. He checks with a hand to Nero's forehead and then his cheek. It's an improvement. Nero is still warm, but he isn't burning up nearly as much as he was before. Vergil does not set the cloth aside entirely, refreshing it one last time. After wringing it out, he uses both hands to fold it neatly before pressing it gently to Nero's forehead and leaving it there, allowing the dampness of the cloth to hold itself.]
[Credo...]
[He's someone as part of Nero's life that stands out to Vergil compared to others. Not so much for what Nero has shared as it is how he's shared it with Vergil so far. In the beginning, when Nero shared bits of his life with Vergil and the people who had a hand one way or another in making him who he is, it was short bursts. If Vergil had to guess, it was a lingering wariness that likely drove Nero to share only a little at a time in starts and stops, gauging Vergil's interest in the topics and people of his life rather than simply going all in on the topic. But even as the stories have lengthened and the details have grown greater in number for others, Credo still seems to come out in those same short bursts. Vergil hesitates to put a feeling or particular reason behind it without Nero naming it himself, but he knows it's important, that Credo is important.]
I take it this time was particularly bad?
[Vergil dries his hand off, pressing it into his own shirt for a moment before running his fingers through Nero's hair again. His fingers on that hand are noticeably cooler against Nero's scalp after having held the cloth this entire time. He rests his other forearm on Nero, no longer rubbing at his back now that so much of his earlier tension appears to have left him.]
Yeah. [Because this time, Urizen killed him. And still, no matter how he dies, in his last moments Credo meets Nero's gaze with a look of distress and agony. It's a look he can interpret so many ways, but chief among them is "why didn't you save me?"
He subtly shifts again, pressing up against the cool cloth, then back against Vergil's smoothing touch.
It occurs to him vaguely that he's not really talked about Credo to Vergil. Mostly because he can't. He exists in Nero's heart and memory like a wound that never really healed, that still stings and even bleeds all these years later.]
He was Kyrie's older brother. Captain of the Holy Knights in Fortuna. He taught me... everything. He was my mentor when I was with them.
You mentioned that they likely would have thrown you out over some of your behaviors if it hadn't been for him.
[It was something Nero spoke about with hindsight clarity. Not that Nero was likely to have been completely unaware of the trouble he caused at the time, but it was most likely harder not to feel it to be a reflection of the Order being inflexible rather than anything he held responsibility for. While that's still not untrue—the Order had their preferred ways of doing things and certainly refused to deviate—Nero can likely now see where it may have been to his (and Credo's) benefit to keep his head down a little more and only cause trouble when it really mattered.]
Yeah. He channeled my anger in a productive direction. And he knew what I was worth. Knew even if I had an attitude problem, I was capable and could get things done. Nobody else would put up with me back then.
[He smiles a little in spite of himself. Looking back now, he doesn't envy Credo being responsible for him in his teenage years. On top of the explosive temper he could be sullen, bratty, arrogant, and a dozen other rancid moods depending on the day. Credo handled them all with stern grace and discipline, and never once backhanded Nero or throttled him no matter how much he probably had it coming. Even bent his own authority to make a space for Nero that suited him, because he knew he was worthy of the trouble.
He hopes that speaking his honest feelings about Credo won't make Vergil feel guilty or inadequate. But back then he had no father, no Dante, nobody else who even came close. Credo was the only one who didn't treat him like a nuisance, or a weapon to be used against the Order's enemies. At least, not exclusively. After all, Credo was the only one of his superiors who showed concern for his "permanently" wounded arm.]
He was like an older brother to me. The only man in the Order worth looking up to. Worth wanting to be like, and wanting to earn his respect.
[Knowing better as he does now, Vergil finds it hard to believe that Nero could really ever become something close to the man he now describes in terms of temperament. Rising that high in the ranks and to have any sort of influence to prevent Nero from being ousted, Credo had to have been as straitlaced and stern as Nero's implied before. That was never likely going to be Nero even if matters in the Order hadn't taken the turns they had. But the sort of person who could see past the superficial concerns others had about a teenager with a chip on his shoulder was absolutely something within Nero's reach. Frankly, Vergil would argue he's already managed to achieve that just by virtue of the two of them sitting here together now.]
What happened to him?
[Vergil asks the question as gently as he can. The consistent past tense that's been there from the moment Nero first mentioned Credo to now has not escaped Vergil's attention, and knowing what the Order tried to do... Well, it's not difficult to imagine the man's fate was likely abrupt and unpleasant. But Nero's said nothing of it to give it a more defined shape than that.]
