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Normally, Nero didn’t come to the Team’s training sessions. He’d never needed them, and once he left, there hadn’t been any real reason for him to join in. But, M’gann had all but begged him to come with the promise that Conner would be around and available to spar. And, well, Nero wasn’t one to say no to a fun challenge. Sparring with Dante was fine, but he never had a chance in hell against his uncle. The fights were always one sided and they both knew Dante could end it whenever he wanted. And besides, those fights usually ended up more playful than the sparring matches he got from the others on the Team.
Something about Nero being a nestling and play fighting being a natural part of devil families, according to both Dante and Trish.
He resented the nestling remark, dammit. He was an adult who didn’t need to be babied.
But, despite his previous eagerness for a fight, he currently found himself sitting tiredly on the bench as Dick and Zatanna sparred. His whole body ached, had since he’d gotten up this morning. But he’d ignored it. It was probably just a result of the job he and Dante had done yesterday that took far too long and had left them both drained and irritable.
He curled his devil bringer into a tight fist while it rested in his lap as he brought his left hand up to rub his temple in an attempt to alleviate the building headache. He shivered slightly, a chill running through his whole body.
He was fine, he told himself, even as he tried his hardest to ignore the nausea currently making his life hell. He’d skipped breakfast this morning because of it.
No, he totally wasn’t sick, he was fine. He was totally, 100% fine.
He continued to watch the sparring matches that followed in uncomfortable silence, feeling worse and worse by the minute. But, he’d already committed, and he didn’t want to back out now.
Plus, it would be humiliating to have to drag his ass back to Devil May Cry after doing nothing for the past hour. Dante was probably still asleep, but he’d know Nero had gone out and he didn’t have the energy to explain to him why he left and came back so early in the morning (it was almost noon when he woke up which was unusual for him. Credo had been a very strict drill sergeant when it came to morning workouts.)
He caught the mildly concerned looks the others were throwing his way, but he quickly waved them off. They didn’t need to worry about him. He’d get this fight over with and then lay down on the couch for a little while. Maybe call Kyrie just to talk. But that required dragging himself off the bench and keeping up the illusion that he wasn’t about to keel over at any moment.
When Black Canary turned towards him and Conner, gesturing for them to get into the center of the room. Nero took a quick moment to summon Yamato, ignoring the pulse of worry she sent him. He sent her a silent reassurance and placed her carefully against the bench. They really didn’t need a repeat of the time she decided to stab Conner. There was a sense of smug satisfaction that still rolled off of her any time he brought it up, so he was pretty damn sure she’d do it again if given the chance. Thankfully, he trusted most of the others to not touch her. Especially with Kaldur keeping an eye on things.
The world around him swayed as he stood up, his head pounding in rhythm with his heart and he staggered slightly in an attempt to regain his balance. His hand drifted towards his head, but he stopped the motion halfway there. Black Canary was watching him carefully, scrutinizing his every move. He forced himself to stand up straighter, wiping away any sign of discomfort as best he could.
Nothing was ever that easy for him. Canary was quick to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he made it to the center of the ring. Her lips were pursed as she scanned him, likely searching for any signs of injury. He couldn’t blame her for that one. He had walked in covered in blood once or twice. “Nero,” she said, her voice low and careful. “Are you alright?”
He nodded sharply and the sharp stab of pain behind his eyes made him regret it immediately. Still, he wasn’t about to admit that. “Fine.” He said behind gritted teeth, trying to will the headache away.
Shocker, it didn’t work. His head continued to pound relentlessly and Canary was visibly unconvinced. He half expected her to tell him to sit back down, so before she even had the chance to say anything, he rolled his shoulders and sank into a defensive stance. Conner looked uncertain, attention focused solely on Nero’s chest, where his heart beat loudly, and probably way too fast to be healthy.
Or, maybe that was just the ringing in his ears that made it hard to focus.
With a slow exhale, he drew his arms up into a shaky guard. Conner hesitantly raised his own arms, his lips pulled downwards in a concerned frown.
