Gently, a voice rich and deep filtered down from the ether. Peace, my son.
I'm not your son, Nero snapped. Why is everyone talking to me like a godsdamned baby?
You are young to me, the voice said, sounding not offended, but amused. Then again, most things seem young to me.
The voice was not Vincent's, or Veld's, or even Weiss or Azul's. This one was strangely melodious, and echoed of eternity.
Who are you?
The smile was invisible, but there nonetheless. I am Omega, Lord of the Dead, Bearer of Souls, Keeper of the Path to the Promised Land.
...am I dead?
No, young one. Your father, my brother, they sought me out that I might spare your life. The number of your days is not yet complete.
Nero was lost. Huh?
The huge materia at the bottom of Reactor Zero was where I slept for many thousands of years, Omega explained. Your beloved led your father thereto, whereupon he begged for your life. I would deny my brother nothing, for he is of my own spirit.
Your brother's a bastard, Nero grumbled. He killed my family!
The word left his mouth without thought, without choice. He had not even known there was a word for what he, Weiss, Rosso, Azul, and Argento had been to each other. Although he had no form, no body, no eyes from which to shed tears, Nero broke down and began to cry.
He killed my family…
Warmth and strength surrounded him, and Nero huddled into it instinctively.
All of you were children of Jenova, the pestilence who killed my family, Omega said quietly. For many eons, we thought she had devoured Chaos, leaving our family bereft.
Nero bit back a cruel comment, keeping his thoughts and resentment to himself.
Chaos spared you alone because you were born into darkness. Even when Gaia was young, few children were born of shadow. They were to be cherished and instructed that death and darkness need not be feared. Blood calls to blood, and the dark mako in your veins calls to him and to myself, just as your blood calls to the heart of your father.
I don't have a father, Nero said bitterly. I don't need or want one, especially not one who'd murder everyone I care about so he could have me all to himself for gods know what.
You give him too much credit. Omega sounded amused. Chaos and your father are alike in this: their hearts govern their actions. Neither would have plotted so elaborately to capture your affection.
I don't believe you.
I do not expect you to, Omega soothed. Your heart is yet bleeding. Such a wound may never fully heal, but the pain will decrease with time. That much, I can offer you.
I don't want it! Nero sobbed. I don't want time, or a father, or a life on the surface! I want my family! I want to go home!
It is not your time, Omega apologized. I'm sorry, truly, I am. My power lies in death, and a peaceful transition from this world to the next. I know only the path that leads to peace eternal, not back to life in a mortal body. I cannot bring your loved ones back to you, nor can I permit you to enter into the Promised Land.
Is that where they are?
The nod was unmistakable, felt rather than seen. Yes. There they shall await you, until your days are accomplished.
I didn't ask for this, Nero told him. I don't want you in my head. I just want it to be over.
It will not always hurt so much, Omega promised. For now, yes, there will be pain, but think upon the pain you have spared those who love you.
No one loves me.
Your father loves you, as does his husband, though they insist upon veiling their feelings. Your surviving sister loves you, and covets your safety. Your beloved loves you, and longs to end this cruel separation. Your sister's sister, who sees to your recovery, and your comrades in arms who do not yet know of the danger you faced, all these would mourn you deeply.
Nero had nothing to say to that. To his ears, it sounded like a lie. "Love", like "hope", had been a four-letter word in Deepground; a term that was never used. Consequently, Nero had not had a word for so many things. Perhaps one word in five of Omega's speech had made sense, rather as if he'd been talking to Vincent.
Thoughts of Vincent brought hot, angry tears to his non-existent eyes that Nero was powerless to stop. He never should have given up searching on his own, should never have trusted Vincent and Veld. He should have never ventured up to the Surface. Chaos might have struck the finishing blow, but this was his- Nero's- fault.
Veld left Nero's room, going down the hall to the windowed alcove where Vincent waited.
