Chapter 6
Summary:
The previous chapter was the darkest point in their story, from which the path to the light begins.
Notes:
Illustration for the chapter. "Healing"
https://x.com/DevelvDeva/status/1941578038510223620
Chapter Text
Weiss recalled Nero’s tormented face, his fragile body, and felt despair battling with resolve. He remembered the medical history Eric had read to him, barely holding back tears. A week passed, filled with anxiety, anticipation, and hope. The forged documents, arranged through a lawyer found by Anna’s aunt, were ready. Weiss sold a rare antique candelabra from the house to his boss, an avid collector, to raise money—for the lawyer, for medicine, for a doctor, for their new life. The money weighed heavily in his pocket, a reminder of the cost of Nero’s freedom. Eric, risking his internship, arranged a meeting with the clinic’s head doctor. The greedy staff happily accepted payment to release Nero, for them, he was just a burden, another patient better disposed of. Even Gabry, with his predatory eyes, didn’t object: Nero was merely a toy to him, pretty but not worth the effort, especially now that he was little more than a lifeless doll.
Weiss entered the ward, his heart clenching at the sight of Nero. He sat on the bed, pale as a ghost, his skin thin and almost translucent, his wrists and ankles bearing fading marks from restraints. He didn’t look up, didn’t move, his body limp as if life had left him. Weiss gently lifting Nero into his arms, feeling his weightlessness, like a broken bird. Nero didn’t resist but didn’t respond either, his breathing barely noticeable. Weiss held him close, his steps echoing in the disinfectant-scented corridor, sharp with the smell of detergents.The smell made Weiss feel sick. It was another hell, from the damp and musty room in the mansion to a sterile one, saturated with diseases and fears.
Eric walked beside him, his face tense but his eyes glowing with inner relief. He handed Weiss a bag of medications, ointments, and instructions, along with the address of a proper clinic where he worked weekends.
“I’ll visit when I can,” Eric said quietly, looking at Nero with pity. “Keep an eye on his condition. The first weeks will be tough. My little brother… he’s sick too. I know what it’s like to watch someone close fade. Don’t give up.”
Weiss nodded, his gaze radiating quiet gratitude. He settled Nero in the backseat of the car, covering him with a soft blanket.
“These are antidepressants and sedatives,” Eric said, pointing to the pill blisters. “They’ll help stabilize him after the clinic. But be careful—side effects can include drowsiness, weakness, dizziness.”
Eric pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. “Here’s a rough plan: medication schedule, basic relaxation techniques. He needs stability to recover. It’ll be hard at first. He’ll need a lot of care.”
“Thank you” Weiss took the paper, his hands trembling slightly. He looked at the instructions, feeling his chest tighten with anxiety and worry. “What if… what if he can’t? If he doesn’t want to live?”
Eric sighed heavily. “He can, if he knows someone loves him. That he’s not alone.”
Those words hit Weiss like a lightning “I’ll make sure he knows that.”
Eric looked him in the eyes. “One more thing, Weiss. His trauma runs deep. If you can’t handle it, find him a good therapist. It’s crucial. He’ll struggle with nightmares, flashbacks. Sometimes the world will feel like a trap to him. You need to be there so he doesn’t get lost. If he starts avoiding you, flinching at your touch, or acting strange, it’s normal. He needs time to adjust to freedom. Sometimes he’ll think he’s still in the clinic. Be patient.”
Weiss shook his hand gratefully. “Thank you, Eric. I owe you.”
Eric shook his head. “Just make it work. I did what I could. The rest is up to you.”
In the car, Weiss unfolded the paper and read it again, as if it could give him strength. “I won’t let you down,” he whispered, glancing at the backseat.
Nero sat silently, his thin fingers touching the cold window. His lips parted as if to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The light from the window illuminated his face, making his features almost ghostly. Long shadows from his eyelashes fell on his cheeks.
Eric stayed behind as the car slowly left the clinic’s grounds. When the gates closed, Weiss felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders, but a new battle loomed—bringing Nero back to life.
***
Weiss rented a small house in a remote village, surrounded by a beautiful forest with clearings, where the world felt far from their oppressive past. He has already moved all the necessary things from the mansion. Weiss bought new things in advance, as well as new clothes for Nero; comfortable, light, pleasant. Tom, his old friend, helped find the place—modest, but cozy, with a wide veranda and windows opening to green treetops. A garden with fruit trees, berry bushes, and flowers lay out front. Wild roses and briars entwined the old fence. Despite its remoteness, the village had electricity, internet, and nearby farmers’ markets, small shops, and pharmacies. Weiss quit his manager job, its successes meaningless now, and switched to remote work to never leave Nero alone. He feared even a brief absence could sever the fragile thread holding Nero together.
