The first week, Nero slept, ate, and occasionally ghosted about the house before collapsing again into an exhausted sleep. Too weak to manifest his shadows, he slouched about in pajamas that were too wide for his narrow body.
"I don't know how you guys deal," he huffed. "It's so scratchy!"
Veld- with Max's help- had picked out a few things for Nero during his hospital stay. He and Vincent had renovated the back bedroom, turning it into a space that Nero could inhabit and claim as his own. Nero, being Nero, had fretted and flailed, insisting that it was too much, that he could never pay them back.
"No," Vincent had told him firmly. "I am paying you back. This doesn't even make a dent in what I owe you. I'll never be able to make up for all the diapers I didn't change, the little league games I didn't coach, the school plays I didn't attend.
"Nero, I owe you a whole damn childhood, not to mention a family. This is the best I can do for right now."
It wasn't a lecture per se, but Nero lowered his head, chastened, and muttered a breathy:
"Yessir. Thank you, Sir." A pause. "...what's little league?"
If Vincent longed to make up for the lost days of Nero's infancy, he got his chance about a week later. Exhaustion had kept Nero's sleep heavy and dreamless. Once his body stabilized, however, his brain came fully back online, and with it a lifetime of neuroses, nightmares, and bad memories.
The first time Veld heard the whimpering, he didn't immediately realize what it was. Then static had crackled over the speaker, and the gil dropped. Vincent had bought a baby monitor to ensure they would know if Nero stopped breathing during the night (a not unfounded fear). Both men turned to squint sleepily at the monitor as it emitted a muffled sob. Vincent cast an anxious glance at Veld, who nodded. Without a word, Vincent got up and went out into the hall.
Nero's bedroom door stood open, as expected. Nero lay curled tightly in the middle of the bed, hopelessly tangled in blankets.
"Nero?" Vincent called softly. The boy didn't stir, but a pair of yellow button eyes popped up out of the darkness. Ned, at least, was awake. The creature skittered out of the way as Vincent came over and laid a cautious hand on Nero's.
"Nero?"
It didn't pay to try to invade the space of a sleeping Turk, much less a sleeping Tsviet. Vincent fully expected Nero to start awake in a panic and was not disappointed. The hand he'd touched shot up, seizing Vincent by the collar. Vincent responded by reflexively grabbing Nero's wrist with one hand, and angling the other around his arm in order to break his grip. Still physically depleted, Nero's hold faltered, and Vincent was able to get him to let go. That didn't stop Nero from attacking, the boy's free hand driving into Vincent's stomach. Any calming words Vincent had planned escaped in a rush of air. He tried to hold Nero back by the shoulders, but this earned him a kick that almost connected. Avoiding Nero's foot meant both of them tumbling to the floor, Nero pulling the tangle of sheets and blankets with him.
"Nero!" Vincent gasped, both of Nero's hands latched around his neck. "Nero, it's okay! Calm down!"
Nero didn't listen, just squeezed harder, not even crying out when his head connected with the corner of the bedside table as they rolled over each other on the floor. Vincent could break his hold, but it would also mean breaking fingers at the least, Nero's arm at the most. Vincent was trying to come up with a third option when a shout and a stab of light assaulted his senses.
"Nero! Stand down!"
Vincent squinted through the blinding lamp light to see Veld standing in the doorway, fingers still poised on the switch. Nero shrieked at the light, but froze at Veld's command. Vincent took the opportunity to scoot away.
Veld approached slowly, cautiously, and crouched down so that he was not towering over Nero quite so much. Nero scrambled to the nearest shadow and clawed at it, clearly trying to dive into it, but it remained as closed to him as it would have to Veld. Beneath the baggy T-shirt, his chest heaved in too-deep panic breaths, and his whole body shivered as he pressed his back to the wall, terror written in every line of his face.
"It's okay, kid," Veld told him in a low monotone. "No one's gonna hurt you."
