Frequent rain in Epiphany is nothing particularly new to Vergil after over a year living there, but the amount and frequency of downpours is becoming increasingly inconvenient, and especially so when it is in regions that typically do not see such similar amounts of rainfall. Even for someone like Vergil who is generally content with limited ventures out of the home, it's difficult to not have plans altered by the heavens suddenly opening up with little to no warning. As was the case in this instance.
Vergil had been on his way home from a walk through Willow—just a simple one with no particular reason or direction beyond just getting out of the house for a little while—when the sky suddenly darkened. The light rainfall that preceded the torrential downpour was minuscule, offering Vergil little time to (literally) duck into one of the little burrows for temporary shelter. Frankly, he cares little if the home is occupied or not. He has no desire to be soaked any further than he already is, and will deal with the potential consequence of barging in on a stranger unannounced.
It would seem, at first, that the one he's chosen is unoccupied. Once the door is closed and the sound of the storm is muffled beyond the door, the burrow is more or less silent (sans the sound of him lightly dripping in the entryway, anyways). And not only is it silent, but it would appear to be dark based upon an initial glance as his eyes adjust to the limited natural light. Vergil steps further into the home, minding his head and the ceiling as he goes. He only manages a few steps in when he hears the padding of paws on the ground rapidly approaching, turning to face whatever intends to charge him and...
Vergil frowns. He frowns deeply, lip curling slightly in disgust at the slobber that's now on half his face from the rough tongue attempting to groom him. He tries at first to simply dislodge the paws resting on his shoulders, but eventually must place a hand square in the middle of the panther's chest. He gives Shadow a gentle shove back down to the floor.
"Off, you nuisance," he says to the demonic familiar before lifting his gaze to scan for his master in the dark of the burrow. If he gives Shadow a pat on the head at the same time, perhaps somewhat undermining his lack of affection in getting the beast to stop, he will deny it. "Is there a reason you're skulking about in the shadows?"
When the entrance to V's temporary respite opens, he stays back. Griffon stays silent in the dark, rather than quipping and giving away their presence (or exact location). Shadow stalks forward, and V trusts him not to start a fight without acceptable reason. That's not the reaction the intruder gets, and V squints into the darkness to make out who so quickly woos his familiar's affection. Ah—
A moment before Vergil speaks, V makes him out well enough to tell its him. It makes complete sense. Who else would Shadow feel so comfortable with immediately? V is a part of Vergil, and Vergil thus is him. It almost feels like betrayal, except that it eases something inside him that Shadow recognizes that part of him inside Vergil. Griffon opens his beak, and V rests a heavy hand on it. "Shut it."
He steps forward into the lesser dark toward Vergil and Shadow. He scritches Shadow's back where it comes to hand and refuses the bait in Vergil's words. "The same as you, I suspect," V says, "Better this coffin black than the storm outside."
With a motion toward the wall, V shrugs. "And the electricity in this burrow is out."
"Wonderful," Vergil says dryly. Bad enough that he needed to seeks shelter in one of these uncomfortable hovels in the ground, but worse yet that it is much more a literal hole in the ground with its lack of basic amenities. From there, Vergil's hand leaves Shadow to begin peeling off his coat. It's an uncomfortable weight albeit not for its heaviness so much as the fact it is damp and sticks to him. "I don't suppose there is anything for the fireplace, is there?"
Willow seems to pride itself on home and hearth in a very literal sense. So, it stands to reason that there is a fireplace in this burrow much like the one he had been forced to occupy before. The matter of kindling and means with which to light it is less certain given the home is technically unoccupied beyond these two (or four, if counting the current familiars out and about) unexpected intruders. Vergil believes V sensible enough to have checked for such materials though had he enough time to look before Vergil entered the burrow. It could very well have been that Vergil interrupted V in lighting the aforementioned fireplace.
The burrow is dry and at a comfortable temperature. Admittedly, soaked as V is, that comfortable temperature isn't enough, but their surroundings could be far worse. He subtly checks for the telltale sign of the Yamato on Vergil's person to verify that the situation, however Vergil thinks of it, isn't worth slicing reality to avoid. V isn't worth admitting that strong a desire to avoid. Heaven forbid Vergil show such weakness, should he feel that way.
It does not matter what happened while Vergil was sick, and V hasn't informed anyone of it. He will not beggar care from Nero with it.
The current situation is easier to stick with. V comes out of the dark recesses to make his way over toward the fireplace. He crouches next to its side, where an inset shelf contains a small supply of chopped logs. "The primary materials are here," V says, "I can make a fire of them given a little time."
He's made fires for himself before across Red Grave City with a variety of supplies. Some of them didn't smell pleasant, but the meat he cooked was worse. Vergil knows that, of course, but V refuses to let the man handle everything, even if Vergil can. V's weak, not helpless. He starts setting up the logs and goes to a bookshelf in the home to find a book whose pages he can use as part of the kindling. "Make yourself at home."
As V moves about in the dark, Vergil hangs his coat up on one of the pegs nearby to the door. It likely won't dry by the time the storm has passed and they're able to leave the burrow, but he hardly needs it for warmth. He can simply carry it back with him when they're free of this rain. He places the Yamato nearby to his coat, allowing it to lean against the wall before scoffing lightly at V's invitation to make himself at home. For as discomforting as V's presence tends to be for Vergil, he has no intention of just loitering about in the entryway.
Remaining mindful of the lower exposed beams of the burrow, Vergil makes his way over towards the fireplace. He claims an armchair for himself before a particular familiar can get any further ideas about invading his personal space again. While V is busy starting the fire, Vergil leans down, unbuckling the garter on his boots to toe them off. Unlike his coat, it is a little more inconvenient to have them wet. They may still not yet dry all the way in front of the fire, but even a little drier is preferred.
As is often the case, Vergil remains silent rather than reaching for conversation with V. Running his fingers through his hair instead of speaking, he pushes loose strands back out of his face. The rainwater helps keep them in the position he pushes them into rather than having them fall back in his face. Vergil almost goes to wipe the excess water that dampens his hand on his shirt or pantleg, but there's little point in that. He shakes off the bit of excess water that dampens his hand before more subtly drying it against the fabric of the armchair. With that, he settles a little more into his seat albeit still silent as the burrow they occupy.
V gets the fire going and sits on a couch across from the armchair Vergil claims. Shadow leaps up, claiming most of the space and V's lap. Unlike Vergil, V doesn't bother removing anything to dry it off. His clothes are little enough he'd be stripping down to little. As it isn't bath time, they're in a semi-public place, and honestly he doesn't want to strip down near his opposite, V stays as he is. His clothes are only soaked with water, not demon gore. They're practically clean and spotless.
He too sits in silence. Shadow's purring fills the air between them, and it would be a calm time if that were that. Unfortunately, Griffon spits off nonstop in V's ear, pushing and cajoling and finally threatening to make himself known if V won't handle things "properly." The threat of roast chicken for dinner is an empty one, mostly, and V's face screws up under the litany. Vergil doesn't need the familiars and doesn't appear to have them anymore. In moments like these, that makes him lucky.
"Should we thank our host for this meeting, or does serendipity still play some role in this realm?" V asks. It's terrible conversation, nothing substantive. However, it moderately satisfies the bird. It's... something.
Vergil watches V briefly as he steps over to the couch, but settles his gaze on the fire instead of watching the other man be seated and subsequently buried beneath his familiar. The silence between them stretches on. Vergil does not exactly find it disquieting, but neither is it a particularly comfortable silence either. It's strange how there can be both at once so much and so little between two people. V bears too much knowledge of Vergil's inner workings for him to be at ease, but Vergil also feels confident in that V cannot know everything either.
His gaze slides over to V when he speaks, the ever-present furrow in Vergil's brow deepening slightly at the attempt for small talk.