A nurse was there, talking softly, one hand on Vincent's arm. No doubt she was the source of the blanket draped over his shoulders, the fabric quivering as he shook underneath it, head bowed, long, ragged hair hiding his face. Veld suspected he still wept under cover of that mop.
The nurse looked up as Veld approached. "Are you with him?"
"Yep. Ready to go, Vince?"
"Sir." The nurse ushered him a few feet away, in that brisk, professional manner that brooked no nonsense. "Your friend appears to be in shock. He's refusing treatment, which is his right, but I'm very concerned. Do you think he'd at least speak to a grief counselor?"
"No one's died yet," said Veld, more gruffly than he'd intended, but the sooner he got Vincent out of here, the less likely there'd be another unexpected limit break. Gigas had come and gone; Galian would be problematic at best, and the last thing anyone here needed was Hellmasker.
The nurse persisted. "Well, he looks like he's been in accident."
"No, nothing of the sort," said Veld, offering no other explanation. "I'll take him home. He'll be much better after a night's sleep."
Assuming he could get him to sleep, which was by no means certain. His plan to get Gigas drunk off his ass hadn't even gotten started. Booze wouldn't work on Vincent otherwise, but Gigas was unlikely to return any time soon.
The nurse frowned, glancing at Vincent, who hadn't moved. "I can't force either of you to accept help, but please at least take him to his primary physician."
"I'll do that," Veld lied. It wasn't any of her business that Vincent didn't have a primary physician.
As Vincent didn't seem inclined to move, let alone have another hissy fit, Veld took a minute to place a call. When that was done, he urged Vincent to his feet.
"Come on. I called Tseng. He's sending a Turk to drive us home."
Vincent nodded, eyes downcast, one hand loosely holding the blanket around him. Veld walked him down to the entrance, where the car turned up exactly three minutes later-bless Tseng's efficiency. Vincent folded himself into the back seat beside Veld without a word.
Once home, Veld talked him into the shower, and tossed the shredded clothing himself - none of it was salvageable. Poking around in Vincent's closet, he found an old cotton shirt, and sweatpants worn to comfortable softness.
Vincent accepted the clothes and got dressed, his movements mechanical and slow. Veld handed him a fresh towel.
"Dry your hair," he said, "and I'll go make some tea. Okay?"
A silent nod, but at least he did as Veld suggested.
Alcohol might not work, but Veld chose to believe that a cup of high quality herbal tea cured a multitude of ills. Hot, sweet tea was good for shock, and chamomile for stress. Veld would have added valerian for sleep, but Vincent couldn't stand the taste. He brought the tea to the living room, where Vincent had curled up in one corner of the sofa.
Vincent accepted the cup, but set it aside without tasting it. Veld sighed.
"Vincent," he said gently, sitting next to him. "It'll be okay. Really."
"No," Vincent said, shaking his head, tears spilling down his face. "He's dying. I'm losing him. He's going to die."
"No, he's not," Veld snapped. Never mind that he feared the same thing. Vincent didn't need to hear that. "Shalua and her team are doing everything they can. He's strong. He'll make it."
"No, he-" Vincent stopped, blinking hard. "I-made it worse. He's afraid of me. I'm less than nothing to him. He's lost everyone he cared about, and it's my fault."
At least he was talking, even if he wasn't making a lot of sense. Veld focused on the one thing he was fairly certain about. "Vincent, you are not Chaos. Nero is smart enough to understand that, once the edge wears off. "
"It won't matter, Veld! He doesn't want to live!"
"Vincent, he's not dying. I promise you."
"You can't promise that!" Vincent turned abruptly, anger sparking in his eyes. "I'm not a child! Stop talking down to me, I've had enough of that!"
"That wasn't my intention," said Veld, holding on to his patience.
"Right." Vincent shifted away from him, arms crossed tight over his chest, almost but not quite as Nero often did. "You think I can't tell when you're humoring me? That you think I'm overreacting?"
That struck a nerve, little though Veld liked to admit it. "I never said that."