[It's obvious that his discussions of Credo have been in the past tense. So he's fully expecting the question. It occurs to him then that he doesn't know how much Vergil knows about the Fortuna disaster. Nero hasn't spoken of it at all, but he'd referenced hearing some of it from Dante.
He counts on that being enough for right now.]
When they found out I was part demon... he turned on me. Tried to capture me on Sanctus' orders.
[He pauses to collect himself for the rest.]
Then he tried to save me and Kyrie. Sanctus murdered him. And I couldn't do a damn thing.
[There's a great deal that Vergil could say to that. Bitter parts of Vergil that regardless of his efforts towards being kinder and gentler towards humans are less charitable in interpreting the scenario as Nero presents it. Years of training and mentoring Nero, looking past his rough edges to see the potential in him, all thrown away in the name of what exactly? Blind zealotry? A refusal to accept Nero for what he is? How could he possibly claim to care about Nero if he was so ready to throw a child's life away at the behest of a superior? Unkind parts of Vergil meet the notion he tried to save Nero with skepticism, finding it difficult to believe that he recognized an error in his ways, in his chosen loyalty. It seems far more likely his questioning did not arise until his own flesh and blood was at stake. Freeing Nero would be no more than finding the right weapon to accomplish the same goal of saving Kyrie.]
[Vergil bites back such criticisms, but he cannot help but wonder and ask,]
Have you forgiven him?
[Vergil suspects he knows the answer already, but he does not understand it.]
[Nero's quiet for a moment as he considers the question. It's like he can feel the old wound starting to bleed again. Drip, drip, trickling across his skin like the water from the cool cloth on his forehead.]
I don't know.
[He hesitates, not because it's difficult to put these thoughts to words-- not when they've been on repeat in his head, over and over, for so many years. It's because it hurts to acknowledge them out loud, as though speaking makes them true.]
I never got the chance to ask him. If he thought he was doing the right thing. If he thought I was dangerous, or wrong, or if I just meant less to him than the Order. If he was sorry, or if he regretted anything, or if he knew what he meant to me... or if I ever really made him proud.
[His eyes close a little tighter.] He just died. Right in front of me. I wasn't strong enough to save him. And now I have to live with it all. All those questions he can never answer for me. All these complicated feelings and memories. Never really knowing what he thought.
It's like... a ghost. I don't know if it'll ever stop haunting me. Even if I can forgive him someday.
[Nero's answer takes Vergil by such surprise, he's not even certain that he heard it correctly at first. He takes a deep breath to ground himself, to listen to Nero's fuller answer without losing pieces of it in his own surprise. By its end, Vergil still says nothing right away, allowing the words to hang there in the air undisturbed. He believes Nero's answer to be the truth. It's clear how much Nero wants to forgive Credo, but the unanswered questions raises far too many doubts for that forgiveness to be given so cleanly. No, the reason for his silence is that Vergil is of two minds about the whole thing.]
[On the one hand, what Nero says does nothing to really alleviate Vergil's skepticism. Not to say that Vergil would have backed down entirely from the notion simply because Nero emphasized the man's positive traits, or even if he provided some evidence to Vergil that would dismiss the thought process of a less than honorable mentor whose affection had its limits in the end. But too much of Nero's own doubts mirror Vergil's in a way that can't be ignored. For Nero to so openly and plainly state that he bears his own doubts about what Credo truly thought and felt when Vergil knows him to offer so much more benefit of the doubt to the people he cares about... It's telling. That's the very least Vergil can acknowledge.]
[But on the other hand, Vergil also knows what it is like to struggle with such forgiveness. When he held so tightly to the belief that his mother had been too weak to save him, that she abandoned him in favor of his brother and died with him instead, he still had questions. Even with as angry as he was, as certain he remained about his decision to turn from his humanity as it served no purpose beyond acting as an inherent weakness, as much as he would have denied it had he ever been asked, Vergil still wanted to know why. Why did she not come when he cried for her? He was not keen to forgive her as Nero seems wanting to forgive Credo, and did not want the answers as a means of absolving her, but... He wanted that closure. As much as any child would to someone they believed was meant to protect them, but failed in a catastrophic manner. In a way that felt like a deep betrayal from which there is no healing.]