"I was merely out for a walk. It is quieter in Willow than Epiphany, and makes for a more pleasant walk."
Vergil looks back to the fire, not inquiring what V was doing out this way. It's none of his concern, but he also feels it's not unreasonable to assume he was likely surveying prospects of more permanent housing than the guest cottage he has been occupying since his arrival. Which is based upon another assumption that it must be a slower process with how weak he now is, his body ravaged by being separated from its other half as long as it had been in their world.
Willow and Epiphany are the regions V spends the most time in and the land bordering the two the most. Epiphany is a city, and with it comes more noise. Beyond that, the whole places feels different, like V's walking in memories rather than a new and unknown city. It's a mildly discomforting place, not entirely unlike being in Vergil's presence. However, V believes it's something, not his mind granting Vergil rights to an entire city. It's why he stays in Willow, rather than moving to Satori Hills apartments. The quaint style in Willow isn't what he'd design from scratch, but there's no point considering regions even further from... his family.
Yes, whatever else anyone calls it, they are family. The burrows are the closest housing to Epiphany without being there proper, so some place like the furnished hole they are in will become his home. It's a touch squat, but V hopes to find one he can stand tall in, even if he rarely does so in practice. However, no one's come to turn him out of his temporary housing, so he hasn't felt any rush.
He supposes Vergil needs some quiet from life at home. People make noise and impede on solitude and quiet. Even when they don't speak to Vergil, the half-devil has to be aware of where they all are. It also suggests his relationships may not be entirely easy with everyone. That makes sense. As little as V has lived, he expects it takes longer than Vergil and Nero have been in Folkmore to figure out their relationship. Vergil may have a head start, but he's not the target for V to reach for. V will make his own path, not retread old grown. That's the only way it works for him to live. He cannot be the same as Vergil.
"I was on my way to Epiphany," V says, though Vergil hasn't asked. He may have difficulty with Vergil, but the Russian Blue is open to bribes.
Vergil has very low tolerance for small talk. It is not necessarily because he finds it agitating—although he does sometimes find its tedium to be grating upon his nerves—but the lack of purpose he's found in it leads him to not be particularly gifted in keeping it going. Therefore, he'd much prefer it to be over sooner rather than later. So much so, he'd rather it not start at all in the first place. Those who know Vergil, know that fact quite well. And for one with so much unearned, intimate knowledge of him, Vergil would assume V knows that.
And yet.
Vergil's gaze moves over to V as the silence continues after he elects to inform Vergil he was on his way to Epiphany, but Vergil says nothing. There is no follow-up question or speculation about his purpose for being in Epiphany. No demonstrated interest in what V may have to say. Just a wariness as to why V seems to be seeking not just conversation, but such small talk. It's not so much that Vergil assigns a nefarious, ulterior motive behind the decision to make conversation, but it does seem at odds with his understanding of Vergil to make such an overture. Especially when Vergil believes he has been abundantly clear with V that he has no interest in friendship or camaraderie. In this place, they are two separate people regardless of V's origins. Vergil owes nothing to V and V owes nothing to him. So, why? What reason is there to try and make small talk, friendly conversation?
See, V tells Griffon internally. Look what all good that did. They're in no better a situation, save that the silence and gaze is less comfortable than before. Griffon has an opinion on that too, and of course it's all V's fault. He's the one who made that conversation what it was. Griffon didn't feed him the lines. That only leads to more frustration on his part, though it's unclear where he might vent it or find a worthy target. Griffon? Himself? Not Vergil who is only being true to himself.
It's not the time for that, regardless, as he and Vergil remain in the same place.
"I am glad you are back to good health," V says into that unfriendly silence. "It was unwelcome news to hear our host not only could but had brought the force of her power down upon you."
The feeling of helplessness, the reminder of what it was like when they were young, it had to be beyond aggravating. Probably a bad call to talk about it, but the friendlier talk led to less friendly looks. However weak V is, Vergil is strong, and it's stranger to see Vergil brought low than to be so weak himself. He is the weak one, and despite that, he'll show Vergil he's not weak.
"I am sure it was of great concern to you," Vergil replies. His tone is dry enough that it would probably be difficult for most to discern whether he is being sarcastic or not. And to some extent, he is being sarcastic. He doesn't believe that his well-being should be of overwhelming concern to V at this point given that they owe one another nothing. Just as Vergil does not go out of his way to concern himself with V, he assumes V to do the same in return. But Vergil would believe for V, seeing his true self brought so low through Thirteen's power would give him some measure of pause when his own strength threatens to give out on him under too much exertion all on its own. It would not be enough to discourage him from remaining in this place, of course. He has no alternative than Folkmore as it is. But it would still give him a reason to consider what he would do had the opposite been true. After all, unlike Vergil, V does not have family in such close proximity to look after him and, to Vergil's knowledge, they do not make it habit to check on him.
Thus, V must have considered what he would have done had it been him to fall ill instead of Vergil. So Vergil assumes, anyways.
Self-control means V doesn't roll his eyes at Vergil for the clear shortsightedness of his response. The idea that because he has decided that V means nothing to him by the dictates of logic, because he declared that they are both nothing to each other, and because his temper lashed out at V and walked out... the idea that any or all of that means V cannot be concerned for Vergil for any reason beyond his own sake and survival is ludicrous. Yes V put so much effort into survival, into seeing his survival continue in some shape or form, even if it isn't this, yet he also has cared for himself, for versions of himself that are not him. Even Urizen he has feelings for and some measure of protectiveness of, if only the power of Urizen's lashing out in pain didn't hurt so many people, if only V didn't need to motivate others with the tale of a brother, a demon, a monster...
He takes an even breath. He strokes Shadow's head (aware that likely makes him look only the more like a villain).
"Enough of a concern to play her games," V says quietly but firmly. Not for his own sake. After all, when it came to that trial, he was not the weak one. His familiars were perfectly suited to the task at hand—to subdue but not eliminate the enemy. He was perfectly suited. He was not powerless but powerful. As exhausted as it left him, as much as he lay about recovering for over a week once it was all done and gone, he did it. He could, and he did.
He doesn't care about getting "credit" for his actions from Vergil. The reward of seeing Vergil hale and healthy is enough. He simply doesn't care for Vergil's idea of them. Even if it is true on Vergil's side (or Vergil has convinced himself of that), it isn't for V. There's very few people he cares about besides himself, and Vergil is one. For all the good it does him.
Vergil's discomfort at that revelation is not particularly visible beyond the way he briefly looks away, but it is still palpable. For a moment or two, it is merely the sheets of rain can be heard falling against the front-facing windows, drowning out some of the quieter crackles and pops from the fire. In that silent moment, Vergil remains in unspoken tension at odds with the relative peace of their environs, the storm outside not withstanding. But in the end, he does not leave it to V to continue dragging on the conversation, trying to find voice and words that will not be suffocated so quickly by Vergil's temperament or discomfort in being once more in V's presence.
"We sit as two men assured that he knows the other better than the other knows himself." A fallacy they both share and cannot be faulted for. And yet, Vergil still bristles when V asserts himself as though bearing such deep knowledge. He imagines some part of V must do the same. Maybe not for the same reason as Vergil, but something in him must find some offense in the way Vergil acts based upon his assumptions in knowledge of him. "In such confidence, we run the danger of eliminating what the other could be in favor of what we assume him to be."
It is the closest that Vergil is willing to openly acknowledge that he does not understand V. Not in his desire to talk. Not in his will to remain close by. And certainly not his decision to pursue a cure on Vergil's behalf. It is not out of a desire to spare V's feelings or to perhaps save face for himself, so much as Vergil refuses to acknowledge the very fear V stirs within him. Such a thing would be too vulnerable to say, a line too far for where Vergil would be willing to go now or, perhaps, ever.