For a long moment they stared each other down: terrified gold into impassive bronze. The moment shattered and Nero shrank in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them, wrapping his arms around his legs. He didn't even try to disguise his sobs.
Veld jerked his head at the lightswitch and Vincent rose to shut off the lights. The room descended into blessed dusk, only the light from the hall invading the safety of the manufactured shadows. Reaching, Veld shook a blanket loose from the pile of bedding and draped it over one arm.
"It's okay, kid," he repeated. "It was a bad dream, that's all. No one's gonna hurt you. You're not in trouble. It's okay."
Nero did not move, did not even look up. Veld edged closer and slowly, deliberately, spread the blanket over Nero's head and shoulders like a cloak. Nero uncurled enough to clutch the edges and pull the blanket tight around himself. Rather than lean against him, Veld again very slowly and deliberately raised a hand and placed it on Nero's shoulder. The boy flinched, but didn't move or try to shake him off.
"Just breathe," Veld told him gently, lightly rubbing his shoulder. "It's alright. It was just a bad dream, that's all."
"No," Nero managed at last, mask thick with static from his efforts to breathe through his tears. "It wasn't. I'm still here."
Instinct compelled Veld's arms to pull Nero close, to gently press his head down to rest on his shoulder. Nero stiffened, unsure, but relaxed as Veld ran one hand over his hair. Helpless, unwanted, Vincent sat down nearby.
"I'm glad you're here," Veld said softly. "I hate to lose good men." Instinct had guided him to hug Nero, impulse made him hold out his free arm to Vincent. "Had enough of that already."
Vincent scooted closer and leaned against Veld gladly. "Not sure I qualify," he muttered.
"Sir?" Nero asked, sounding confused.
"You're a good man, Nero," Veld said firmly, fixing him with his eyes. Turning to Vincent, he stretched to kiss his cheek in a rare display of open affection. "And you're good enough."
Despite the pain still squeezing his heart, Vincent smiled. Leave it to Veld to bridge the gap between them. Diplomacy wasn't an often employed Turk skill, but this was one instance where forcing the issue would do no good. Maybe Nero wasn't ready for a direct hug, might never be, but this was more than he'd hoped for. It was close enough.
When Nero had finally fallen into deep, for-once dreamless sleep, Vincent harried Veld back into their own bed.
"You're not sitting on the floor all night."
"I'm not that old, Valentine," Veld grumbled. Vincent pretended not to hear the crackle of Veld's knees as they walked back to their bedroom.
"How do you do it, Veld?" said Vincent, as they slid back under the blankets.
"Do what, exactly?"
"Comfort him. Talk him down. How do you know what to do?" Vincent laid his head on Veld's shoulder and sighed. "I feel so useless."
"Oh, I learned with a couple of people," said Veld, "and it was mostly trial and error. Felicia used to get flashbacks, those last few months….memories of Kalm."
"I remember. I didn't have any idea how to help you with that, either."
"You helped, spook." Veld slipped his arm around Vincent's shoulders. "Just being there, to talk to, drink with, just…being there. It helped."
"If you say so. It's just so frustrating!" Vincent tilted his head back to look at Veld. "Who else? You said a couple of people."
Veld gave him a weary smile. "You."
"…Oh." Of course. He was no stranger to nightmares. To this day, his memories of the lab and the experiments were a tangled, roiling mess that only occasionally made sense. He never knew what might trigger one. It could be weeks between them, or only a few days.
They'd thrown Veld off his stride for a while, when he and Vincent had begun sharing a bed again, but somehow he'd coped, and by now it was almost routine. Veld always seemed to know what to do, what to say, to make the horror fade, the fear dissipate, to help Vincent find enough peace of mind to go on.
"So you're saying I've been a learning experience?"
"Something like that." Veld settled more comfortably next to him, warm, solid, reassuring. "Get some sleep, Vince. I think Nero will be all right for the rest of the night."
"Okay. But, Veld…next time is my turn." Because he could learn, too.
After all, he had a master to teach him.