Canary gave the signal to start the fight, and Nero rushed forwards with a low kick, following up with a punch aimed at Conner’s face. He blocked it easily, shoving Nero’s arm out of the way. A punch to the gut had Nero doubling over with a cough as black spots started encroaching in his vision. Conner slammed his elbow into the side of his head, sending him into a wheezing heap on the floor as his balance tipped out from under him. His sluggish brain couldn’t hope to process what was happening until he was trying to push himself up. He managed to drag himself onto his knees, chest heaving as he struggled to get his breathing under control.
“Hey…” Conner said, taking a single step towards him.
Nero forced himself to get up, swaying on his feet as he did.
Then he felt himself lose his balance as his vision went dark.
Muffled voices filtered through Nero’s consciousness as something cool and damp was placed on his forehead. He was laying on something soft, his head propped up against another surface, similar in texture to whatever he was laying on. Something fuzzy and warm had been draped over his body, and despite it, shivers still wracked his frame.
“–supposed to be this warm?” A familiar voice asked.
Someone else responded, worry bleeding into their every word. “No. That’s…probably bad.”
“I called Dante, he should be here soon,” another person said.
Oh, that wasn’t good. Calling Dante meant something was wrong. Nero was fine, wasn’t he?
The headache and nausea said otherwise. But, Nero refused to stay down for long, so with a soft groan he forced himself to open his eyes. He reached his left hand up to grab at what he now realized was a wet face cloth. It took him a few more seconds to realize that the soft surface he was laying on was the couch in the living area of the cave. Someone must’ve brought him in here after he’d apparently passed out. There was a blanket tossed over him, and a pillow behind his head.
He meant to say something reassuring, to let everyone know that he was fine and that they didn’t need to fuss over him. What he actually said was, “fuck.”
M’gann was immediately leaning into his space, her eyes wide with concern. “Nero? Are you okay? What happened?”
He waved her off, pushing himself up unsteadily. He ignored the hands that hovered over him in an attempt to help. The rest of the Team were gathered around the couch, staring at him. It was unsettling really. He wasn’t a specimen to be studied in a lab (fuck you Agnus), why couldn’t they find literally anything else to do. “I’m fine,” he muttered, turning to cough into the crook of his elbow.
“Oh yeah, you sound fine,” Artemis scoffed.
“I didn’t ask your opinion.”
Black Canary crouched beside him, holding out a glass of water and a couple of pills for him to take. “Take these. You’ve got a pretty nasty fever and I’d rather avoid having to take you to the hospital.”
Nero stared intently at the pills she handed him with a deep frown. “This won’t do anything.”
“Nero.” She was using what Dick had dubbed as her ‘mom voice’ on him. “That wasn’t a suggestion. You’re sick, you’re going to take some medication to lower your fever.”
“No, I mean…meds don’t work on me.” He leaned forwards and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He sniffed miserably, cursing internally as he realized he could no longer breathe through his nose. Fuck this shit so hard. Savior, being sick sucked.
Wally made a sympathetic noise from somewhere on the other side of the couch. “The drawbacks of a fast metabolism. I gotta use more Ibuprofen than what’s probably safe.”
“Maybe don’t admit to that out loud,” Dick suggested.
Nero curled further in on himself to get away from the noise. Everyone was too damn loud, and it only served to make the pounding headache worse, bordering on a migraine.
Kaldur’s voice was quiet when he spoke, an action he didn’t have the words to describe how grateful he was for in the moment. “Let’s leave them be, I do not think our presence is helping.”
“But–” M’gann began to protest.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Zatanna said, not giving M’gann the chance to ask any more questions.
For a brief moment, Nero wondered if she’d actually seen anyone get sick before. Did Martians get sick? Probably.
He’d have to ask her later. When he didn’t feel like death warmed over.
Black Canary hadn’t moved from her spot beside him, and when he opened his eyes, he was a little surprised by the expression on her face. Most of the adults in his life either stared at him with nothing but frustration and irritation, or disgust. It hardly mattered to them that he was the reason Sanctus hadn’t destroyed Fortuna, even now all they saw was the cursed child that had been left at the orphanage who grew up to be the island’s most disrespectful resident. The Eleisons’ had shown him an amount of care that no one had bothered with before, but even then, he was sure it was out of obligation more than any actual regard for his well being. Canary was looking at him with genuine concern, the way he’d always seen parents give to their kids.