He draws a breath through his nose, and looks at V again with his lips pursed. Even if he remains the least tempted to let loose his lips, there is a barrage of words that press upon him for release all the same.
The lack of an immediate outburst or action to shod himself in wet shoes and leaves is a good sign. It's better than their last conversation, at the least, yet V remains on edge, more alert to every small movement and sign from Vergil than he would an enemy. An enemy needs only be killed. Attention beyond what that needs is uncalled for. Vergil, however, must be handled with great care. Might he be accused of being manipulative, indirect, or untrustworthy again? Perhaps, but V was burned once. He does not mind the bite. He hasn't become shy. He simply doesn't want to push Vergil away.
Yet he cannot help the immediate reaction to bristle at Vergil's first words. They sound less like an admission of guilt on Vergil's part than an accusation at V, for what he said to Vergil before. V will admit freely there's some things he does not know about Vergil (yet), but it sounds as easy a method for Vergil to distance himself from V when V knows him.
It takes a moment or two longer for V to recognize that Vergil includes himself in that statement, that it comes with an admission that Vergil does not know everything about V despite having all of V's memories and lived experience prior to his coming to Folkmore. That humbling of himself comes with a call, no a demand, that V do the same. It's a bittersweet taste until—
Vergil follows it up, and his chest aches at what the other could be. The words do not say to each other, but they're implied. Some form of connection, however tenuous, lies within those words. V hungers for it, for the forbidden impossible connection that he never imagined the chance to have. The opportunity to get to know Vergil, to meet and to talk together, is all the more precious because it is impossible back home. He may have squandered his opportunities to get to know Nero and Dante, focused more on the mission than the men, but he lacked this chance altogether.
Vergil is both V's past and his future, his existence carved out of the timeline of another's life. The best doom V could hope for. He takes deep even breaths, only coughing for a moment, and looks at that stone wall of a face. Something hard protecting something tender.
"I would rather have imperfect reality than perfect imagination," V says. He looks at Vergil, well aware he's more or less made himself more open in his interest in having something between them. He needed to, or where could they go? It terrified him to tell Nero he wanted them to be something, even when he felt Nero reflect that desire. Vergil is far more tight lipped.
V's answer does not come as a surprise. Not really. Not when Vergil tries to consider the alternatives than what he's chosen for things to be between them thus far. But Vergil cannot begin to understand it regardless of its predictability. His expression remains the same, unyielding in his scrutiny of V as though the answer would yet reveal itself in a simple expression or movement. The warm glow and shadows of the fire continue to dance along V's face, and nothing changes in his understanding.
"To what end?"
Vergil could sit in his lack of understanding, but he knows himself too well. Such lack of understanding would only lend itself to frustration, and frustration could only culminate in what it had on the day V most closely possesses as the day of his birth. Perhaps not today, but eventually it would happen again. In some ways, that would suit Vergil just fine. A lack of change would not create some irreparable harm or spark some cataclysmic event. But he would rather not be left guessing as to V's intentions in the end, and if he is to make some meaningful step to not fall within the trap of believing he understands more than he does... Well, Vergil had best ask. So, he does.
Though V's statement would be true about nearly anything. He enjoys poetry, but in so far as there is an imperfect reality, he prefers it to his imagination. He wants to do more and experience more and... live. The fact that Vergil is here, that the impossible has become possible, is enough to draw V's attention to it sharply. It took little time to know that he wanted this relationship, longer to think about why. Because that's the natural question, one he asked himself. How could he expect Vergil not to want the answer? And considering the possibility that he might want it more than Vergil—certainly he is more isolated than Vergil and thus, to be frank, in greater need of it—what portion of that answer could he give? Everything feels so unsteady that regardless of the way it'd make him feel raw and exposed, weak in a way that might get slammed in his face, it might be foolish to give the full unadulterated answer?
V controls his body first and foremost. He pushes Griffon's mind away and continues to breath steadily. He lets the weight of Shadow's head in his lap be a comfort. He's not alone, not entirely, not in every way that matters. He will not be, even if Vergil rejects him and any chance of something between them.
"Because I care about you, and I want to help you when I can, and I want your help when I need it," V says it with a calm voice, but his mouth feels dry and patchy. When was the last time he drank water? His heart races, and his pulse jumps. Shadow rolls his head until he can trap V's hand underneath it. It's held steady and warm in V's lap. He had to say the last part. Vergil wouldn't believe V wanting to help him one way, though he will do that part no matter what Vergil says, limited only by the means it is possible. He does not want to take more than he gives, but damn it if he didn't realize he wanted someone to save him trapped and cornered when he thought he was about to die having failed.
He wants what Vergil denied him when he cut V out. Not to be discarded as scraps, as useless. Vergil understands V differently now but as a part of himself. Recognizing V as his own person is barely more. It makes him little more than the useless scrapes of society around Vergil. The book, V thought the book means there's something more from Vergil. It's something V could have saved and bought himself. He didn't need Vergil to give him the book, but he finds he may have needed Vergil giving him... anything. Anything at all. He doesn't want that taken away. How foolish he is. How much he cannot say, cannot explain.
Vergil has been self-interested for such a very long time, and arguably, that has not changed. He does not go out of his way to help others, and it is not much of an argument that needs to be made that what sacrifices he may be willing to make for those closest to his heart bears a degree of selfishness to them. After all, protecting his son, his brother, and his lover go a long way in protecting his tender, weak human heart, still struggling as a child would in his newly acknowledged feelings. Still it seems an alien, untrue thing to hear V say that he not only cares, but cares enough to help. As he is, it does not register as that self-interest. It sounds like another person speaking of him when perhaps it should not. Even with V's acknowledgment that he chose to intervene on Vergil's behalf, tried to partake in curing him of his ailment until he knew for certain Vergil was well again, it does not settle with Vergil as the truth.
What feels more true is the admission that he wants Vergil's help. Not all the time. Vergil's pride is not merely a facet of his demonic blood. No. Only when he might need it.
Need.
What a strange thing to associate with the notion of receiving help. Vergil had been brought low by his illness, but never would he concede on the notion he needed anyone's help to care for himself. Even at his weakest point during his illness, Vergil was still capable of caring for himself by his measure. Perhaps not to the greatest extent, but that did not matter. He still possessed his wits and enough strength to sustain himself. That was what mattered. What even Nero had to acknowledge often several times over before Vergil would allow him to intercede.
But V is not in that position. What ails him runs deeper than that, and unless he is willing to generate enough Lore to reverse the erosion upon his body, there is little else that could be done to change that. He is in a position of needing Vergil's help much in the way he needed Nero's help to reach the end, to survive long enough to begin putting wrongs to rights.
In a strange way, that acknowledgment makes the former portion of his statement an easier thing to believe. Maybe not entirely... But more than just an outright lie, an attempt to curry favor by appealing to Vergil's stock in his strength and power.
But it is still a want. A want for a need to be answered, but a want all the same. Not seeking alternatives even as Vergil has already pushed V to seek out them out from the very day V arrived in this realm, rejecting the notion that this fragment of himself should ever come to rely upon him.
"You returned to me alone," he says, studying V's face carefully for how that settles for him. "I accepted the memories each of them carried, so I had no further use for your familiars. They knew well enough your consciousness was extinguished the moment you joined with Urizen, but their loyalty to you remained. Even with the ability to do whatever they pleased with the time they had left and nothing to gain from it, they still they gave their lives to protect me.
"I would not expect them to question their loyalties even if some of them are intelligent enough to know the difference between you and me." In being the more literal interpretation of stupid as a rock and more thing than being, Nightmare was at a disadvantage relative to Shadow and Griffon on that count. "But I would not expect you to be like them with unearned, unquestioned loyalty and care for my well-being. So, why is it that you care when you have come to here and seek a life separate and of your own? What reason does it matter to you what becomes of me do you have beyond the outcome of your choices in our world? They are choices and an outcome that no longer matter to who you are now in this moment."
