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Nero groans when he feels a hand touch his shoulder and drags his covers up over his face. Damn, he feels shitty this morning. He had already been feeling pretty crappy last night, and was kind of hoping to sleep it off by now. So help him, if the person who woke him was Dante, that guy's getting a face full of devil bringer. "Fuck off."
"Nero."
The young devil hunter sighs and pulls the covers down. Vergil stands at his bedside. "The hell do you want?"
The half-devil in question blinks down at him, hesitating. Slowly, he leans down to press the back of his hand to Nero's forehead. Nero allows this, simply because he's not sure what to do about it otherwise. Vergil hums to himself, moving the covers down a little further to feel the pulse-point at his wrist.
"Fuck're you doin'?"
"Dante asked me to wake you for a job, but.... You seem out of sorts." Vergil's mouth twitches downward. "If something is wrong, it would explain your foul disposition this morning."
Nero groans again and rolls over. He just wants to go back to sleep.
The older son of Sparda, however, doesn't seem to be in a humoring mood. He smooths his hand down Nero's shoulder over the blanket. "You're ill, and running a high fever."
"And? S' a cold. Leave me alone."
Vergil doesn't seem to like that answer. "You're ill," he says again, something suspiciously like worry creeping into his tone.
Nero barely bites back his scoff. As far as Nero knows, Dante and Vergil never get sick. The half-devil probably has no idea what to do about a human illness, let alone being sick in general. The old man's only experience with illness was when he was slowly falling apart from the inside as V, and that wasn't exactly in any of the medical texts out there.
"M' fine. Been sick before."
"But... should we not do something?"
The young man sighs, but relents when his old man doesn't seem to be going away. It's... nice that he cares enough to keep pestering him about it, if a little annoying. "Just need to rest."
Vergil says nothing.
Nero turns over after a long period of silence, finding his father still hovering over his bed. The man looks particularly perturbed over his son's condition. "Are you just gonna sit there n' stare at me all morning? Cold's not gonna fuckin' kill me, you know."
"Yes, but someone should still be keeping an eye on you. Should they not?"
"So, you're jus' gonna lurk over me? Tha's fuckin' creepy."
The blue twin doesn't seem to care.
Nero huffs out a stuffy breath. "Too fuckin' tired for this." He pushes himself upright, coughing when his sinuses protest. The sound is wet and raspy as mucus climbs up his throat. Nero braces himself on one shaking arm and coughs into the other. Right about now, he's starting to wish he'd just ignored Vergil and gone back to sleep while his body was settled. "Ugh."
"Here."
"Thanks, I guess," Nero croaks, accepting the tissue his father offers him and blowing his nose.
A few seconds pass between them. Nero freezes when he feels his father's hand slide through his hair. He stays still, wondering what Vergil will do. The stroking motion repeats. A longer beat passes while Nero decides what to think. Eventually, he shrugs and continues coughing up a lung.
"You're certain rest will cure this?"
Nero swallows, moaning in abject misery when he finds his sinuses have completely plugged up in the two minutes he's been upright. Even if he lays down now, they'll only drain on the one side. Then, he'll just be annoyed by it, and he'll still be miserable. He begins the arduous task of sliding out of bed, staring down at his bare legs. Pants seems like a stretch. A shirt, maybe?
He stands, swaying dangerously. "Oh.... Fuck."
Vergil sits him back down on the bed, squeezing his shoulder with a soft order to stay put. In no time at all, the old man returns with a shirt. Nero coughs again, blearily blinking up at his father when the man presents him with a familiar blue one.
"Arms up."
"M' not five," Nero growls, snatching the shirt and clawing into it with more force than strictly necessary. He hates that it dizzies him all over again. "Seriously, you don't need to fuss."
Heedless of his grumblings, Vergil offers him a pair of sweatpants. Nero quietly seethes as he slips into them. He's willing to tolerate a lot of things. In fact, he gladly accepts that his father wants to make sure he's all right. What he'd rather not deal with is a weird helicopter version of his deadbeat dad that he's never witnessed before while sick with a cold.