[He draws another breath, looking away from Nero even as Nero's eyes remain closed.]
I don't know what will bring you peace. [Vergil had the benefit of Dante to know more of the truth, to change his understanding and forgive Eva for not reaching him that day even as his hatred of his mother now settles as a regret, as something he can never seek forgiveness for himself. Nero does not have that luxury. There is no one that would have known enough to know Credo's mind in those final moments to bring him such clarity.] But I hope you are able to find it. Regardless of whether or not he deserves forgiveness, you do not deserve to carry his mistakes forever.
[He hopes so too, even though he doubts it. He certainly thinks he'll carry guilt about Credo forever. After all, if he was just a little faster, stronger, smarter, more experienced, he wouldn't have been captured by Sanctus. Credo wouldn't have needed to save him. Maybe he wouldn't have doubted him in the first place, never chosen to turn on Nero for whatever reason he saw fit to.
But no matter what happened that awful day, no matter how sick and betrayed he feels about it, he doesn't want to be angry at Credo. Can't think of him easily in those harsh terms. Not when he still remembers him as a younger man, a teenager himself, a knight recruit. Too old to need to humor or play with the little sister and her companion who pestered him, but always willing to-- even with a performative huff or roll of his eyes.]
Their parents... [He's not sure what's making him want to go into this too. That fond memory of Credo, perhaps.] Credo and Kyrie's mom and dad. They used to volunteer at the orphanage. They liked me. Thought I was funny. I think they might have adopted me, eventually, if they had the chance.
When they died, Credo took over raising Kyrie. And he kept an eye on me, too. Still treated me like one of the family. They were the only thing like a family I ever had. All of them.
[He tightens his jaw for a moment, then swallows.]
I let myself trust people. Then I get kicked in the face for it. Kind of a pattern my whole life. But it doesn't mean I want to stop trying. I just... keep wanting to be close to people, and hoping it'll work out eventually. Or hurt less the next time, at least.
[His fingers tighten on Vergil's leg, and he shifts to curl in a little closer with a shiver.]
[Things slot into place as Nero shares the memory of the parents he almost had even before Nero puts such clear words to it. Vergil's lips purse together as he realizes just how much loss Nero has experienced. His heart aches for him, for his child, and just how so shortly after birth, he came to know loss and grief. It makes more sense now why it seemed to come as such a revelation that his parents would have loved him beyond words or measure. Why he needed so much the reassurance that Vergil would not choose to act in a manner that would harm him even when doing otherwise was against his own self-interest. Why he felt so strongly to prove himself as strong and capable to Dante, to Vergil.]
I'm sorry, [he murmurs, removing the cloth from Nero's forehead.] My reasons for not being there had nothing to do with you.
[That's something Vergil knows Nero already safely assumed once he knew for sure that Vergil didn't know he existed until he was told that Nero was his son. Vergil gently presses the other, cooler side of the cloth to Nero's forehead.]
They do not matter, however. The simple fact remains that I should have been there. [Rather than returning to Nero's hair, Vergil's hand comes to rest over Nero's hand on his knee.] You should have known how precious and loved you are from the moment you were born.
[With no conditions placed upon any of it, and nothing more important that could possibly cause such a deep betrayal to happen again.]
[To the extent that he can in this position, Vergil's other arm holds Nero.]
But I have no power to change the past any more than you do. All I can do is ask that you trust me because there is no one more precious to me, and there are no promises more important than those I've made to you, my dear child.
[He didn't intend this to be an indictment of Vergil, or a demand to know where he was back then. He's almost inclined to say as much. But Nero hesitates when he finds Vergil's words resonating inside him, echoing against that dark, hollow place where Urizen's hateful words repeat, over and over. Like a salve on an ache, they work their way in and start to unravel the pain. It's what he wants, needs to hear to banish those lingering fears, at least for now. A promise that he wants to believe in, more than anything.
Nero never mentioned Vergil's role in his nightmare, but somehow they've stumbled their way around to reassurance all the same.
He balls his fist under Vergil's hand, and recognizes the awkward attempt at an embrace. It's a moment before he can say anything.]
I know shit happens. Especially with us. But... I can't tell you how much it means to me when you say that.
[His eyes open slightly, tiredly looking up at Vergil from beneath the washcloth.]
Maybe it's stupid, so soon, but... I do trust you. Just remember that, okay?
