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Summary
Jolting awake, Vergil's hand fumbled for the hilt of the Yamato, his fingers gripping her so tightly he was sure he would break his own fingers in the process. Before he could unsheathe the sword, he realized quickly what had happened. The hard jab of a wooden bed-frame against the space between his shoulders grounded him as he realized he was still in his room in Dante's shop, his wide eyes peering through the darkness to see his son knelt in front of him. Chest heaving with a lack of oxygen, Vergil tried to soothe himself, swallowing hard against the dryness of his throat as Nero watched him with concerned eyes and his lips set into a thin line.