Nero sniffles, wishing he never moved from his supine position. He stands again, taking it slower to account for the lightheadedness. Strolling from the room takes time, and his father walks with him the entire way. Honestly, Nero feels the old man's eyes boring holes into his back for every step down the stairs he takes. It's so weird, but Nero doesn't feel like he'll have the fortitude for the argument that would make him stop. Maybe.... Maybe it's a good thing? Maybe Vergil can just lurk around like he always does, and Nero can just go about his day.
"Heya, kid. Ready to-" Dante glances up from his desk as Nero descends the last of the stairs. "You look like death warmed over, kiddo."
A cough rattles from his throat and Nero sniffs again. "Yeah."
"Was gonna offer you a ride-along spot on my new job, but, uh, it's not lookin' like such a good idea." Dante tugs his feet down from the desk and grabs his coat. "Verge, I'm gonna go take care of it quick. You keep an eye on the kid."
Nero glowers. "I don't need a babysitter."
Dante is clearly not listening. He grabs his coat, ruffling Nero's hair on his way. It takes all the younger hunter's willpower to quell the nausea the action causes him. "Never said you did. But you should still have someone around if you need anything. Besides, I'm sure the old man would be more than happy to help you out."
"Whatever. Just get out of here already."
"Verge, you make sure the kid eats something and gets some fluids, would you?"
Nero's lip curls into a scowl, but Dante is long gone before he can so much as open his mouth to snap at him. His father trails into the kitchen, leaving Nero no choice but to follow. He was only supposed to be at the shop for a couple days, but if he's sick, the last thing he wants to do is take it home to Kyrie and the kids.
Vergil pauses next to the fridge when Nero settles himself at the island. "What would you like for breakfast."
"Not really hungry."
The half-devil doesn't seem to know what to make of that, his hand frozen on the fridge handle. It's weird seeing him so hesitant and unsure. His expression, as always, is cool and unreadable, but Nero recognizes the minuscule signs. He is slowly, painfully so, becoming fluent in those tiny tells. Dante was the one to tell him Vergil was less about what he actually says and more about his reactions.
Mostly, that means watching him a lot. Nero could barely stop himself from staring at the stoic, secretive man beforehand. After that little tidbit, it's been outright impossible.
"Then.... Perhaps, a glass of water?"
Nero shakes his head. The smell of whatever Dante had for breakfast is making his stomach turn. Not that it was bad food. It tastes distinctly of eggs and grease and-
The young devil hunter scurries into the bathroom.
Minutes later, when his eyes water and his mouth burns, Nero feels familiar calloused fingers brushing through his hair. It feels so nice, so comforting. Nero moans miserably, pressing into the hand without thinking.
"Nero, are you all right?"
He glances to his left where his usually unflappable father is crouched, his lips pressed into a thin line and brow furrowed. For whatever reason, all Nero can think of is that his coattails are gonna get dirty on the ground. Then, Dante would laugh when he complained and pat Nero's shoulder.
"Nero?"
The young man swallows, nodding. His stomach seems better now that it's empty, but the rest of him.... Cold sweat sticks to his neck, and his mouth still tastes terrible. His throat hurts. Trembling wracks his shoulders all the way down to his hands. "Not feelin' good," he mumbles.
"I see that," Vergil answers. "Were you feeling ill before this morning?"
"A bit, last night."
The half-devil considers this. "And, do humans normally throw up when they have a cold?"
That part, not so much. Nero closes his eyes, shivering in the chilly bathroom and hiding from his father's questioning gaze. His stomach twists and he suffers through another bout of retching. Nero whines, resting his forehead on the cool rim of the toilet. It's probably not sanitary in any way, shape, or form, but Nero doesn't care.
Nero spends the next hour like that, alternating between dry heaving and shaking. Vergil remains beside him, unsure what to do to help.
"Nero...?"
Obviously, there would be no point in saying he's fine. Nero probably hasn't felt so particularly unwell since he woke in the hospital without his arm. His back aches from leaning over for so long, and soreness pervades his chest and abdomen from a combination of coughing and sneezing.
Why did he even get up today?