V waits in miserable aggravated silence. Putting words to these feelings that are themselves so new, older though they may be than most of his independent existence before Folkmore, aches. It pull a compress away from the wounds, so that they bleed freely again. He feels weak, glad that he's already sitting that he need not stumble and find support. Trish comes to mind. I'm not your mommy, V. She isn't. She never will be. That she shares a face only made it easier for him to realize he wanted to be saved. He wanted his mother to save him. He would not seek that from Trish, were she here.
Vergil, however—
Vergil has always been Vergil. Is Vergil. What he wants is something he wanted, in a way, with Urizen. Something he wanted to provide his younger self, even if that version only exists in his mind, in his memories. Once the future Vergil, a Vergil that's not falling apart, not trapped by Mundus, not so young he thought to take on Mundus in his exhausted injured state, not any of those younger Vergils, that Vergil became real and a possibility in this place, V wanted something of him. The help, yes, but the help isn't about Vergil's power, much as that power cannot be ignored. It's his acceptance, his companionship. V's selfish enough to try and weak and desperate enough to continue under this scrutinizing gaze.
His eyes flicker to Shadow, the only familiar out at the moment, when Vergil describes their fate, their chosen end. He partnered with them because he needed them to stay alive. Even now, he's not sure if he could live without them. So there's never been a question for him to let them die, not since Griffon convinced him to make a pact. He knows they're made of memories, that they are a part of Vergil, discarded scraps that bond together to make something that might live a little longer. They've all lived longer than they were meant to, and V will not apologize for that. He feels hollow hearing of their deaths, despite knowing they couldn't last. They won't, they didn't. It's like reading a sad book. Even when you know how it will end, the ending still wrenches you.
Those feelings are set aside for later, the sore ache in his heart merely a welcome distraction from the incredibly uncomfortable topic of V caring about Vergil. That remains. That Vergil demands an answer for, slow and steady and inexorable. Like the very end that awaits V in their world. Fitting, really.
"Loyalty and care are not earned," V says quietly. He says nothing more for some time as he considers how to put his reasons into words. His feelings, incidentally, but V does not focus on those.
"It took the journey through the qliphoth tree for me to realize I wanted to be saved and protected when I was a boy," V begins, something Vergil knows for himself with their shared origins, with his complete memories, "I also realize I want to save and protect the other versions of me—the young boy, the demon, the half-demon. I care for them. And should they so choose"—a dry half-laugh—"I want them to care for me. I am alive, here, and I need not focus all my efforts in undoing my mistakes, in seeing that through. I can choose to care and give it my attention. I finally have the freedom to do so."
It may not satisfy Vergil. V cannot make the man care for him, but neither can Vergil take his desires and cares from him. Satisfied, unsatisfied, they are his. He's never gotten much that he wanted. V hardly expects that to change now. It's not as though his caring nature has made him some world savior type. He's not trying to save the world or care for most anyone in Folkmore. He's not sure he knows how to care for just anyone. It's Vergil. It's... Nero. Maybe someone else will follow. Maybe not.
Vergil narrows his eyes at V's initial response, disagreement written on his face as he finds the man even more inscrutable than he did a moment ago. He understands his own instantaneous, unquestioned loyalty, love, and care for Nero, but he cannot fathom anything remotely similar being applied to him. Not even from this fragment of himself. But he does not interrupt with further questions. V must know it not to be a sufficient answer, and knows more questions will follow if he does not provide more. Vergil sits impatiently in his own silence until V is able to say more.
V begins with what Vergil already knows to be true, the common ground to try and bridge their understanding together. He's no more patient with it, but he follows V's words as best he can. He purses his lips, barely containing his protest. There is nothing that could be done for the boy or the demon. For Vergil, they both remain firmly in the past. And the half-demon...
"Your efforts are to be a waste then. I've no need for a savior any longer, V," he says. Notably, Vergil does not deny V the capability of saving and protecting him. Not aloud when it is hardly a worthwhile point to make. Vergil does not speak as though this a matter of strength and power because it simply is not. "Nero saved us."
Yes, he did not allow V to die at the hands of Malphas, nor Vergil to die at the hands of his own brother, and he did so with his own strength. But that is not where Nero truly saved them. Would V have ever possibly reached the conclusions that he had about his endless quest for power without the time he spent with Nero? Perhaps. There is always that possibility in that simply seeing what became of Vergil, seeing the rot and ruin of Urizen would have been enough to bring about that understanding. But Vergil would never consider it a guarantee in the absence of his son. Certainly, even if V had reached similar conclusions, there was no way forward for Vergil. He would remain lost still albeit in a different way than he spent most of his life. Wandering and aimless, how long would it have been before he fell back on old habits or worse? He's openly admitted it a few times by now, but Vergil cannot truly emphasize the importance of Nero on his resolve to be a better man, to allow that cast off part of himself that called itself V into his heart completely and fully.
"You may choose to care," he says, "I cannot stop you. But you bear false hope if you believe that I will so readily choose to care in return."
Vergil frowns a little, gaze drifting for a moment as he knows that requires more of an explanation. It is not fair to assume that V can understand it, especially not when he's adopted so close to an opposite perspective. He's not certain he's found the words by the time he speaks again, but he raises his eyes back to V.
"I cannot pretend as though you are not something to me. But what that something is, I haven't a clue. You bear no claim to my past, yet it cannot be said it is not yours. You cannot be without me. And by the same token, I bear no claim to your short life, yet it served as the catalyst for so much change in my own. I would not be without you.
"We know one another with far more intimacy than mere knowledge alone, but you are a stranger to me as I am to you."
And that is the trouble with it all. Vergil struggles with allowing himself to be so known. V must know it from his own reservations around such vulnerability even with Vergil. But Vergil chooses to do that with others. Which is not to say the lack of choice is the challenge with V even if there's no denying it as a factor. The important part of Vergil's choice to do so with others is that he's felt that trust in him earned in return. His vulnerability is so often a response to vulnerability entrusted to him. But what vulnerability does V have to offer in return? There is nothing that he can claim wholly his own by that measure. All of it lies within Vergil's memories and experiences, all his own matters that he does not need to be entrusted with because they are already his. Thus, V hovers somewhere in that strange line between known and unknown, familiar and stranger.
He looks away again to the fire. There is less hostility to his expression, and more a subtle uncertainty.
"You were quick to call me a liar, and I was quick to anger, so I did not say what I meant the other day. I was truthful when I said I did not feel guilt for discarding you." He glances at V, but does not allow his gaze to linger or to hold any meaningful eye contact. "I know what guilt is, and what it means to feel it, and I know that is not the feeling I have when I am around you. But I do not know what that feeling is beyond that.
"You were never meant to part from me. You were never meant to exist like this."
It just feels...wrong. Like looking into a mirror and knowing the reflection is distorted, but being unable to name specifically what it is that's off.
V is not a savior. Between the two of them, Vergil far more looks the part of Sparda's statues and the images those who worship him create. They want someone powerful and strong to be their savior. They don't want him. That's not the point of saving someone. Nor does the fact Vergil doesn't need saving stop him from wanting to do so. Far be it from V to step in on Vergil's behalf under most circumstances. It may even be Vergil didn't need V's help with the illness, but the opportunity was there. Given the number of times he ventured on that journey, he undoubtedly saved other people. That's the numbers game. He doesn't care about that, about them, save that someone trying to save them might save Vergil. It's—
He doesn't want to take Nero's place in Vergil's life, not as a son (awkward, so not the relationship between V and Vergil, for all they don't understand it) and not as a savior. He doesn't comment on Nero saving Vergil at all, just then, but a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth, pleased nonetheless that it's true.