Okay, that was enough thinking when his brain felt like it was melting in his skull.
She pressed the glass of water into his hand gently, “At the very least, drink the water. You’re probably dehydrated.”
He curled his fingers around the glass, taking a slow, small sip. The cool water soothed his sore throat in a way he hadn’t expected. He very nearly nearly chugged the whole thing, only to be stopped by the sudden reminder of the nausea that had nearly taken him out earlier. He was quick to place the cup on the table and curl up, dropping his head between his knees. He was not about to puke in front of Canary, thanks. He respected and appreciated her, but that would just be embarrassing.
The sound of the Zeta Tube powering up and announcing Dante’s presence had Nero relaxing on instinct. Dante didn’t so much as run into the room, but his footsteps were quick and ever so slightly frantic, hidden behind his usual swagger. He stopped on the other side of Canary, his hand coming to rest on Nero’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Nero raised his head enough to catch the worried frown on his face, that he quickly replaced with a grin.
“Jeez, kid, you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Nero muttered.
Dante laughed, moving his hand to ruffle his hair. The motion made the world around him spin and he was forced to drop his head back to its previous position.
“Welp, uh, you…you wanna get outta here? You’re really not lookin’ good there, kiddo.”
Nero would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t think the action was gonna make him dizzier than he already was. So he settled for half-heartedly whacking Dante’s chest with the back of his hand.
“What? Need me to carry you?” Dante reached out to scoop him up and Nero hissed softly at him, earning a fond chuckle from the annoying bastard.
“I will actually fucking bite you if you try it.” He broke off into another cough, cutting his threat short. He opted to shoot him a glare instead.
Dante responded with a soft smile. He pushed himself up from where he was crouched by the couch. He offered a hand towards Nero; he allowed himself to be (surprisingly gently, he noted) pulled up to his feet. A wave of lightheadedness hit him like a truck and he staggered, only for Dante to catch his arm to stop him from eating shit as he blinked away the dark spots that had creeped into his vision again.
He kind of wanted to curl back up on the couch and sleep for the next few days. That could only help. And, at the very least, staying at Devil May Cry meant he wouldn’t have to worry about Kyrie getting sick. Flu season in Fortuna was always pretty rough and every few years, he’d get hit hard by whatever illness was going around. It was rare, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised he wound up catching something this year, with how much time he and Kyrie had been spending at the orphanage recently, plus having a newly adopted kid in the house meant he’d been sneezed on, drooled on, licked, bitten, and exposed to about as many germs as he possibly could be at this point. So really, why was he surprised? He should’ve seen this coming.
Dante gave him a nudge towards the Zeta Tube, drawing him out of his thoughts. “C’mon, let’s head back to the office.”
Canary gave him a small smile. “Feel better, Nero. Remember to stay hydrated and get some rest.” She grabbed Dante’s arm, yanking him towards her. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, like she didn’t want him to overhear. “You should take him to the hospital if his fever gets any worse.”
Dante laughed, waving her off. “Kid’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
“But–”
“Dinah, trust me. We both tend to run hotter than the average human, so I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”
Canary narrowed her eyes at the two of them, opening her mouth to argue, when Nero cut her off. “I’m standing right here. I can literally hear you both.” He was honestly about to walk away and head back to the office on his own if Dante didn’t get his ass in gear. He wanted to lie the fuck down. “I’m leaving.”
He started the short walk across the room towards the teleporter, hearing a shift of fabric followed by heavy footsteps. Dante’s hand came to rest on his back as he took the lead. He gently pushed Nero into the Zeta Tube, inputting the necessary commands to send them back to Capulet. Nero gave an exhausted wave to the rest of his friends before the two of them vanished in a bright light, reappearing in the alleyway behind the office.
Dante steered him towards Devil May Cry, shoving the door open and bringing him over to the couch. Nero was half tempted to shove him off and to argue that he could walk just fine, but the closeness and warmth that his uncle radiated chased away the chill in his bones. He laid down on the couch with a soft groan, throwing his left arm over his eyes to block out the light. A blanket was tossed over him, followed by the sounds of Dante shuffling around in the kitchen.