[Realistically, it's not anything Vergil didn't already know. Every step closer Nero has taken towards him has been a demonstration of trust in its own right, including the simple fact Nero was willing to afford him a chance to begin with. But Vergil feels the weight of that trust differently in having it spoken aloud, acknowledged and shaped into something nearly tangible as words often have the way of doing. It's not a terrible weight. It does not rest upon him as a burden. But it is noticeable, and it brings more clarity to just how strong his son truly is, to continue trying in ways that Vergil knows he and Dante had given up on when they were just children.]
[He nods a little.]
I'll remember, [he says, giving Nero's hand a light squeeze. Vergil allows it to remain an unspoken promise, but he does not want to fail Nero, to give him reason to ever regret placing that trust in him. Whatever it takes, Vergil wants to prove himself worthy of it even if Nero would likely say (aloud at least) that Vergil doesn't need to prove anything.] Although I will still risk that foul mouth of yours in telling you that I'd really like it if you'd consider being a little less stubborn, and try to drink something before getting some rest.
[He's careful not to ask Nero to sleep. Even if he's talked about the nightmare, vented some of the feelings and thoughts that manifested it into existence, Vergil isn't stupid. He knows Nero is liable to still be reluctant to actually sleep. But making an effort to relax to ride whatever this is out would be Vergil's preference for Nero.]
[Nero smirks at the request, but grumbles in his throat irritably all the same. He can definitely tell he's calmed down some, but his stomach is still a yawning, queasy void that feels like it got wrung out like a dishrag and then slapped back into his guts.]
I'm not stubborn. I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck.
[But he is awfully thirsty. So after a moment he makes the effort to slide an elbow behind him, sitting up enough to try and discern where his water is.]
[Vergil believes Nero when he says he feels he's been hit by a truck, but he meets the claim at not being stubborn with obvious skepticism even if he says nothing aloud to challenge that particular claim. Once Nero begins sitting up, Vergil loosens and releases his hold on Nero to allow him the movement under his own will and strength. If his hand hovers and lingers nearby for just a second to be certain Nero isn't feeling dizzy, Vergil says absolutely nothing of it. Nero's water remains on the other nightstand, and Vergil sits closer to it with the way Nero's managed to curl himself so close. He nudges Nero to sit up a little further, allowing him to lean and shift back just far enough that he's able to get the glass for Nero.]
The book you gave me, [he says as he passes the glass to Nero and sits upright once more.] I've read it a few times already, but... I suppose you could say sometimes one prefers the company of an old friend.
[It's the best way Vergil knows how to explain it. While he enjoys revisiting other books and poetry from other parts of his life, and sometimes is even so bold as to read a book published in the last century, there is a comfort in reading his favorites that cannot be replicated with any others. These past few weeks, he's felt he's needed such a comfort although he gives no such indications to Nero that's the case. As far as Vergil is concerned, this is a bit of small talk now before Nero makes an earnest effort to rest.]
[Nero attempts to get up on his own power, briefly, but finds such a drain of exhaustion weighing him down that he swiftly gives up. He stays upright long enough to let Vergil fetch his water for him, then carefully takes it. He slumps back at enough of an angle where he can try to drink without dumping it all over his face, still leaning as bodily on Vergil as the position allows.
He perks up a little when Vergil mentions the book. Glances, as though to confirm it's the one he bought. Then he looks quietly proud of himself.]
Is it good? The guy at the bookstore said he thought it'd be nice.
[Vergil doesn't mind the way Nero props himself up against him, and is frankly prepared to prop him entirely if need be. But he takes it as a good sign that Nero is only partially leaning on him in the end and able to hold himself up even a little.]
It is, [Vergil confirms with a nod.] It rounds out my collection of Blake, and is a good start to the others.
[Dante had taken issue with Vergil's refusal to really acquire much by way of things for himself. He had been here for nine months on his own, and hadn't taken the liberty to acquire his own books, contenting himself with borrowing copies from the library for as much as he needed or wanted. Frankly, Vergil still finds it a bit silly to concern himself with gathering books when he will not likely be able to take them with him when he leaves this place someday. Folkmore is, after all, just stop along the way back to the human world and by far not Vergil's final destination. But he won't deny that it's been...nice. To have copies that are his own again. Even if he finds himself in disagreement with Dante's logic overall, he can see some semblance of a point to it now that he's had a few more tangible things to call his own after being so long without beyond the clothes on his back and the Yamato.]