It's hard to stay silent, but they wait for each other. They're trying to wait, in this moment. So V waits and ponders and does not speak, even as Vergil says more. Not until he's done. He's not eight. He has some patience.
Where in that laugh did Vergil hear an expanse of hope? Or is it V's persistence, unwillingness to give up on the matter, that reads like hope. V knows he means something to Vergil each time he touches the book, each time he reads the poetry on its pages, and he opens it every night. He feels whatever lies between Vergil and him every night. Yet he remains without hope that Vergil will allow himself whatever it is or allow whatever it is to grow. Hope is not always the point.
Only then does Vergil say something that tenuously crosses the divide between them. An acknowledgement, both of them and the confusing place it leaves them. V doesn't allow himself to hope but he listens. He understands, and to some extent he agrees. For how well they know each other, they also don't. Vergil doesn't understand him, somehow, despite there being every reason he should, so he can only extend the courtesy in the other direction. (Oh, he doesn't believe he misunderstands Vergil as much as Vergil thinks he does, but it is not the time, it will never be the time, to say that.)
So he starts with a peace offering. "Guilt may not be the right word. It's only the closest word I have. Nor have I found the right verse. A failing of language, perhaps a universal one, given our circumstances."
V shifts a little, flexing his fingers as his hand goes numb under Shadow's weight. The cat only adjusts and keeps it trapped. "I was never meant to exist apart from you or like this, but I have. I do. I did not ask to exist any more than anyone else, but now that I exist, I have that right, as much as anyone. That it would kill me and with me you in our world hardly makes us unique. People fail to live all the time, and it kills others.
"I cannot apologize for wanting to live. Neither of us would be here without it, and as importantly, I want to live." He wants to live long enough that a month and a half feels like nothing. He wants to live for forty-two years. He wants more than he'll ever get, and he knows that. He'll take whatever scraps he can fight for.
"I have been here longer than I existed in our world. If you need time to sort out what you want, so much as our host allows us, I will wait. I'll even cede the cafe back to you, should you wish," V continues softly. That last part hurts. He cannot help the slight flicker across his face. His affection for the place is true, regardless that he always hopes to run into Vergil there. It was Vergil's first. "My care for you isn't conditional on what you choose to do. It's mine."
Vergil's brow furrows a little as V says he cannot apologize for his existence. He was not looking for an apology from V even if he does disagree somewhat with the degree to which V has more culpability surrounding his existence than he acknowledges or claims. It's true that he did not ask to come to be, but it was still his choice to follow the Fox, to exist outside and beyond Vergil for his own reasons. And that does mean something. Beyond just the choice to exist, it means... Vergil purses his lips even as he tries to listen to the rest of what V has to say. He really cannot concentrate on it, however, as while he cannot fully articulate his discomfort with V by naming it exactly, he can at least pinpoint a source of it.
"You gave up," he says, and he says it bluntly. Vergil's gaze locks onto V, scrutinizing the other in the low light offered by the fire. "You say you care for me, but you gave up in choosing to come here. What am I to make of that?"
There's more implicit demand in the way Vergil asks his question. The likelihood that Vergil could somehow keep that out of his tone is unlikely though, so he makes no effort to mask that he wants an answer for that portion. Wanting to live is one thing. He cannot fault V for that. Feeling comfortable enough to want to stay because he knows this to be merely borrowed time and that he shall ultimately succeed is also not something Vergil takes umbrage with. But the fact that V followed the Fox in the first place? Vergil cannot see it as anything other than giving up on his mission, abandoning Vergil in the first place.
All V said, all he had to say and more he hasn't said, but Vergil slices it all away with those simple words. How like him. V, in his desire to live, hasn't thought about that part, not consciously. He hasn't had to. Here, he knows he succeeds. From his conversation with Nero, he understands how he got to the end, how he reached Urizen, and how they became the man sitting before him. It hasn't faced him as plainly as Vergil states. Nor the well-deserved demand in that question.
V's face stays nearly the same, except for the way his jaw tightens. His head goes quiet, and V sits with the uncomfortable fact that he gave up. For a moment, he saw certain death. If he moved and made a sound, Malphas would detect him and kill him before he could escape. If he faced her, he was too weak to win. There was no way for V to survive—not by his own power. It was about to be over so quickly. So when the fox came, when V had that single moment to decide between certain death and uncertain life, he chose life.
He had no way then to know Nero would arrive within seconds and save him. Nero saved him. It's the only reason he lived. It's the only reason Vergil lives. Nero saved them, the way they always wanted to be saved. V lacks the memory of it, but he can imagine it so clearly, save that Nero and Sparda merge in his mind. They stand before him as a child, and they defeat the demons. They're safe. He closes his eyes and grinds his back teeth slightly.
"I gave up," V spits out, like he's removing poison from a wound. "Whether I came here or not, in that moment, I gave up. There was no way out, and I do not have the power to do anything about that. I could not call Yamato. My familiars were too weak. I was too weak. I would have died, if survival were left in my hands. I knew that, and I did not expect anyone to save me."
The van was nowhere nearby. He assumed Dante and Nero were far ahead of him. It was him, only him.
"I chose to live the only way I saw. The only way that gave us a chance."
He tilts his head back and shakes it, not quite a laugh. "She chose the perfect moment. The worst one."
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sometime during them storms
Vergil had been on his way home from a walk through Willow—just a simple one with no particular reason or direction beyond just getting out of the house for a little while—when the sky suddenly darkened. The light rainfall that preceded the torrential downpour was minuscule, offering Vergil little time to (literally) duck into one of the little burrows for temporary shelter. Frankly, he cares little if the home is occupied or not. He has no desire to be soaked any further than he already is, and will deal with the potential consequence of barging in on a stranger unannounced.
It would seem, at first, that the one he's chosen is unoccupied. Once the door is closed and the sound of the storm is muffled beyond the door, the burrow is more or less silent (sans the sound of him lightly dripping in the entryway, anyways). And not only is it silent, but it would appear to be dark based upon an initial glance as his eyes adjust to the limited natural light. Vergil steps further into the home, minding his head and the ceiling as he goes. He only manages a few steps in when he hears the padding of paws on the ground rapidly approaching, turning to face whatever intends to charge him and...
Vergil frowns. He frowns deeply, lip curling slightly in disgust at the slobber that's now on half his face from the rough tongue attempting to groom him. He tries at first to simply dislodge the paws resting on his shoulders, but eventually must place a hand square in the middle of the panther's chest. He gives Shadow a gentle shove back down to the floor.
"Off, you nuisance," he says to the demonic familiar before lifting his gaze to scan for his master in the dark of the burrow. If he gives Shadow a pat on the head at the same time, perhaps somewhat undermining his lack of affection in getting the beast to stop, he will deny it. "Is there a reason you're skulking about in the shadows?"
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A moment before Vergil speaks, V makes him out well enough to tell its him. It makes complete sense. Who else would Shadow feel so comfortable with immediately? V is a part of Vergil, and Vergil thus is him. It almost feels like betrayal, except that it eases something inside him that Shadow recognizes that part of him inside Vergil. Griffon opens his beak, and V rests a heavy hand on it. "Shut it."
He steps forward into the lesser dark toward Vergil and Shadow. He scritches Shadow's back where it comes to hand and refuses the bait in Vergil's words. "The same as you, I suspect," V says, "Better this coffin black than the storm outside."
With a motion toward the wall, V shrugs. "And the electricity in this burrow is out."