"You don't have to." Vincent glanced at him. "It's always the same. Do you know what it feels like when all my friends think I'm just a drama queen, getting upset over nothing?"
"Okay, not nothing, I get that-"
"No, you don't! You think I should just sit quietly and wait for Shalua to concoct a miracle! No one even asks me how I'm doing because they're all afraid I'll tell them."
"Vincent, I-"
"It's like being in the lab again," Vincent said, his voice thin and shaky. "It hurt to move and it hurt to lie still. It hurt to breathe. I could scream for days and no one cared. No one heard me. That's how this feels.
"You should know. You should remember. How it feels to be helpless, to watch your child suffering and not be able to do anything. But at least with your daughter, you didn't make it worse."
"I don't know about that," Veld said. The memories never really faded, and he winced. "There were days...But Vince, you're not making it worse. Trust me. Nero's not that fragile. Remember what Shelke said about how strong he is?"
"She meant physically. He's hurting inside, Veld. Grief can kill. I can guess what he's going through. You know I'd have done myself in if I could have found a way."
"If you had succeeded, you'd never have known Nero."
"And Chaos wouldn't have killed his family," Vincent countered.
"And Nero and his siblings would have been part of Deepground until the day they died," said Veld. Maybe it was harsh, but going easy on this wasn't useful.
"That day would've come soon enough. They'd have gone up against the full WRO army, and probably Cloud Strife as well. How could they defeat the man who beat Sephiroth? As strong as Nero and his siblings were-" Veld shrugged. "They were still only three kids, untested in real combat. There'd be casualties aplenty, but they'd have lost."
Vincent took this in in silence, staring at the cup in his hands. Veld slid an arm around him, holding him close.
"I'm sorry, Vincent. You're right. It's been one shock after another since Nero turned up, and the cultural gap between him and the rest of us makes it even harder. We haven't taken your concerns as seriously as we should have. I'm as guilty of it as anyone else."
"Yes, you are."
"OK, I deserved that." Veld took the teacup from Vincent, set it on the end-table. "Come on. It's late. Let's go to bed. Shalua will give us a report in the morning."
Vincent nodded, silent again. He didn't bother to change, just slid into bed beside Veld as he was.
True sleep eluded both of them. Veld dozed intermittently, and every time he opened his eyes, Vincent lay next to him, tears still flowing. He didn't seem to even be aware of them.
There was nothing else to say, no way to convince him that Nero would live. All he could do was wait for morning, and hope. And pray.
Veld sent a plea to the gods he'd disavowed years ago, figuring they owed him as much as he owed them. Maybe more.
Just let Nero recover, will you? Give Vincent this one thing. They need each other.
Let that be enough.
Veld woke to the buzzing of his cell phone. He turned it so that Vincent, stirring beside him, couldn't see the screen, just in case.
As promised, Shalua had sent a text. 'Nero had a good night. He's awake now.'
Veld let himself relax a little, and showed Vincent the message.
Vincent nodded, his expression guarded.
Veld hit Shalua's number on speed dial. Texting was all very well for the kids, but it was too early in the morning for old men to mess with it. Not that his fingers were stiff or achy or anything like that.
"Hey, Shalua," he said when she answered. "Thanks for the update. What's the plan for the day? Would it be all right for us to visit?"
"It would be better for Nero if you didn't," said Shalua in measured tones. "I'm going to run some tests, which may be tiring for him as it is. And Shelke says he's really not up to seeing anyone today. I'm going to trust her on this. Out of all of us, she knows him best."
It didn't take a Turk to read between the lines. "I understand," said Veld. "Vincent can use a bit more rest as well. I'll check back with you later this afternoon, if that's all right?"
"Fine," said Shalua, relief evident in her voice. "Thanks, Veld. Tell Vincent that Nero's resting comfortably."
"I'll do that."
Vincent accepted the message without protest. "I know he doesn't want to see me."
"He will," Veld said. "When he's stronger."
"He won't." That was all Vincent would say about it for the rest of the day. Veld gave up trying to convince him otherwise.