He lifted his arm enough to squint at the soft clink as Dante placed a dubiously clean glass on the table, close enough that it was within reach for Nero to grab without sitting up. He returned his arm to its spot over his eyes, letting them slip closed again. The pounding in his head had only grown worse over time, and now it was virtually impossible to ignore.
Fingers carded through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. He let out a soft breath, practically melting into the shitty couch corners.
Dante sighed heavily. “Y’know, I wonder if that’s what it’s like to get called by a teacher telling me to pick my kid up from school.”
“Not a kid,” he muttered.
“Yeah, sure, that’s why you’re currently crashing on my couch while I look after your ass.”
Nero blindly moved his hand in an attempt to swat him away. He missed completely, giving up halfway through his attempt. He simply accepted his fate and let Dante continue to ruffle his hair.
“So, uh, you need anything?” Dante asked after a moment when Nero didn’t bark out some annoyed threat.
“No.” He just wanted to sleep. For once, he was able to ignore how uncomfortable the shitty couch was. The amount of effort required to get up and drag himself upstairs to the guest room he’d all but taken over was more than what he could possibly muster up at this point. So, world’s worst couch, it was.
Dante froze, going silent, like he had no idea what to do with that response, and Nero wondered if he’d ever actually had to deal with someone being sick before. Which, considering everything he knew about his uncle, the fucker probably hadn’t gotten sick himself. Like, ever, considering how fast he healed. And, full offense intended, but he did not trust the man who lived off of pizza, alcohol, and strawberry sundaes to take care of another living creature.
Finally, after the silence stretched on a little too long to be comfortable, Dante awkwardly patted his shoulder. “Alright, well, uh, I’ll leave you to it then. I guess. You okay if I make a phone call at some point?”
Nero waved him off with his devil bringer. Hopefully, he’d be asleep soon enough and wouldn’t have to listen to the old man blabber on. He swore to the Savior, if he woke up cause Dante was ordering pizza, he’d stab him. Yamato hummed her approval at the thought. Her presence settled over him like a second blanket.
He let her song lull him into a restless sleep.
He had no idea how long he’d managed to actually sleep when a loud clatter, followed by Dante swearing, woke him up, only serving to worsen the headache he’d managed to briefly forget about in the short period he’d been asleep. The bastard was officially dead to him. He reluctantly sat up, coughing into his elbow as he did. The shuffling in the kitchen stopped abruptly and slowly, like a cat that got caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to, Dante poked his head around the corner, blinking slowly at him. Nero leveled him with what he hoped was an intimidating glare, but given how miserable he still felt, he was pretty sure it fell flat.
“Heeeeey, kid. Thought you were still sleepin’,” Dante chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I was,” Nero muttered, his voice raspy and throat dry. He spotted the glass of water that Dante had left on the table for him. He reached out and grabbed it, taking slow sips, his eyes never leaving his uncle.
Dante flashed an apologetic grin and gestured behind him into the kitchen. “I was, uh, just…” He paused. Nero stayed silent, raising his eyebrows while he waited for whatever explanation he was sure to get. Dante flinched and looked away.
Nero had long since learned what that meant. When he channeled a little too much of his father.
Still Dante cleared his throat, looking somewhat embarrassed when he spoke. “I was trying to make soup. It uh…didn’t go very well. Didn’t burn anything this time but yeesh, I don’t think whatever that was was fit for human consumption. I was just gonna go pick some up.”
“Good to know your cooking skills haven’t changed drastically since the last time I was here,” Nero replied, shrugging off his jacket and reaching for the blanket he must’ve kicked off in his sleep.
“Shut it, punk. I’m trying to be nice to you.”
“I was having a nice nap until you woke me up.”