Nero jolts when a heavy weight falls over his shoulders. A quilt folds around his body, guided by the deft hands of none other than Vergil.
"You don' gotta stay with me," Nero mutters.
"No. I don't," Vergil agrees, shifting Nero sideways to slide an arm under his knees and around his back.
Vergil carries Nero from the bathroom, easily managing his weight. The young devil hunter lets his head fall against his father's collar. He shudders when the old man puts him down on his side, struggling to get a hand free to grab Vergil. It takes a second, considering his burrito status, but Nero manages. It's hypocritical to cling to his father now after telling him he could leave, but he doesn't actually want him to.
"Stay?"
The blue twin crouches beside the couch, folding Nero's shaking hand between his own steady ones. He presses a kiss to Nero's knuckles and uses his top hand to card through Nero's sweaty hair. "You had only to ask."
Nero's exhale puffs out as a relieved sob. He's too tired to be embarrassed about it.
Vergil croons to him. Even when Dante returns hours later and finds them together, he doesn't pull away. Nero has his eyes closed, but he hurts too much to sleep. So, he listens to the twins.
"Kid's down for the count, huh? His breathing sounds like shit."
Vergil hums. "He's been down since briefly after you left. I tried to get him to eat or drink, like you said, but he never did. He spent all morning throwing up. When I woke him, he said it was a cold, but I don't remember colds being this bad when we were children, do you?"
Nero only just reins in his surprise. Dante and Vergil got sick as kids?
"We never threw up, that's for sure. Kid probably picked up a stomach bug. Lady had one once, and I was surprised that it took her over a week to shake it. Thought she scared off any bacteria crawling around." Dante's bootsteps trail to his desk and Nero hears the clunk of his guns landing on the sturdy wood. "He wakes up soon, you should at least try to give him some water. He lips look pretty dry."
"What if he can't hold it down?"
Dante pauses at that. "Uh.... Well, I think Lady said somethin' about saltine crackers and ginger ale. After eating and drinking so much of 'em, she swore she never wanted to touch them again, but they must've helped, otherwise she wouldn't have."
Nero's stomach roils at the idea of putting anything in it and Nero whines.
"Hush, Nero," Vergil soothes, rubbing his shoulder through the quilt. The warmth in his tone compared to his usual indifference is a bit jarring.
A larger calloused hand wiggles one of Nero's feet. "No worries, brother. Kid's tough."
Vergil hums.
Nero practically melts into the couch when his father starts stroking his hair again. It's so, so nice. He almost regrets griping about Vergil's hovering this morning, because if he could have this the rest of the time he's sick, that would be great. It almost makes up for his present aches.
"S' okay, kiddo. We'll get you back up to snuff in no time," Dante chirps, settling at the far end of the couch. Just from the sound, Nero can tell he's got his boots up on the coffee table already.
"You could at least shower before sitting next to him. You reek of blood."
The young man wonders why his stomach doesn't seem to mind that, but he couldn't even think about an egg this morning without hurling. In fact, just the idea of an egg right now has him shivering and curling towards the fetal position.
A pair of fingers touch his forehead, and Vergil's reaction makes Dante hiss. "Nasty fever? Kid needs to hydrate."
"I... don't think it wise to move him."
"Me neither. If he's comfortable where he is, I betcha I can rustle up a straw. Gimme a few minutes to wrangle a couple things and then you can wake him up."
Nero winces when he hears the cupboard doors in the kitchen slam and he uses that as an excuse to pretend he hadn't been awake and listening the whole time. He groans, cracking open one eye. His father is in exactly the same place he was when Nero closed his eyes hours ago. "Mm. Vergil?"
Vergil sneers in the direction of the kitchen. "Dante."
"What? What did I do?"
Nero yawns while the two bicker about waking him, blinking blearily up at his father until those icy eyes flick back to him.
Vergil's expression softens from its scowl and he squeezes Nero's hand. "How do you feel?"
"Still pretty shit."
"Hm."
The young devil hunter grimaces at the empty feeling in his middle, but filling it doesn't seem appetizing at all. Nero ignores it. "You been crouched there the entire time? Don't your knees hurt by now?"
