Chapter 13

It seemed to Sparda as if he had been in the mortal realm for a decade when in reality all that had passed were a couple of days. And in that space so much had happened already. He had met some demon that looked like his dead human wife and a man who looked more and more like his sons every time he looked at him. And then there was the biggest revelation of all, the one he could barely wrap his head around. Flesh had destroyed flesh. Blood had consumed blood. Twin had murdered twin.

Sparda sat back in the aeroplane seat, glad that Nero had insisted they take a "normal" flight rather than literally fly back to the agency. The demon believed that had he had his own way, he would have met with some accident, perhaps tried to dive into the sea in the hopes he'd never surface.

Desperation engulfed him. Nervous energy fuelled him. He looked out of the window anxiously. He wanted to be off this plane. He wanted to leave, he wanted to find some answers to those most painful questions. But propriety held him to his seat as the plane carried them across the ocean.

Nero look at him sympathetically.

'Only an hour left,' he muttered. Sparda could have died. As though sensing the full extent of his misery, Nero handed him a magazine. 'Here. Read this. It might help.' It was a brave but ultimately weak attempt at avoiding the true issue at hand but Sparda didn't want a magazine. He didn't want any coffee or tea and he certainly wasn't in the mood for lunch either.

What he wanted was his family. He was pining over the impossible. He wanted to go back in time, back to normality, the way his life should have been. His thoughts drifted onto his children, Vergil in particular. He'd always been such a good child, never got in any trouble, never made much noise. He was quiet and dignified as his brother constantly made all sorts of messes inside the house and outside the house and drove his parents frantic.

Sparda wondered whether he had been a negligent father but his elder son had never seemed visibly upset. He had always been reserved even then, with a fierce type of scorn for all things unrefined. He had reminded him a lot of himself. He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd been the cause of all of his children's problems. Maybe he should have been more attentive. Maybe Vergil had become quiet and still as a result of neglect. And Sparda had been too stupid to realize, merely putting it down to personality. It had all been his mistake and in parenting, there is no room for mistakes. He'd made several.

But he couldn't find it in himself to believe that it was entirely his fault. At the same time, a small selfish part of him wanted to believe that no one could be blamed, that Vergil's personality would not have changed if things had been different in their lives. Sparda wanted to comfort himself with tender memories, but every time he tried to recall, they would be tainted by horrific images of his sons battling each other, spilling each other's blood.

Nero shifted slightly in his seat before stealing a quick glance at him, still unable to truly believe that he was sitting on a plane beside a man who was meant to be a God. Sparda wished he would stop; people had been forced to swallow so many lies, had been made to believe in fairytales.

Sparda suspected that if anyone knew the real events, they would not have been so eager to adore and worship the ground he walked on. Still, he mused, there was a time and a place for everything and now was not it. He would set the records straight as soon as he could, as soon as he…

But he couldn't honestly believe that he'd ever be able to "sort out this mess". Dante had demanded vengeance and Sparda had blindly made a promise. But how could he betray his own blood?

He wondered vaguely, incoherently whether Vergil would be able to survive another blood betrayal.

'I feel…' he whispered. Nero pursed his lips before laying his undamaged hand on Sparda's.

'I know. I just don't understand how you can keep together under all this.' Sparda didn't reply, but slid his hand away from Nero's, painfully reminded of his wife.

The amount of times they had comforted each other. And she was gone, the only person who ever really understood him. He stared out of the window bleakly, staring at the land below. Humans constantly died, and those who were left behind simply got on with their own lives. He would have to do the same, even if he didn't know how.

'Sorry,' Nero broke into his thoughts, his face flushed, embarrassed.

'You have nothing to be sorry about. But yes, this is all happening. I'm actually here. I am real.' He smiled wryly when Nero lowered his eyes.

'It's hard to believe.'

'Sometimes, I find it hard to believe myself.'

The two shared a smile, one nervous, the other jaded. The seatbelt icon flashed and Sparda sighed as he automatically obeyed the call.

The flight was nearly at an end and he welcomed it and dreaded it for the same reasons.

He was one step closer to the truth.