Growing up, Nero had not been well-liked. And that was putting it mildly. Rumours followed him his entire life as a kid, ones about how his mother had been a whore and his father an outsider. And yet, as one of the other kids at the orphanage had been kind enough to point out, not even they had wanted him. If he could just be quieter, if he could just pay attention to the order sisters' lessons, if only he could just sit still, if only he had a filter, if only he just knew how to fit in, to be like everyone else. His transgressions piled up more and more every day. And so Nero tried all of that, forced himself to just shut up, to think before he opened his stupid mouth, to shift his fidgeting into less obvious outlets, but it still wasn't enough. The scorn clung to him like a mist, following him everywhere he went. Like there was a massive sign hanging over his head that just begged people to hate him. Try as he might to just be normal, it never seemed to work out for him. As for the few unlucky souls that actually, genuinely liked him for him, only pain and misfortune seemed to befall them. Credo, Kyrie's mom, and her dad... All of them were long since dead and buried. Forever was such a fucked up concept because as hard as he tried to process that they were all gone and never coming back, he couldn't really wrap his head around it. Even now, it was one hell of a puzzle.

But as Nero lay in his hospital bed, he thought about how much that had all changed. He'd grown up in isolation, sure, but he wasn't alone anymore. He had Lady and Trish. Nico, who was the closest thing to an irritating sister he was ever going to get, had come all the way from Fortuna just to wish him well, in her own little way. He had an uncle and a father, too, and a girlfriend that loved him. He had Kyle, Julio, and Carlo, who all looked up to him. He wished he could've shown his younger self that. Look, kid. Look how many people love you. He wondered if his younger self would've even believed him.

Nero could sense the demonic presence of his old man sitting in the chair beside his bed, like always. Vergil was definitely an odd one but he was trying, in his own way, and he hadn't willingly abandoned his kid like Nero had thought all those years. He had a father. And an uncle. It was a weird, wack-ass, fucked up sort of family, but what could be more fitting for a weird, wack-ass, fucked up sort of kid?

Maybe he'd had it wrong this whole time. Maybe it wasn't about fighting, tooth-and-nail against his useless body. Hell, maybe it wasn't about fighting at all. Maybe it was about a gentle awakening like the ones on those lazy Saturday mornings when he'd blink his eyes open sleepily and roll over to the sight of Kyrie's bare back laying next to him. He'd lie there for a while, staring at the way the sun caught her pale skin, illuminating it in an angelic glow. Her hair became liquid fire in its rays and Nero would lay there, mesmerised, wondering how he got so lucky. The overwhelming need to press his lips to one of the freckles that dotted her body always won out eventually and it would inevitably wake her up (she'd always been a light sleeper). But she never minded. She'd always turn to him with a smile and a greeting in her morning voice, still husky with sleep.

All in all, it was a lot of maybes.

But stranger things had happened. So Nero opened his eyes, slowly. He didn't fight it anymore, simply let himself come to. The sun was painfully bright and he felt like crap, but he was a man on a mission. He leaned up to get a glance at Vergil. He had a book open in his lap, because of course he did, and he looked tired, far more exhausted than Nero had remembered. But he was there. He was actually right there in front of him and after all this time, Nero could touch him. His limbs were stiff and moved about as well as his devil breakers did after they got all stuffed up with demon gunk, but he could move. So Nero sat up slowly, trying to ignore the way the room spun. He stretched out his arms towards his old man... Only to get jerked back by the millions of wires attached to him. This was not how he pictured this moment going, and he'd imagined it a thousand times. He yanked them out of him and there would definitely be consequences for that later, but for now, he could not give less of a shit. Because his old man looked up at the movement in his peripheral and met his son's eyes. "Nero?" He said softly, voice quaking with disbelief.

"Yeah, dad. It's me." He sounded like crap. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it in weeks. Because, well, he really hadn't.

Nero sucked in a breath to psych himself up. Then he reached out in what was supposed to be a hug but ended up as him damn near falling off his bed. Vergil had to catch him before he face-planted. He'd make do, he decided. So Nero shifted in his father's grip and wrapped his arms around him. His old man did not throw him off and scoff at him, as he had in Nero's deepest fears. Nor did he wrap his son up in a fierce hug as he had in Nero's weird coma-addled fantasies. Instead, there was a surprised intake of breath and Vergil's arms fell limply at his sides. Nero didn't care that it wasn't being returned because dammit he'd wanted to do this for a while and he was milking it for all it was worth. His father was not the cuddliest to hug. He was overly warm and his body was hard with lean muscle, but Nero didn't mind. His old man smelled nice, cool and crisp, like the beginning of winter when the cold air misted up his breath. It was incredibly fitting for a man that Nero had once considered to be an iceberg. He didn't think that anymore, though. Eventually, just as he was beginning to pull away, one of his father's gloved hands came up to pat him on the back awkwardly. It was... Nice.

"It is good to see you well," Vergil said haltingly. Nero couldn't help but gently laugh at that. It was just the right amount of awkwardly endearing, a sentiment that he was beginning to associate with his old man in general.

Nero pulled back, not soon after, and gave an embarrassed cough. He rubbed his nose uncomfortably and couldn't help but notice that Vergil was similarly avoiding his gaze. "You, uh. You stayed. Thank you," Nero mumbled.

"Yes," he said. He could hear pensiveness in his voice, mixed with just a splash of something positive. Pride? Joy? Nero couldn't quite tell. "I suppose I did."


This is the second to last chapter and so to all of you who made it this far, thank you. Sincerely. As you've probably gathered by now, Like Sleep to the Freezing is dedicated to a late friend of mine and served as an outlet for my grief. I've never really lost anyone before, but Chris was so young, only 23, and so bright and passionate and he had one hell of a future ahead of him. It was incredibly unexpected and sudden. He was perfectly healthy in all senses of the word.

I mention this for two reasons: 1) as long as I share his stories and keep his memory alive, Chris is not really gone. He lives on through the people who remember him. 2) if you've lost someone and feel like your grief is going to swallow you whole, just know that even if it doesn't feel like it, it will get better. I will not lie to you and say that it ever truly goes away, but it gets easier each day. This too shall pass.