Dante scoffed, finally stepping into the room to lean over the couch. He didn’t give Nero the chance to escape before he ruffled his hair. “You must be feeling better if you’re talking shit.” He tried (and failed) to shove Dante off, but the old man was shameless in abusing his height to continue to annoy him. “You could go upstairs, made the guest room nice and cozy for you earlier.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Nero muttered. He dragged himself to his feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment. His head pounded behind his eyes but thankfully he was less nauseous than he’d been earlier. Dante hovered behind him a little fretfully, even if he wasn’t saying anything about it. Nero had long since tuned out his rambling, too focused on not eating shit as he went up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised when he saw the state of the room when he stepped inside. A small smirk spread across his face as he more than willingly flopped onto the mattress on the ground.
He’d been embarrassed as all hell the first time Dante had wrapped him up like a burrito after their argument about his father, but in the months since, Nero had found himself almost missing the stupid nest his uncle had built. The occasional demonic cuddle pile never ceased to improve whatever shitty mood he found himself in. If only cause Dante was a walking space heater and Nero, like a moth to a flame, gravitated towards that heat.
It took him a hell of a lot longer than it should’ve to notice the TV that normally took up space downstairs was now in the room.
Dante laughed as he followed Nero in, all but dropping a comforter on top of him. Nero let out a surprised shout as he pulled the top off of his face.
A knock at the door had him glancing behind him, before he stepped out into the hallway. “That’s probably the food. I’ll be back.”
Nero watched him vanish with a roll of his eyes. He heard shuffling around and quiet voices going back and forth. While he waited, Nero figured he may as well get comfy. He readjusted the blanket and leaned against the mess of pillows that were, shockingly, stable despite the appearance that they’d collapse if any pressure was put on them. He found the TV remote under one of the pillows, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that his dipshit uncle had left it there by accident. Still, Nero wasn’t about to complain if it meant being able to put something on as background noise while he, inevitably, took another much needed nap.
(He and Kyrie had abused the ever loving shit out of having free access to this TV when they stayed here for the first few times, until they got one of their own. Dante never seemed to mind; there was always a tiny, genuine smile on his face whenever the two of them invaded his space. He’d been even more thrilled when they introduced him to Julio, their seven year old foster who Nero really wanted to adopt already.)
“Soup’s here!” Dante said as he waltzed in the room carrying a takeout container of what smelled like chicken noodle soup. His uncle reached down to hand the container to him with a spoon.
“Kyrie said to make you eat soup so…” He ran his fingers through Nero’s hair again, a small frown on his face. “Do you usually run warm? Been meaning to ask that.”
“Yeah.” He paused, popping the top of the container off. “You called Kyrie?”
Dante rubbed the back of his neck as he turned away. “I’m…not great at looking after other people. Figured your girl would have an idea or two. Said as long as you were coherent, you were probably fine and that I should make soup. Or…try.”
“Oh, yeah, the last time I got sick, I was definitely hallucinating. Couldn’t tell you what, but it was a weird day.” He took a sip of the soup. It wasn’t anywhere near as good as Kyrie’s, but the pleasant warmth soothed his sore throat and settled his stomach better than anything else probably would.
“Shit, really? That only happened to me like…once.”
“I didn’t think you got sick,” Nero muttered.
Dante shrugged. “Not in recent years, but I was a kid once too.”
“You still act like one.”
“Aww, thanks, Nero!”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Dante, still beaming like the obnoxious little kid he constantly pretended he was, smoothly stole the TV remote out of Nero’s hand in a single, swift motion. “Y’know what my mom used to do when we were sick?”
Nero stayed silent, waiting in anticipation. Hearing about his grandmother was a rare treat, and there was always a hint of grief whenever Dante talked about her, but he clearly still loved her, after all these years. Not for the first time since he’d found out they were related, he wondered if Eva would’ve liked him. Dante seemed to think so, the one time he’d managed to very awkwardly ask. Nero wasn’t sure, no matter how nice it would be to have someone who liked him from their first interaction.
(There was also the rare hint of hearing about his father. Dante still skirted around that topic, but the few times he brought up his childhood, Nero knew he was getting a little bit of insight into his father’s life, even if he’d never get to meet him.)
“She’d get us all cozy and put on a Scooby-doo marathon for us.”
“I have no idea what that is,” Nero admitted.
“Get comfy, kid. You got a lotta catchin’ up to do.”