I'm surprised you didn't take the chance to read some of it before gifting it to me. You were getting quite good at making the books seem untouched at the apartment.
[Nero's been a little busted as far as reading Vergil's books is concerned for a while now, but it's only now that Vergil's chosen to acknowledge it openly.]
[Nero outright smiles, pleased at his success. Part of him wondered if the book might be kind of basic for somebody who reads as much as Vergil-- like buying the equivalent of a kindergartner's first poetry book for a lifelong enthusiast, or something.
He's taking a sip of water when Vergil slyly suggests he could have read it beforehand, and mentions his prior, secretive snooping around the books at the apartment. Now that they live in Vergil's room he's not touched them much. But it's not really that he was sneaking them...
He swallows gingerly.] I tried to. Same as I tried all your other poetry books. [He purses his lips a bit, then shrugs a little sheepishly.] Afraid they all make the same amount of sense to me. Which is, not much. But I've never been a real great reader when it comes to the fancy stuff.
[Vergil raises a slight eyebrow at the labeling of poetry as "fancy stuff." While he cannot really speak to how strong of a reader Nero is or is not, Vergil certainly doesn't find poetry to be something so out of reach for even a weaker reader to grasp some understanding. Poetry, after all, had its origins as an oral tradition rather than written. To that end, he asks,]
Out of curiosity, did you ever read them aloud or were you only reading them in your head?
Nope. [A beat.] Unless you count moving my lips while I read.
["Words pretty I guess" is most of what Nero has ever gotten out of reading poetry. Except he managed to find that one Blake poem while he was flipping through, it was short enough to read over it enough times to realize it would be a really nice, heartfelt spot to leave his envelope full of baby pictures.]
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[He does, actually, because putting it to words might be enough to banish the fucking thing from doing laps in his head. But how the hell is he supposed to tell Vergil what has him so upset when the answer is him? The dark, cruel, wicked side of him that Nero met before he ever knew his name or their relationship? The one who caused very real harm, least of all to Nero personally?
It'd be honest, but it also feels like he'd be confronting him all over again, and that's the last thing he wants to do when he feels this miserable-- to make Vergil feel miserable too.]
It's dumb. It's just a stupid dream.
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[Regardless of whether what Nero dreamed is something he fears will happen or already has happened, the fact remains that it was something his feverish mind concocted and not his current reality.]
The only power it holds over you now is what you concede to it.
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[That comes out a bit more flat than he would have liked it to. But, well... it's true. And he gets the feeling Vergil wouldn't think it was quite so stupid if he heard the details.]
It was all... stuff that happened. But it can't change now. Just decided to remind me about it for some damn reason. [Fever. Upset stomach. Ongoing insecurities about Vergil and the ripples of their relationship thus far.
Credo's death. Again. That's a nightmare he's had a hundred times in the past five years.]
Stupid how a dream can make you feel this shit. Or. Other way around, whatever.
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[Vergil faintly hums his agreement to that sentiment.]
The past possesses an unpleasant ability to find its way into the present. Most often when it is liable to be the most distressing or otherwise inconvenient.
[He remains even in speaking. There's no stuttering to the circles on Nero's back, nor a hesitation in refreshing the cloth once more. Nothing reveals Vergil's internal world at that precise moment. But there is a guilt all the same that gnaws at Vergil in his chest, knowing it was a nightmare of the past. He knows it's entirely possible that the dream tonight had little or absolutely nothing to do with him, but that's irrelevant. The chance is not zero, and even if it was not tonight, who is to say it would not be some other night? And what is Vergil to do then? How is he meant to soothe his own child when he is the very source of his nightmares?]
And as you've said, it is not anything that can be changed. Even when it exists in the present, the past remains as it was. It's... [A maddening feeling of such helplessness for Vergil, quite frankly, and one of those emotions he previously did not need to contend with before allowing more of his own humanity to exist. But, to borrow Nero's vernacular rather than even beginning to explain something like that, which is largely irrelevant here,] Stupid.
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[Vergil's longwindedness does have its advantages sometimes. Nero's relieved to find his voice... soothing somehow, at the moment. Maybe it's hearing it from this position, curled up with his head resting on his lap. Or maybe it's hearing it as it is now, in reality, free of the deep mutation that haunted it when he was Urizen-- the voice Nero can still hear gnawing at the back of his consciousness.
