The day that Nero was released from the hospital, Vincent himself brought him home. He took the shadow route, since Nero couldn't, carrying him by virtue of Gigas' strength, Ned leading the way.
"I can walk," Nero insisted as Vincent gathered him up.
"Nope. I didn't get to do this when you were little, so I'm doing it now."
"But-"
"Hush, child."
Nero rolled his eyes. Vincent grinned and stepped into the shadow-tunnel.
He'd already set up the back bedroom to be Nero's room, for as long as he might want it. New blackout shades and curtains hung at the window; he'd cleared the closet and the dresser drawers, but left the books, and added a few he thought Nero might like.
The bed linens and the rug were new as well, and he'd brought in an armchair upholstered in black leather. Veld had picked it out, choosing a design that had bit of a military air to it, reasoning that Nero might find this more comfortable and familiar.
Vincent had a special gift for him, waiting for when the time seemed right. It wouldn't do to hit the kid with too much new stuff all at once.
Ned brought them out of the tunnel straight into Nero's room.
"Good job, Ned." Vincent set Nero on his feet, watching to be sure he wasn't about to pass out. There was no logical reason to think he might, but, well, he could be forgiven for worrying a bit, surely.
"Thanks." Nero blinked, looking around the room, his gaze taking in every detail. "You changed things."
"It's kind of a 'welcome home'," Vincent said. "If you don't like something, or you need anything else-"
"This is fine." Nero sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping a bit. "I'll take good care of everything. Thank you." He reached down and scooped up Ned, setting him on the bed beside him. Ned flopped down, his head on Nero's knee.
"Why don't you rest for a while?" said Vincent. "I'll be in the living room if you need me."
"Don't you have to go back to work?"
"I'm taking a few days off."
"Because of me." Nero's white face flushed a bit. "You don't have to do that, I'm okay."
"It's fine. They owe me some time off anyway."
Nero nodded, silent again. His golden eyes had lost their luster, tarnished by grief and illness. His hand stroked Ned's head idly, but the action seemed automatic. He'd lost a lot of weight while in the tank, and it wasn't as if he could spare any.
"Are you hungry?" Vincent asked, hoping for a positive reply.
Nero shook his head. "Maybe later."
Vincent sat down next to him, his arm just touching Nero's. "Do you want to talk?"
Another shake of the head. "I just want to be alone."
That wasn't surprising, though it was a little disheartening. Still, everyone grieved in their own way. Nero needed time; Vincent could give him that.
He spent an hour or so working on reports, just to get them out of the way. As he finished the last one, he glanced up, and found Nero sitting on the floor not far away, Ned in his lap.
"Hey," said Vincent, folding up his laptop.
"Hi." That was all, but it was a start.
Vincent puttered around the house for the rest of the day, finding odd jobs like tightening a leaky faucet or decluttering his side of the bedroom he shared with Veld. Nero ghosted after him; wherever Vincent went in the house, Nero tagged along, silent unless Vincent asked him a direct question. Vincent put him to work folding laundry, which he did with military precision, his hands going through the motions while his eyes stared into the middle distance, black-rimmed and shadowed.
Then it was noon, and Vincent was officially out of busy-work to do. Nero sat staring out of the window, Ned curled up on top of the folded laundry beside him. The house was so quiet, every little pop and creak of the woodwork sounded like a gunshot.
"Nero," said Vincent, "I have something for you." He went to the master bedroom and came back with a large box, setting it in front of his son.
Nero looked at Vincent, then at the box, finally reaching down to open it. He blinked, and began to pull items out of the box.
There were three different sizes of sketch pads, a full set of drawing pencils, and a set of colored pens. Nero studied each item as though he'd never seen anything like it before - and he probably hadn't.
"There's an eraser in there, too," said Vincent, "although you probably won't need to use it much."
There was that slight flush again, and just a hint of a smile. "I don't know…"
"I thought maybe," said Vincent, "you might draw pictures of Rosso and Weiss to put at the shrine. If you want to."
Nero swallowed, blinking hard. He nodded, and carefully gathered everything back into the box. "Excuse me," he whispered, and fled, so quickly he might almost have gone by shadow. His bedroom door closed softly. Vincent's heart kicked once, and he sighed, resisting the urge to follow. He couldn't hover over Nero for the rest of his life, hard as it was to admit.
He'd just finishing reorganizing the bookshelves when he heard the scuff of boots behind him. He turned. Nero stood in the doorway, a stack of paper in his hands.
Vincent rose. "Can I see?"
Sitting side by side on the sofa, they went through the drawings one by one. He'd done them quickly, strong, flowing strokes of pencil and ink, touched here and there by color: Sky blue for Weiss's eyes, ruby red for Rosso's hair. They moved across the pages, walking, laughing, sparring, shouting, every action and emotion caught by Nero's deft touch.
"These are amazing," Vincent murmured, laying them out on the coffee table. The last one made him grin: It showed a squeaky popping out of a length of cloth, Rosso's startled shout almost loud enough to hear.
"That was Ned," Nero said, fingering the edge of the drawing. "He hid in her shirt one morning…" His voice cracked, and Vincent leaned over so their shoulders touched.
"Ned's a bit of a troublemaker, isn't he?"
"Yeah, a little." Nero drew a breath, and pulled another drawing out of the pile. "He liked her. There was this one time, after a training session, when he got into the showers…I thought she was gonna skin him…"
"Tell me," said Vincent, and sat back to listen.
When Veld came home hours later, he found them sitting in the living room, a blizzard's worth of sketches surrounding them, pens and pencils scattered over the coffee table.
"Hello," said Veld. "Anybody hungry?"
"We ate," said Vincent, watching a drawing take shape on the pad on Nero's lap.
Veld's eyebrow rose. "And nothing's on fire?"
Vincent waved a hand at him. "Shoo."
Veld went to the kitchen. A moment later he stuck his head around the door frame. "Valentine, peanut butter and jelly is not dinner."
Vincent shrugged. Veld shook his head and withdrew.
By ten o'clock, Nero was nodding in his seat. Vincent helped him pack away his art supplies, while Veld found folders to keep his drawings in.
"You've got real talent, Nero," Veld said, handing him the folders.
"Thank you, Sir," said Nero, and yawned. "Sorry…"
"To bed with you," said Veld, heading down the hall.
"Um, Veld…?" Vincent flashed Turk signs at him, behind Nero's back. Veld's eyebrow went up again, but he nodded.
"Eh, why not?"
It was a tight fit, all three of them in the same bed, Nero between Veld and Vincent. Nero fell asleep almost immediately.
"Not every night," Veld whispered.
"I know," said Vincent. "And he knows." He smiled, his hand reaching for Veld's. "Thanks, Veld."
"He's a good kid," said Veld. "Night, spook-wait. What's that?" He twitched, watching as something shadowy with yellow eyes popped up over the side of the bed.
Vincent snickered. "Ned."
Ned scrambled up and settled on top of Nero, chirping softly.
Veld sighed, lying down again. "Of all the things I expected in my old age, this wasn't one of them."
Vincent made certain, the next morning, to snap a picture of Veld with Ned sleeping in the curve of his arm.