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Willow seems to pride itself on home and hearth in a very literal sense. So, it stands to reason that there is a fireplace in this burrow much like the one he had been forced to occupy before. The matter of kindling and means with which to light it is less certain given the home is technically unoccupied beyond these two (or four, if counting the current familiars out and about) unexpected intruders. Vergil believes V sensible enough to have checked for such materials though had he enough time to look before Vergil entered the burrow. It could very well have been that Vergil interrupted V in lighting the aforementioned fireplace.
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It does not matter what happened while Vergil was sick, and V hasn't informed anyone of it. He will not beggar care from Nero with it.
The current situation is easier to stick with. V comes out of the dark recesses to make his way over toward the fireplace. He crouches next to its side, where an inset shelf contains a small supply of chopped logs. "The primary materials are here," V says, "I can make a fire of them given a little time."
He's made fires for himself before across Red Grave City with a variety of supplies. Some of them didn't smell pleasant, but the meat he cooked was worse. Vergil knows that, of course, but V refuses to let the man handle everything, even if Vergil can. V's weak, not helpless. He starts setting up the logs and goes to a bookshelf in the home to find a book whose pages he can use as part of the kindling. "Make yourself at home."
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Remaining mindful of the lower exposed beams of the burrow, Vergil makes his way over towards the fireplace. He claims an armchair for himself before a particular familiar can get any further ideas about invading his personal space again. While V is busy starting the fire, Vergil leans down, unbuckling the garter on his boots to toe them off. Unlike his coat, it is a little more inconvenient to have them wet. They may still not yet dry all the way in front of the fire, but even a little drier is preferred.
As is often the case, Vergil remains silent rather than reaching for conversation with V. Running his fingers through his hair instead of speaking, he pushes loose strands back out of his face. The rainwater helps keep them in the position he pushes them into rather than having them fall back in his face. Vergil almost goes to wipe the excess water that dampens his hand on his shirt or pantleg, but there's little point in that. He shakes off the bit of excess water that dampens his hand before more subtly drying it against the fabric of the armchair. With that, he settles a little more into his seat albeit still silent as the burrow they occupy.
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He too sits in silence. Shadow's purring fills the air between them, and it would be a calm time if that were that. Unfortunately, Griffon spits off nonstop in V's ear, pushing and cajoling and finally threatening to make himself known if V won't handle things "properly." The threat of roast chicken for dinner is an empty one, mostly, and V's face screws up under the litany. Vergil doesn't need the familiars and doesn't appear to have them anymore. In moments like these, that makes him lucky.
"Should we thank our host for this meeting, or does serendipity still play some role in this realm?" V asks. It's terrible conversation, nothing substantive. However, it moderately satisfies the bird. It's... something.
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His gaze slides over to V when he speaks, the ever-present furrow in Vergil's brow deepening slightly at the attempt for small talk.
"I was merely out for a walk. It is quieter in Willow than Epiphany, and makes for a more pleasant walk."
Vergil looks back to the fire, not inquiring what V was doing out this way. It's none of his concern, but he also feels it's not unreasonable to assume he was likely surveying prospects of more permanent housing than the guest cottage he has been occupying since his arrival. Which is based upon another assumption that it must be a slower process with how weak he now is, his body ravaged by being separated from its other half as long as it had been in their world.
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Yes, whatever else anyone calls it, they are family. The burrows are the closest housing to Epiphany without being there proper, so some place like the furnished hole they are in will become his home. It's a touch squat, but V hopes to find one he can stand tall in, even if he rarely does so in practice. However, no one's come to turn him out of his temporary housing, so he hasn't felt any rush.
He supposes Vergil needs some quiet from life at home. People make noise and impede on solitude and quiet. Even when they don't speak to Vergil, the half-devil has to be aware of where they all are. It also suggests his relationships may not be entirely easy with everyone. That makes sense. As little as V has lived, he expects it takes longer than Vergil and Nero have been in Folkmore to figure out their relationship. Vergil may have a head start, but he's not the target for V to reach for. V will make his own path, not retread old grown. That's the only way it works for him to live. He cannot be the same as Vergil.
"I was on my way to Epiphany," V says, though Vergil hasn't asked. He may have difficulty with Vergil, but the Russian Blue is open to bribes.
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And yet.
Vergil's gaze moves over to V as the silence continues after he elects to inform Vergil he was on his way to Epiphany, but Vergil says nothing. There is no follow-up question or speculation about his purpose for being in Epiphany. No demonstrated interest in what V may have to say. Just a wariness as to why V seems to be seeking not just conversation, but such small talk. It's not so much that Vergil assigns a nefarious, ulterior motive behind the decision to make conversation, but it does seem at odds with his understanding of Vergil to make such an overture. Especially when Vergil believes he has been abundantly clear with V that he has no interest in friendship or camaraderie. In this place, they are two separate people regardless of V's origins. Vergil owes nothing to V and V owes nothing to him. So, why? What reason is there to try and make small talk, friendly conversation?
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It's not the time for that, regardless, as he and Vergil remain in the same place.
"I am glad you are back to good health," V says into that unfriendly silence. "It was unwelcome news to hear our host not only could but had brought the force of her power down upon you."
The feeling of helplessness, the reminder of what it was like when they were young, it had to be beyond aggravating. Probably a bad call to talk about it, but the friendlier talk led to less friendly looks. However weak V is, Vergil is strong, and it's stranger to see Vergil brought low than to be so weak himself. He is the weak one, and despite that, he'll show Vergil he's not weak.
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Thus, V must have considered what he would have done had it been him to fall ill instead of Vergil. So Vergil assumes, anyways.
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He takes an even breath. He strokes Shadow's head (aware that likely makes him look only the more like a villain).
"Enough of a concern to play her games," V says quietly but firmly. Not for his own sake. After all, when it came to that trial, he was not the weak one. His familiars were perfectly suited to the task at hand—to subdue but not eliminate the enemy. He was perfectly suited. He was not powerless but powerful. As exhausted as it left him, as much as he lay about recovering for over a week once it was all done and gone, he did it. He could, and he did.
He doesn't care about getting "credit" for his actions from Vergil. The reward of seeing Vergil hale and healthy is enough. He simply doesn't care for Vergil's idea of them. Even if it is true on Vergil's side (or Vergil has convinced himself of that), it isn't for V. There's very few people he cares about besides himself, and Vergil is one. For all the good it does him.
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"We sit as two men assured that he knows the other better than the other knows himself." A fallacy they both share and cannot be faulted for. And yet, Vergil still bristles when V asserts himself as though bearing such deep knowledge. He imagines some part of V must do the same. Maybe not for the same reason as Vergil, but something in him must find some offense in the way Vergil acts based upon his assumptions in knowledge of him. "In such confidence, we run the danger of eliminating what the other could be in favor of what we assume him to be."
It is the closest that Vergil is willing to openly acknowledge that he does not understand V. Not in his desire to talk. Not in his will to remain close by. And certainly not his decision to pursue a cure on Vergil's behalf. It is not out of a desire to spare V's feelings or to perhaps save face for himself, so much as Vergil refuses to acknowledge the very fear V stirs within him. Such a thing would be too vulnerable to say, a line too far for where Vergil would be willing to go now or, perhaps, ever.
He draws a breath through his nose, and looks at V again with his lips pursed. Even if he remains the least tempted to let loose his lips, there is a barrage of words that press upon him for release all the same.
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Yet he cannot help the immediate reaction to bristle at Vergil's first words. They sound less like an admission of guilt on Vergil's part than an accusation at V, for what he said to Vergil before. V will admit freely there's some things he does not know about Vergil (yet), but it sounds as easy a method for Vergil to distance himself from V when V knows him.