He focuses on the sound of Vergil's voice and his continuing gentle ministrations. Nero shifts a little, laying a little more relaxed, and one of his hands comes up to rest atop Vergil's knee. A solid little grip that he hopes feels affectionate.
But Urizen wasn't the only distressing image in his nightmare.]
It was Credo again. I dream about him... a lot.
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[Credo...]
[He's someone as part of Nero's life that stands out to Vergil compared to others. Not so much for what Nero has shared as it is how he's shared it with Vergil so far. In the beginning, when Nero shared bits of his life with Vergil and the people who had a hand one way or another in making him who he is, it was short bursts. If Vergil had to guess, it was a lingering wariness that likely drove Nero to share only a little at a time in starts and stops, gauging Vergil's interest in the topics and people of his life rather than simply going all in on the topic. But even as the stories have lengthened and the details have grown greater in number for others, Credo still seems to come out in those same short bursts. Vergil hesitates to put a feeling or particular reason behind it without Nero naming it himself, but he knows it's important, that Credo is important.]
I take it this time was particularly bad?
[Vergil dries his hand off, pressing it into his own shirt for a moment before running his fingers through Nero's hair again. His fingers on that hand are noticeably cooler against Nero's scalp after having held the cloth this entire time. He rests his other forearm on Nero, no longer rubbing at his back now that so much of his earlier tension appears to have left him.]
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He subtly shifts again, pressing up against the cool cloth, then back against Vergil's smoothing touch.
It occurs to him vaguely that he's not really talked about Credo to Vergil. Mostly because he can't. He exists in Nero's heart and memory like a wound that never really healed, that still stings and even bleeds all these years later.]
He was Kyrie's older brother. Captain of the Holy Knights in Fortuna. He taught me... everything. He was my mentor when I was with them.
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[It was something Nero spoke about with hindsight clarity. Not that Nero was likely to have been completely unaware of the trouble he caused at the time, but it was most likely harder not to feel it to be a reflection of the Order being inflexible rather than anything he held responsibility for. While that's still not untrue—the Order had their preferred ways of doing things and certainly refused to deviate—Nero can likely now see where it may have been to his (and Credo's) benefit to keep his head down a little more and only cause trouble when it really mattered.]
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[He smiles a little in spite of himself. Looking back now, he doesn't envy Credo being responsible for him in his teenage years. On top of the explosive temper he could be sullen, bratty, arrogant, and a dozen other rancid moods depending on the day. Credo handled them all with stern grace and discipline, and never once backhanded Nero or throttled him no matter how much he probably had it coming. Even bent his own authority to make a space for Nero that suited him, because he knew he was worthy of the trouble.
He hopes that speaking his honest feelings about Credo won't make Vergil feel guilty or inadequate. But back then he had no father, no Dante, nobody else who even came close. Credo was the only one who didn't treat him like a nuisance, or a weapon to be used against the Order's enemies. At least, not exclusively. After all, Credo was the only one of his superiors who showed concern for his "permanently" wounded arm.]
He was like an older brother to me. The only man in the Order worth looking up to. Worth wanting to be like, and wanting to earn his respect.
[Which made what followed all the more painful.]
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What happened to him?
[Vergil asks the question as gently as he can. The consistent past tense that's been there from the moment Nero first mentioned Credo to now has not escaped Vergil's attention, and knowing what the Order tried to do... Well, it's not difficult to imagine the man's fate was likely abrupt and unpleasant. But Nero's said nothing of it to give it a more defined shape than that.]
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He counts on that being enough for right now.]
When they found out I was part demon... he turned on me. Tried to capture me on Sanctus' orders.
[He pauses to collect himself for the rest.]
Then he tried to save me and Kyrie. Sanctus murdered him. And I couldn't do a damn thing.
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[Vergil bites back such criticisms, but he cannot help but wonder and ask,]
Have you forgiven him?
[Vergil suspects he knows the answer already, but he does not understand it.]
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I don't know.
[He hesitates, not because it's difficult to put these thoughts to words-- not when they've been on repeat in his head, over and over, for so many years. It's because it hurts to acknowledge them out loud, as though speaking makes them true.]
I never got the chance to ask him. If he thought he was doing the right thing. If he thought I was dangerous, or wrong, or if I just meant less to him than the Order. If he was sorry, or if he regretted anything, or if he knew what he meant to me... or if I ever really made him proud.