Vergil tilts his head owlishly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You asked me to stay."
"Just meant... with me. Not specifically there. You could sit."
The older twin rocks back on his heels, but otherwise doesn't move. "You... took comfort in it."
Okay, Nero can't exactly deny that one. His father's nearness just kinda radiated safety. How is that his fault? After not having a father all his life, it's more than a little reassuring to know Vergil cares enough to stay right there and not move just because Nero asked.
"Could still sit."
Vergil's eyes crinkle the barest hint. "As amusing as it is that you're concerned about my joint health, I assure you, I am fine here."
Nero sighs, grumbling just for the sake of it despite the small smile tipping his lips. A sudden bout of coughing ruins the peace of the moment, but Nero feels his father's touch supporting his neck from below and rubbing his side. The fit persists until Nero's ribs hurt and the first breaths he manages resemble a crackling wheeze.
Vergil cradles his head when he calms, worry clear in his expression. "Nero?"
"M' all right. Just-" Nero pushes himself upright—failingly—with his free hand. "Just need to sit up."
The half-devil helps him, sliding onto the vacated cushion and allowing Nero to lean against him. Dante reappears with a glass of water, a smile on his face that doesn't quite hide his concern. It seems he forewent hunting down a straw for the sake of Nero's throat.
"Hey, kiddo," Dante says softly. On a normal day, his soothing tone would sound completely and utterly patronizing. Right now, it makes Nero feel warm inside. "Nice and slow. If your stomach starts feeling upset, you can stop."
Nero sips from the glass, handing it back to Dante before it's even a quarter of the way gone.
"Your fever is worse," Vergil notes. He rests his chin on top of Nero's head when the young devil hunter tilts against his neck.
"Yeah, probably," Nero mutters.
Dante stays crouched beside the couch, slipping his hand into Nero's and giving it a reassuring shake. "How long you been feelin' bad?"
Nero sniffs in a poor attempt to clear his sinuses. "About three days. Started feeling worse yesterday, but I didn't think it was gonna... gonna hit me this hard. Ain't been this bad since I had the flu before I even met you."
"It's hangin' on pretty good then." Dante tucks the far end of the blanket over his feet. "I'll call Kyrie and tell her you won't be home for a few more days, okay?"
"M'kay." Nero closes his eyes before jerking forward to stop him. "Tell her I love her. And the kids."
Dante chuckles. "Sure thing, kiddo."
Vergil wraps an arm around Nero's front. "Just rest, Nero. Sleep if you can."
Nero nuzzles back up against his father, deciding to milk their closeness for all the body heat he can possibly steal. Vergil seems surprised, but he doesn't protest. Instead, he adjusts their arrangement for optimal comfort. Nero gives a pleased hum when Vergil strokes his hair again, sinking deeper into his cocoon while he listens to Dante chatter by his desk.
"...not feeling so good. Yeah. We'll take good care of him. Don't think his old man would allow for anything less.... Yeah, I know.... Yeah. I can do that...."
The young devil hunter drifts off before the conversation ends, something cool pressing against his forehead.
Every once in a while, he surfaces to soft mutterings from familiar voices, and they sound worried. Nero sluggishly wonders what they're worried about. At one point, someone mentions soup, and at another, fever medication. Nero parses out his father's voice from a smattering of sentences. He sounds close, and Nero likes that.
"...to do, Dante? When I helped him to the bathroom a few hours ago, I could physically tell he'd lost weight. He managed it on his own by some miracle, but-"
Nero frowns, rustling in discomfort until Vergil's croons in his ear. A rumbling noise stirs underneath him and he nestles closer to the soothing sound. He sighs in relief when something damp and cold presses against his forehead.
"There you go, kiddo."
The young hunter murmurs something that he hopes at least pretends to be gratitude. A warm laugh and comforting weight on his shoulder follow closely behind, so Nero figures he must've managed it.
In what feels like a blink, he opens his eyes to an image of his uncle holding a glass to his lips while a warm hand at his jaw holds him steady. He blinks sluggishly, his brow furrowing. Dante's face lights up like it's Christmas morning when he sees Nero eyeing him, a wide grin spreading across his lips the likes of which Nero has never seen.
