~~Fluffy Chapter is Fluffy.~~

Keeping a nephalem killing machine bed-ridden, particularly one that was used to going off on his own with no one to [care about him] answer to, was far trickier than Tyrael anticipated. He had been relieved when his nephew had located the first available surface that looked suitably sleebable. He'd been able to slow his hammering heart, and deal with the complete panic that seeing Rathma so...well he wasn't injured, but Tyrael hadn't known that. Seeing him collapse, covered in enough blood to thoroughly stain his floors for months, had shaken him.

Rathma had flopped down on one of the numerous couches in the room that Lorath insisted was a 'family room', and Tyrael had been relieved. The nephalem had slept for a day and a half, and this, too, had been a relief. (Nephalem were quite strange, and did not follow the same rules as humans. Rathma in particular was...exceptionally strange.)

Was it normal to feel so strongly about another person's health? Angels did not typically show such compassion for one another. Even the angels of Hope were really only concerned with healing a wound, and sending you on your way.

Feeling such fear and concern, and relief and hope for the sake of another was a very mortal thing to do, he had decided. (And given he was mortal now, this was most probably a good thing.)

Tyrael had been significantly less relieved to discover Rathma up and about the next evening. Didn't he ever rest?

A quick, "Hey you should still be resting." and a "If you need something please tell someone else and they'll get it for you." had earned him the typical annoyed squint from Rathma. The nephalem had relented though, and found another couch to colonize. The living cloak that he wore kept bundling itself around him, and Tyrael had thought it hissed at him when he came to near. (Had Rathma been lying about his injuries? Why else would his living garment be so protective.) Round one, to the angel.

The next morning, Tyrael nearly blew a gasket upon finding his nephew missing once more. That is, until he'd had a pillow dropped in front of him. Why Rathma had relocated himself to the wooden beams supporting the ceiling, he would not answer.

A brief argument had broken out; mostly Tyrael demanding he come down, and Rathma flatly refusing. He seemed comfortable enough up there though, so Tyrael relented.

Pillows started disappearing. Well, briefly-go-missing was perhaps a more apt description. They would be relocated rather quick, stuck to the ceiling. Whatever magic Rathma used to keep them up there was apparently quite potent, for once they went up, they rarely came back down. Blankets too, could be found stuck to the ceiling.

After a day or so, the odd construct began reminding Tyrael of the nests angels used to make. The practice had fallen out of favor as they'd thrown themselves fully into wartime, for they'd begun sleeping less, and sleeping communally when they did. Individual nests became something only civilians had, and even then they were rare.

He supposed it made sense though. The firstborn nephalem were rather feral from what he'd gathered. Likely, they had been in a similar cultural stage to early angels during Rathma's time.

It was rather fascinating, truly. Enough so that Tyrael had stopped to take notes, and promptly found a pillow lobbed in his direction.

Having the big construct looming over everyone's heads had been disconcerting at first, but everyone more or less got used to having it there. They got used to having Rathma himself there too. From what they all gathered he spent the majority of his time up there sleeping, but would occasionally resurface if someone needed him.

The odd nest became an ordinary part of their commune, stuck up in a corner of the livingroom. Tyrael, for one, appreciated that Rathma apparently trusted them enough to heal near them. It had been Lorath who pointed out that hiding when injured was a very common thing to...everything on Sanctuary. Hiding oneself away where nothing could disturb was one of the few options a creature living apart from society had.

Rathma wasn't exactly apart from society anymore though. Or at the very least, he'd become a part of the Horadrim and Tyrael's little group.

When the nest vanished overnight, and everything ended up back where it had come from, Tyrael couldn't help his disappointment. He couldn't help but to be dismayed to find Rathma missing again too.

It was silly to be so concerned, he knew. He'd seen the nephalem's healing ability first hand during the assault on Sanctuary from the Reapers. Truthfully, even if Rathma had been injured doing...whatever he was doing on the moors, he would've healed over days ago. Perhaps he'd simply enjoyed having the nest to return to when he needed it, but the nephalem was a solitary creature, and Tyrael knew this.

Still.

The nest came down, and things went back to normal. Rathma came and went, and brought back news of a cult of demon-worshippers stirring near Caldeum. He was oddly hesitant with the location, and Tyrael suspected there was something more too it. Much more…

But for as much as he should've been focussed on this new threat, Tyrael couldn't help but consider how his relationship with his nephew was developing. While he wouldn't exactly say they were close now, the nephalem was much more comfortable with and around him. He knew exactly what would have happened if he'd so much as touched Rathma when they first met, and involved lots of impalement. That he'd carried him for even a short time was miraculous. That he could get away with ordering the old necromancer to stay down was shocking, but welcome.

Dare he say, dare he think...Rathma trusted him. It was a nice thought to try out, and made something in him very pleased indeed. Probably the part of him that was very mortal, and very homesick.

Rathma was no angel, but he was family, and Tyrael knew that on a soul deep level. It seemed Rathma knew that too now.