[His eyes close a little tighter.] He just died. Right in front of me. I wasn't strong enough to save him. And now I have to live with it all. All those questions he can never answer for me. All these complicated feelings and memories. Never really knowing what he thought.
It's like... a ghost. I don't know if it'll ever stop haunting me. Even if I can forgive him someday.
cw: reference to parent death
[On the one hand, what Nero says does nothing to really alleviate Vergil's skepticism. Not to say that Vergil would have backed down entirely from the notion simply because Nero emphasized the man's positive traits, or even if he provided some evidence to Vergil that would dismiss the thought process of a less than honorable mentor whose affection had its limits in the end. But too much of Nero's own doubts mirror Vergil's in a way that can't be ignored. For Nero to so openly and plainly state that he bears his own doubts about what Credo truly thought and felt when Vergil knows him to offer so much more benefit of the doubt to the people he cares about... It's telling. That's the very least Vergil can acknowledge.]
[But on the other hand, Vergil also knows what it is like to struggle with such forgiveness. When he held so tightly to the belief that his mother had been too weak to save him, that she abandoned him in favor of his brother and died with him instead, he still had questions. Even with as angry as he was, as certain he remained about his decision to turn from his humanity as it served no purpose beyond acting as an inherent weakness, as much as he would have denied it had he ever been asked, Vergil still wanted to know why. Why did she not come when he cried for her? He was not keen to forgive her as Nero seems wanting to forgive Credo, and did not want the answers as a means of absolving her, but... He wanted that closure. As much as any child would to someone they believed was meant to protect them, but failed in a catastrophic manner. In a way that felt like a deep betrayal from which there is no healing.]
[He draws another breath, looking away from Nero even as Nero's eyes remain closed.]
I don't know what will bring you peace. [Vergil had the benefit of Dante to know more of the truth, to change his understanding and forgive Eva for not reaching him that day even as his hatred of his mother now settles as a regret, as something he can never seek forgiveness for himself. Nero does not have that luxury. There is no one that would have known enough to know Credo's mind in those final moments to bring him such clarity.] But I hope you are able to find it. Regardless of whether or not he deserves forgiveness, you do not deserve to carry his mistakes forever.
cw: reference to parent death
[He hopes so too, even though he doubts it. He certainly thinks he'll carry guilt about Credo forever. After all, if he was just a little faster, stronger, smarter, more experienced, he wouldn't have been captured by Sanctus. Credo wouldn't have needed to save him. Maybe he wouldn't have doubted him in the first place, never chosen to turn on Nero for whatever reason he saw fit to.
But no matter what happened that awful day, no matter how sick and betrayed he feels about it, he doesn't want to be angry at Credo. Can't think of him easily in those harsh terms. Not when he still remembers him as a younger man, a teenager himself, a knight recruit. Too old to need to humor or play with the little sister and her companion who pestered him, but always willing to-- even with a performative huff or roll of his eyes.]
Their parents... [He's not sure what's making him want to go into this too. That fond memory of Credo, perhaps.] Credo and Kyrie's mom and dad. They used to volunteer at the orphanage. They liked me. Thought I was funny. I think they might have adopted me, eventually, if they had the chance.
When they died, Credo took over raising Kyrie. And he kept an eye on me, too. Still treated me like one of the family. They were the only thing like a family I ever had. All of them.
[He tightens his jaw for a moment, then swallows.]
I let myself trust people. Then I get kicked in the face for it. Kind of a pattern my whole life. But it doesn't mean I want to stop trying. I just... keep wanting to be close to people, and hoping it'll work out eventually. Or hurt less the next time, at least.
[His fingers tighten on Vergil's leg, and he shifts to curl in a little closer with a shiver.]
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I'm sorry, [he murmurs, removing the cloth from Nero's forehead.] My reasons for not being there had nothing to do with you.
[That's something Vergil knows Nero already safely assumed once he knew for sure that Vergil didn't know he existed until he was told that Nero was his son. Vergil gently presses the other, cooler side of the cloth to Nero's forehead.]
They do not matter, however. The simple fact remains that I should have been there. [Rather than returning to Nero's hair, Vergil's hand comes to rest over Nero's hand on his knee.] You should have known how precious and loved you are from the moment you were born.
[With no conditions placed upon any of it, and nothing more important that could possibly cause such a deep betrayal to happen again.]