It takes a moment or two longer for V to recognize that Vergil includes himself in that statement, that it comes with an admission that Vergil does not know everything about V despite having all of V's memories and lived experience prior to his coming to Folkmore. That humbling of himself comes with a call, no a demand, that V do the same. It's a bittersweet taste until—
Vergil follows it up, and his chest aches at what the other could be. The words do not say to each other, but they're implied. Some form of connection, however tenuous, lies within those words. V hungers for it, for the forbidden impossible connection that he never imagined the chance to have. The opportunity to get to know Vergil, to meet and to talk together, is all the more precious because it is impossible back home. He may have squandered his opportunities to get to know Nero and Dante, focused more on the mission than the men, but he lacked this chance altogether.
Vergil is both V's past and his future, his existence carved out of the timeline of another's life. The best doom V could hope for. He takes deep even breaths, only coughing for a moment, and looks at that stone wall of a face. Something hard protecting something tender.
"I would rather have imperfect reality than perfect imagination," V says. He looks at Vergil, well aware he's more or less made himself more open in his interest in having something between them. He needed to, or where could they go? It terrified him to tell Nero he wanted them to be something, even when he felt Nero reflect that desire. Vergil is far more tight lipped.
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"To what end?"
Vergil could sit in his lack of understanding, but he knows himself too well. Such lack of understanding would only lend itself to frustration, and frustration could only culminate in what it had on the day V most closely possesses as the day of his birth. Perhaps not today, but eventually it would happen again. In some ways, that would suit Vergil just fine. A lack of change would not create some irreparable harm or spark some cataclysmic event. But he would rather not be left guessing as to V's intentions in the end, and if he is to make some meaningful step to not fall within the trap of believing he understands more than he does... Well, Vergil had best ask. So, he does.
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V controls his body first and foremost. He pushes Griffon's mind away and continues to breath steadily. He lets the weight of Shadow's head in his lap be a comfort. He's not alone, not entirely, not in every way that matters. He will not be, even if Vergil rejects him and any chance of something between them.
"Because I care about you, and I want to help you when I can, and I want your help when I need it," V says it with a calm voice, but his mouth feels dry and patchy. When was the last time he drank water? His heart races, and his pulse jumps. Shadow rolls his head until he can trap V's hand underneath it. It's held steady and warm in V's lap. He had to say the last part. Vergil wouldn't believe V wanting to help him one way, though he will do that part no matter what Vergil says, limited only by the means it is possible. He does not want to take more than he gives, but damn it if he didn't realize he wanted someone to save him trapped and cornered when he thought he was about to die having failed.
He wants what Vergil denied him when he cut V out. Not to be discarded as scraps, as useless. Vergil understands V differently now but as a part of himself. Recognizing V as his own person is barely more. It makes him little more than the useless scrapes of society around Vergil. The book, V thought the book means there's something more from Vergil. It's something V could have saved and bought himself. He didn't need Vergil to give him the book, but he finds he may have needed Vergil giving him... anything. Anything at all. He doesn't want that taken away. How foolish he is. How much he cannot say, cannot explain.
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What feels more true is the admission that he wants Vergil's help. Not all the time. Vergil's pride is not merely a facet of his demonic blood. No. Only when he might need it.
Need.
What a strange thing to associate with the notion of receiving help. Vergil had been brought low by his illness, but never would he concede on the notion he needed anyone's help to care for himself. Even at his weakest point during his illness, Vergil was still capable of caring for himself by his measure. Perhaps not to the greatest extent, but that did not matter. He still possessed his wits and enough strength to sustain himself. That was what mattered. What even Nero had to acknowledge often several times over before Vergil would allow him to intercede.
But V is not in that position. What ails him runs deeper than that, and unless he is willing to generate enough Lore to reverse the erosion upon his body, there is little else that could be done to change that. He is in a position of needing Vergil's help much in the way he needed Nero's help to reach the end, to survive long enough to begin putting wrongs to rights.
In a strange way, that acknowledgment makes the former portion of his statement an easier thing to believe. Maybe not entirely... But more than just an outright lie, an attempt to curry favor by appealing to Vergil's stock in his strength and power.
But it is still a want. A want for a need to be answered, but a want all the same. Not seeking alternatives even as Vergil has already pushed V to seek out them out from the very day V arrived in this realm, rejecting the notion that this fragment of himself should ever come to rely upon him.
"You returned to me alone," he says, studying V's face carefully for how that settles for him. "I accepted the memories each of them carried, so I had no further use for your familiars. They knew well enough your consciousness was extinguished the moment you joined with Urizen, but their loyalty to you remained. Even with the ability to do whatever they pleased with the time they had left and nothing to gain from it, they still they gave their lives to protect me.
"I would not expect them to question their loyalties even if some of them are intelligent enough to know the difference between you and me." In being the more literal interpretation of stupid as a rock and more thing than being, Nightmare was at a disadvantage relative to Shadow and Griffon on that count. "But I would not expect you to be like them with unearned, unquestioned loyalty and care for my well-being. So, why is it that you care when you have come to here and seek a life separate and of your own? What reason does it matter to you what becomes of me do you have beyond the outcome of your choices in our world? They are choices and an outcome that no longer matter to who you are now in this moment."
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Vergil, however—
Vergil has always been Vergil. Is Vergil. What he wants is something he wanted, in a way, with Urizen. Something he wanted to provide his younger self, even if that version only exists in his mind, in his memories. Once the future Vergil, a Vergil that's not falling apart, not trapped by Mundus, not so young he thought to take on Mundus in his exhausted injured state, not any of those younger Vergils, that Vergil became real and a possibility in this place, V wanted something of him. The help, yes, but the help isn't about Vergil's power, much as that power cannot be ignored. It's his acceptance, his companionship. V's selfish enough to try and weak and desperate enough to continue under this scrutinizing gaze.
His eyes flicker to Shadow, the only familiar out at the moment, when Vergil describes their fate, their chosen end. He partnered with them because he needed them to stay alive. Even now, he's not sure if he could live without them. So there's never been a question for him to let them die, not since Griffon convinced him to make a pact. He knows they're made of memories, that they are a part of Vergil, discarded scraps that bond together to make something that might live a little longer. They've all lived longer than they were meant to, and V will not apologize for that. He feels hollow hearing of their deaths, despite knowing they couldn't last. They won't, they didn't. It's like reading a sad book. Even when you know how it will end, the ending still wrenches you.
Those feelings are set aside for later, the sore ache in his heart merely a welcome distraction from the incredibly uncomfortable topic of V caring about Vergil. That remains. That Vergil demands an answer for, slow and steady and inexorable. Like the very end that awaits V in their world. Fitting, really.
"Loyalty and care are not earned," V says quietly. He says nothing more for some time as he considers how to put his reasons into words. His feelings, incidentally, but V does not focus on those.
"It took the journey through the qliphoth tree for me to realize I wanted to be saved and protected when I was a boy," V begins, something Vergil knows for himself with their shared origins, with his complete memories, "I also realize I want to save and protect the other versions of me—the young boy, the demon, the half-demon. I care for them. And should they so choose"—a dry half-laugh—"I want them to care for me. I am alive, here, and I need not focus all my efforts in undoing my mistakes, in seeing that through. I can choose to care and give it my attention. I finally have the freedom to do so."
It may not satisfy Vergil. V cannot make the man care for him, but neither can Vergil take his desires and cares from him. Satisfied, unsatisfied, they are his. He's never gotten much that he wanted. V hardly expects that to change now. It's not as though his caring nature has made him some world savior type. He's not trying to save the world or care for most anyone in Folkmore. He's not sure he knows how to care for just anyone. It's Vergil. It's... Nero. Maybe someone else will follow. Maybe not.
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V begins with what Vergil already knows to be true, the common ground to try and bridge their understanding together. He's no more patient with it, but he follows V's words as best he can. He purses his lips, barely containing his protest. There is nothing that could be done for the boy or the demon. For Vergil, they both remain firmly in the past. And the half-demon...