"Hey, bud. How're you feelin'?"
Nero considers, eyes flicking down to his body where he's still tucked under a blanket. Is it a different one? When did that happen? And he feels clean, like his hair was washed recently enough to still be a bit damp. A familiar weight rests at his crown—his father's chin. "Uh.... Okay? I guess?"
Dante lets Nero take the glass of water when he fights his way free of his burrito. "That's good. Your fever broke a couple hours ago. You kept throwing up everything we got down you at first and were kinda delirious for a good stretch, so we went the demonic route a bit and tossed some blood on you to see what would happen. Freshened up like a damn daisy after that. Still didn't want to keep food down, but at least you were hydrated."
"So..., why do I feel like someone gave me a bath?"
"That'd be your old man. He thought you'd appreciate not waking up feelin' like a microwaved piece of tinfoil."
Nero isn't quite sure how to feel about that. Instead of commenting, he sips at his water. He feels better now, but a nap sounds killer right about now. Nero almost doesn't realize he's being lulled back to sleep by a throaty purr until Dante snags the water glass.
"Whoa there, kiddo. Let me just take that. You wanna sleep, you go right ahead. You've earned it."
"Been sleepin'."
Vergil lifts his head from Nero's and he feels a distinct pressure on top of his hair. "But you've been ill, which is also a kind of battle. If you think you can handle some food, we have soup for you. Otherwise, you must rest and recover."
Nero agrees to the soup immediately. He is absolutely starving. Dante lets him handle the bowl and spoon only because Nero threatens to stab him for even thinking about feeding him. His uncle looks far too pleased to be receiving death threats from Nero again. Whatever he was sick with really must've kicked his ass if it took enough fight out of him to let someone else feed him.
Granted, he wouldn't have let Vergil hold him like this before, so maybe he needed to get his ass kicked a little bit. It's... comforting.
Dante ruffles Nero's hair. "All right, kiddo. I'm gonna go put fresh sheets on your bed."
With that, they're left alone. Nice and quiet-like. Just the two of them.
"Thanks for-"
"Are you feeling-"
Nero laughs off their clashing words and lifts himself from his father's chest to sit up straight. He groans, stretching out for what has to be the first time in days. His joints pop in gratifying fashion and he stands, keeping the blanket wrapped around himself. "I'm okay."
Vergil eyes him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "You're certain?"
"Yeah. Fever's broken, like Dante said. I'll be right as rain in another day." Nero forces himself to face his father despite the embarrassment creeping up his neck. "I, uh.... Thanks for keeping an eye on me. I know I probably didn't make your life the easiest during this whole thing."
"You were no trouble," Vergil assures him.
Nero cocks a brow. If he spent a few days being sick enough not to remember, he definitely made trouble for someone. "That doesn't sound like me."
Vergil's lips quirk. "You might've thrown up on Dante."
"Now, that sounds more like it. Guess I kinda kept you bogged down on the couch, then. Sorry."
"There is no need," Vergil answers, rising to his feet and touching a gentle hand to his son's arm. "You were sick, and if keeping you company was what it took to help you, then I was glad to do it." He softens, lifting his fingers to cup Nero's jaw. "I owe you so much more than that."
Nero closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
"I feared I might lose you," Vergil admits, his voice so soft that Nero scarcely hears it. "My brazen little spark."
An uneven breath leaves Nero's lips and he opens teary eyes. For all their awkwardness and their rough starts, Vergil is here. He's here after so many years of desperately wanting to know who he belonged to in this world. Such love, adoration, and sheer pride radiate from Vergil's expression. Nero's been waiting his entire life for someone to look at him like that—like he changed their whole world and it would never be the same.
"Nah," Nero chokes out, pressing forward to hug his father around the middle. "I think you're gonna be stuck with me, old man."
Vergil wraps Nero up in his arms and presses another kiss to the top of his head. He hushes Nero when a breathless sob falls from his lips, speaking lowly, tender and sincere. "Then, I shall do my best to be worthy of you."