[To the extent that he can in this position, Vergil's other arm holds Nero.]
But I have no power to change the past any more than you do. All I can do is ask that you trust me because there is no one more precious to me, and there are no promises more important than those I've made to you, my dear child.
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Nero never mentioned Vergil's role in his nightmare, but somehow they've stumbled their way around to reassurance all the same.
He balls his fist under Vergil's hand, and recognizes the awkward attempt at an embrace. It's a moment before he can say anything.]
I know shit happens. Especially with us. But... I can't tell you how much it means to me when you say that.
[His eyes open slightly, tiredly looking up at Vergil from beneath the washcloth.]
Maybe it's stupid, so soon, but... I do trust you. Just remember that, okay?
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[He nods a little.]
I'll remember, [he says, giving Nero's hand a light squeeze. Vergil allows it to remain an unspoken promise, but he does not want to fail Nero, to give him reason to ever regret placing that trust in him. Whatever it takes, Vergil wants to prove himself worthy of it even if Nero would likely say (aloud at least) that Vergil doesn't need to prove anything.] Although I will still risk that foul mouth of yours in telling you that I'd really like it if you'd consider being a little less stubborn, and try to drink something before getting some rest.
[He's careful not to ask Nero to sleep. Even if he's talked about the nightmare, vented some of the feelings and thoughts that manifested it into existence, Vergil isn't stupid. He knows Nero is liable to still be reluctant to actually sleep. But making an effort to relax to ride whatever this is out would be Vergil's preference for Nero.]
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I'm not stubborn. I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck.
[But he is awfully thirsty. So after a moment he makes the effort to slide an elbow behind him, sitting up enough to try and discern where his water is.]
What were you reading?
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The book you gave me, [he says as he passes the glass to Nero and sits upright once more.] I've read it a few times already, but... I suppose you could say sometimes one prefers the company of an old friend.
[It's the best way Vergil knows how to explain it. While he enjoys revisiting other books and poetry from other parts of his life, and sometimes is even so bold as to read a book published in the last century, there is a comfort in reading his favorites that cannot be replicated with any others. These past few weeks, he's felt he's needed such a comfort although he gives no such indications to Nero that's the case. As far as Vergil is concerned, this is a bit of small talk now before Nero makes an earnest effort to rest.]
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He perks up a little when Vergil mentions the book. Glances, as though to confirm it's the one he bought. Then he looks quietly proud of himself.]
Is it good? The guy at the bookstore said he thought it'd be nice.
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It is, [Vergil confirms with a nod.] It rounds out my collection of Blake, and is a good start to the others.
[Dante had taken issue with Vergil's refusal to really acquire much by way of things for himself. He had been here for nine months on his own, and hadn't taken the liberty to acquire his own books, contenting himself with borrowing copies from the library for as much as he needed or wanted. Frankly, Vergil still finds it a bit silly to concern himself with gathering books when he will not likely be able to take them with him when he leaves this place someday. Folkmore is, after all, just stop along the way back to the human world and by far not Vergil's final destination. But he won't deny that it's been...nice. To have copies that are his own again. Even if he finds himself in disagreement with Dante's logic overall, he can see some semblance of a point to it now that he's had a few more tangible things to call his own after being so long without beyond the clothes on his back and the Yamato.]
I'm surprised you didn't take the chance to read some of it before gifting it to me. You were getting quite good at making the books seem untouched at the apartment.
[Nero's been a little busted as far as reading Vergil's books is concerned for a while now, but it's only now that Vergil's chosen to acknowledge it openly.]
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He's taking a sip of water when Vergil slyly suggests he could have read it beforehand, and mentions his prior, secretive snooping around the books at the apartment. Now that they live in Vergil's room he's not touched them much. But it's not really that he was sneaking them...
He swallows gingerly.] I tried to. Same as I tried all your other poetry books. [He purses his lips a bit, then shrugs a little sheepishly.] Afraid they all make the same amount of sense to me. Which is, not much. But I've never been a real great reader when it comes to the fancy stuff.
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Out of curiosity, did you ever read them aloud or were you only reading them in your head?
[He idly smooths down a tuft of Nero's hair.]
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["Words pretty I guess" is most of what Nero has ever gotten out of reading poetry. Except he managed to find that one Blake poem while he was flipping through, it was short enough to read over it enough times to realize it would be a really nice, heartfelt spot to leave his envelope full of baby pictures.]
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