"Your efforts are to be a waste then. I've no need for a savior any longer, V," he says. Notably, Vergil does not deny V the capability of saving and protecting him. Not aloud when it is hardly a worthwhile point to make. Vergil does not speak as though this a matter of strength and power because it simply is not. "Nero saved us."
Yes, he did not allow V to die at the hands of Malphas, nor Vergil to die at the hands of his own brother, and he did so with his own strength. But that is not where Nero truly saved them. Would V have ever possibly reached the conclusions that he had about his endless quest for power without the time he spent with Nero? Perhaps. There is always that possibility in that simply seeing what became of Vergil, seeing the rot and ruin of Urizen would have been enough to bring about that understanding. But Vergil would never consider it a guarantee in the absence of his son. Certainly, even if V had reached similar conclusions, there was no way forward for Vergil. He would remain lost still albeit in a different way than he spent most of his life. Wandering and aimless, how long would it have been before he fell back on old habits or worse? He's openly admitted it a few times by now, but Vergil cannot truly emphasize the importance of Nero on his resolve to be a better man, to allow that cast off part of himself that called itself V into his heart completely and fully.
"You may choose to care," he says, "I cannot stop you. But you bear false hope if you believe that I will so readily choose to care in return."
Vergil frowns a little, gaze drifting for a moment as he knows that requires more of an explanation. It is not fair to assume that V can understand it, especially not when he's adopted so close to an opposite perspective. He's not certain he's found the words by the time he speaks again, but he raises his eyes back to V.
"I cannot pretend as though you are not something to me. But what that something is, I haven't a clue. You bear no claim to my past, yet it cannot be said it is not yours. You cannot be without me. And by the same token, I bear no claim to your short life, yet it served as the catalyst for so much change in my own. I would not be without you.
"We know one another with far more intimacy than mere knowledge alone, but you are a stranger to me as I am to you."
And that is the trouble with it all. Vergil struggles with allowing himself to be so known. V must know it from his own reservations around such vulnerability even with Vergil. But Vergil chooses to do that with others. Which is not to say the lack of choice is the challenge with V even if there's no denying it as a factor. The important part of Vergil's choice to do so with others is that he's felt that trust in him earned in return. His vulnerability is so often a response to vulnerability entrusted to him. But what vulnerability does V have to offer in return? There is nothing that he can claim wholly his own by that measure. All of it lies within Vergil's memories and experiences, all his own matters that he does not need to be entrusted with because they are already his. Thus, V hovers somewhere in that strange line between known and unknown, familiar and stranger.
He looks away again to the fire. There is less hostility to his expression, and more a subtle uncertainty.
"You were quick to call me a liar, and I was quick to anger, so I did not say what I meant the other day. I was truthful when I said I did not feel guilt for discarding you." He glances at V, but does not allow his gaze to linger or to hold any meaningful eye contact. "I know what guilt is, and what it means to feel it, and I know that is not the feeling I have when I am around you. But I do not know what that feeling is beyond that.
"You were never meant to part from me. You were never meant to exist like this."
It just feels...wrong. Like looking into a mirror and knowing the reflection is distorted, but being unable to name specifically what it is that's off.
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He doesn't want to take Nero's place in Vergil's life, not as a son (awkward, so not the relationship between V and Vergil, for all they don't understand it) and not as a savior. He doesn't comment on Nero saving Vergil at all, just then, but a small smile curls at the corner of his mouth, pleased nonetheless that it's true.
It's hard to stay silent, but they wait for each other. They're trying to wait, in this moment. So V waits and ponders and does not speak, even as Vergil says more. Not until he's done. He's not eight. He has some patience.
Where in that laugh did Vergil hear an expanse of hope? Or is it V's persistence, unwillingness to give up on the matter, that reads like hope. V knows he means something to Vergil each time he touches the book, each time he reads the poetry on its pages, and he opens it every night. He feels whatever lies between Vergil and him every night. Yet he remains without hope that Vergil will allow himself whatever it is or allow whatever it is to grow. Hope is not always the point.
Only then does Vergil say something that tenuously crosses the divide between them. An acknowledgement, both of them and the confusing place it leaves them. V doesn't allow himself to hope but he listens. He understands, and to some extent he agrees. For how well they know each other, they also don't. Vergil doesn't understand him, somehow, despite there being every reason he should, so he can only extend the courtesy in the other direction. (Oh, he doesn't believe he misunderstands Vergil as much as Vergil thinks he does, but it is not the time, it will never be the time, to say that.)
So he starts with a peace offering. "Guilt may not be the right word. It's only the closest word I have. Nor have I found the right verse. A failing of language, perhaps a universal one, given our circumstances."
V shifts a little, flexing his fingers as his hand goes numb under Shadow's weight. The cat only adjusts and keeps it trapped. "I was never meant to exist apart from you or like this, but I have. I do. I did not ask to exist any more than anyone else, but now that I exist, I have that right, as much as anyone. That it would kill me and with me you in our world hardly makes us unique. People fail to live all the time, and it kills others.
"I cannot apologize for wanting to live. Neither of us would be here without it, and as importantly, I want to live." He wants to live long enough that a month and a half feels like nothing. He wants to live for forty-two years. He wants more than he'll ever get, and he knows that. He'll take whatever scraps he can fight for.
"I have been here longer than I existed in our world. If you need time to sort out what you want, so much as our host allows us, I will wait. I'll even cede the cafe back to you, should you wish," V continues softly. That last part hurts. He cannot help the slight flicker across his face. His affection for the place is true, regardless that he always hopes to run into Vergil there. It was Vergil's first. "My care for you isn't conditional on what you choose to do. It's mine."
He'll always have the book.
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"You gave up," he says, and he says it bluntly. Vergil's gaze locks onto V, scrutinizing the other in the low light offered by the fire. "You say you care for me, but you gave up in choosing to come here. What am I to make of that?"
There's more implicit demand in the way Vergil asks his question. The likelihood that Vergil could somehow keep that out of his tone is unlikely though, so he makes no effort to mask that he wants an answer for that portion. Wanting to live is one thing. He cannot fault V for that. Feeling comfortable enough to want to stay because he knows this to be merely borrowed time and that he shall ultimately succeed is also not something Vergil takes umbrage with. But the fact that V followed the Fox in the first place? Vergil cannot see it as anything other than giving up on his mission, abandoning Vergil in the first place.
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V's face stays nearly the same, except for the way his jaw tightens. His head goes quiet, and V sits with the uncomfortable fact that he gave up. For a moment, he saw certain death. If he moved and made a sound, Malphas would detect him and kill him before he could escape. If he faced her, he was too weak to win. There was no way for V to survive—not by his own power. It was about to be over so quickly. So when the fox came, when V had that single moment to decide between certain death and uncertain life, he chose life.
He had no way then to know Nero would arrive within seconds and save him. Nero saved him. It's the only reason he lived. It's the only reason Vergil lives. Nero saved them, the way they always wanted to be saved. V lacks the memory of it, but he can imagine it so clearly, save that Nero and Sparda merge in his mind. They stand before him as a child, and they defeat the demons. They're safe. He closes his eyes and grinds his back teeth slightly.
"I gave up," V spits out, like he's removing poison from a wound. "Whether I came here or not, in that moment, I gave up. There was no way out, and I do not have the power to do anything about that. I could not call Yamato. My familiars were too weak. I was too weak. I would have died, if survival were left in my hands. I knew that, and I did not expect anyone to save me."
The van was nowhere nearby. He assumed Dante and Nero were far ahead of him. It was him, only him.
"I chose to live the only way I saw. The only way that gave us a chance."
He tilts his head back and shakes it, not quite a laugh. "She chose the perfect moment. The worst one."