The first days were exhausting. Nero didn’t speak, didn’t look at Weiss, didn’t eat on his own. He sat in a rocking chair by the window, his gaze lost beyond the horizon, where leaves swayed in the wind and spruce tops touched the sky, much like when he’d sat by the fence at home, staring at the forest. Weiss fed him with a spoon, patiently coaxing him to swallow bits of nourishing broth or porridge. He bathed Nero in a small tub of warm water, gently scrubbing his skin with a soft sponge and fragrant soap, trying to wash away the clinic’s stench, as if he could erase the memories of its horrors. Afterward, he dried him with a soft towel and, following Eric’s advice, carefully applied healing ointment to every scar and bruise on Nero’s body. Each mark—on his back, arms, legs, chest—was a page in his story of pain. A long, diagonal scar on his back from Heinrich’s belt when Nero was a child. A thin mark by his temple from being shoved into a doorframe by a drunken Kurt. And on his wrists… Weiss looked away, unwilling to think of how Nero, in moments of despair, had inflicted those wounds himself. But the memories crept in, each scar cutting into Weiss’s soul like an accusation of his inaction. Guilt tormented him, driving him to fix what he could. But beyond that, another growing feeling fueled his motivation. Love. Deep, powerful, it began as a tender sprout and now grew into a mighty tree, ready to offer shelter and support.
At night, Weiss slept beside Nero, holding him, feeling his faint breathing. He whispered memories—of days when they ran through the garden, when Nero wove a crown of dandelions and placed it on Weiss’s head, laughing so brightly the world seemed happier. Of days when Weiss sneaked him pastries, sharing them away from the family’s eyes. Or when Weiss shared with him the cake his parents bought him for his birthday. Nero remained silent, his face unmoving, and Weiss wondered in silent horror: would that boy he knew ever return? Or had the clinic stolen him forever?
Each morning, Weiss placed a bouquet of wildflowers—daisies, clover, bellflowers—picked from the meadow behind the house on Nero’s bedside table. Their scent filled the room, but Nero didn’t notice, his gaze fixed on distant trees. Weiss followed Eric’s instructions: giving medications, massaging wrists and shoulders to restore circulation, talking to Nero even when he didn’t respond. He worked nights to pay for rent and food, hiding his exhaustion behind a smile, but fear gnawed at him.
One evening, as the sunset painted the sky orange, pink, and lilac, Weiss broke. He looked at Nero in the rocking chair, his motionless silhouette, and despair overwhelmed him. He approached, dropped to his knees before the chair, wrapped his arms around Nero’s waist, and buried his face in his lap. Tears flowed, hot and unstoppable, his shoulders shaking.
“I’m trying so hard, Nero,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if it’s enough… I don’t want to lose you… I was too late... and yet, you still held on for me. If I could take your pain into myself, I would. A thousand times over.”
He expected silence, as always. But then he felt a light, almost weightless touch. Nero’s weak, trembling fingers brushed his hair, gently stroking. Weiss froze, afraid to shatter the moment. A faint, barely audible voice, unheard for so long, whispered: “It’s okay, Weiss… We’re together.”
Weiss looked up, his tearful eyes meeting Nero’s. Pain still clouded them, but for the first time in months, a spark flickered—faint but alive. Weiss smiled through his tears, his lips trembling. He gently took Nero’s hand, pressing it to his cheek, feeling its fragile warmth.
“Yes,” he whispered, “we’re together.”
Weiss kissed Nero’s hand, unable to believe in the miraculous awakening of Nero’s spirit.That moment was a turning point, a ray of light in endless darkness. The past—blood on sheets, screams in the clinic, cold walls—merged with the present, where only their bond, their love, their hope remained. Weiss realized his patience and care were beginning to awaken Nero. And Nero, in comforting Weiss, showed his strength, delicate but unyielding, for the first time. It was the start of their path to healing—long, difficult, but no longer hopeless.
Weiss would forever cherish the memory of that warm summer evening, etched vividly in his heart. The air was alive with the gentle, rhythmic chorus of crickets, their song weaving a soothing melody that seemed to cradle the world in tranquility. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the delicate fragrance of wildflowers—clover, daisies, and bellflowers—carried on a soft breeze that rustled through the meadow surrounding their small house. In the deepening twilight, fireflies began their enchanting dance, their tiny golden lights flickering like stars scattered across the earth, weaving patterns of fleeting magic in the air. The scene felt like a moment stolen from time, a fragile bubble of peace where the weight of the past seemed to dissolve, leaving only the beauty of the present shared between Weiss and Nero.