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It’s just… staring at him.
He. He is just staring at him. Both Feyre and Tamlin have reminded Nyx not to call the new iteration of himself in this timeline an ‘ it ’. Nyx would argue that it is a strange phenomenon, and that he would have to acclimate to the doppelganger that makes his family happy. They promised to reward and reassure him that he would not replace him, only if Nyx would give the baby a chance.
It—the situation, not the child—is difficult.
On one hand, Nyx’s heart and mind are weighed with the baggage that comes with being himself. He was a broken child, an unwanted child and something that should have been different. Better. Easier. More palatable for his parents. Nyx wanted to eradicate himself, seeing the rot festering within him from a young, young age. The instinct is still there, just like the fear of abandonment in Tamlin’s eyes when Nyx says the wrong, cold thing.
On the other hand, Nyx is jealous. There is nothing wrong with this child. It— He does not cry and scream at all hours of the night because no one else can see the monsters that haunt him. He is loved and wanted. Nyx is better than this little wiggly creature. It’s— His hand does not even wrap around one of his fingers. He is too small to do anything useful, except eat, sleep and stare up at him with those bright blue eyes.
Most important of all, Nyx doesn’t know what to do with an infant. He likes children just fine, but what is he supposed to do with a parasite the size of a small sack of potatoes?
“You can try talking to him,” Feyre says softly, and Nyx makes a face of disgust. What could he possibly have to say to this thing ? A baby. He means a baby. Babies simply do not comprehend any of Nyx’s preferred topics of interest. Quantum alchemy? Physical applications of death magics? Tinkering? So far, all Nyx has seen is coddling and compliments.
He is not jealous.
(He absolutely is.)
“Hello, baby.” Nyx says, the last word mocking.
“He has a name.” Feyre corrects.
In the corner of the room, Tamlin stifles his laugh. He has never seen Nyx so… awkward in time they’ve been together. Nyx has always been good with the children in the town, practically adopting them as his own and making sure they are well taken care of, but they’re much older than Feyre’s newborn. Nyx with this child is the equivalent of watching a fawn try to walk for the first time. He covers his grin when Nyx turns to glare at him, waving encouragement at his chosen-mate.
“Here.” Feyre picks up the baby from his crib and holds him out to her eldest.
Nyx steps back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving him to you.”
“I don’t want him.”
“Oh, come on, he doesn’t bite. Well, he doesn’t have teeth to bite!”
“You have a kernel of all the High Lords inside you, including Tamlin’s, which means so does he. He can grow teeth as needed.” Nyx informs his mother, just in case she forgot.
“Are you, the Great Death God, Emissary of the Mother and Consort to the God-King of Spring, afraid of a newborn?” Feyre mocks him with all of his titles. None of that truly matters here, not when they’re all among family. She steps closer with the baby and Nyx steps back.
“I am not. I could—”
“Nyx Johannes Archeron, if you finish that sentence, so help me Mother above.”
Nyx stops dead in his tracks, expression shuttering into annoyance as he abandons the correction. “I am not afraid of a baby.”
“Then hold him.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
The words to explain why he won’t hold his little brother won’t come. If they don’t already understand why he won’t do it, then is there any merit in explaining it to them? They should be able to make the logical leaps and bounds, and land on the same conclusion. Nyx refuses to elaborate, simply glaring at his mother because he is an adult and she cannot make him do anything. He is a god, so she couldn’t if she tried.
Feyre doesn’t need him to. She looks up at him and her expression softens. (He loathes the pity on her face. He scowls at it.)
“Oh,” she says. “You’re afraid you’ll pass it on to him.”
‘It’ being his affliction. The working theory is that all of what he is may have something to do with his stillbirth and how Nesta brought him back with her powers. She hasn’t been made yet, and Nero was born with little complications thanks to Tamlin and Nyx’s careful supervision. Feyre hadn’t noticed how Nyx avoided touching the baby, mostly because she was busy with the chaos that comes with welcoming new life into this world. Everything has changed, and her focus is split.
Feyre reaches out to caress his cheek, but Nyx won’t have it. Not while she has the baby in her hands. He glances away.
“Nyx,” she coaxes. “Nyx, look at me.”
Though Nyx can be stubborn as a death god who has never truly had to answer to anyone, he has become more amenable to those he loves (and who love him in return). He meets her eyes, forcing himself to face the kindness that is so blinding and so difficult to bear. This is not the woman who rejected him, but they wear the same face. It would be fair, very fair, if she asked him to leave for the sake of her child.
“I trust you. Whatever happens is meant to be, and even if Nero turns out to be exactly like you, it would be a blessing. I love you as you are.”
“Thorns and all,” Tamlin chimes in, and it makes Feyre smile.
“Thorns and all,” she agrees. “I want you to be part of this family, not to be afraid of it or its protector. You’re one of us, and that’s that.” Feyre holds out the cooing child.
Nyx is not one to fall for pretty words, but they’re from his mother. They’re the ones he’s wanted to hear all his life. His eyes flicker down to the child, weighing the risks associated with taking this child and holding him close. What if something worse happens? What if the universe cannot allow for both of them and one touch eradicates the little one? Tamlin will live if he is the one sacrificed, but losing this child—this adored being—will break his mother. He needs to run all the variables and be sure before he takes this risk.
“I’ll take him,” Tamlin says. He squeezes Nyx’s shoulder and takes the babe from Feyre. Nero looks so small in Tamlin’s hands, dwarfed by the mountain of a male he is. He angles the baby towards Nyx so he can see him better. “I wonder if this is what you looked like as a baby.
The question is meant to distract, and yet Nyx can’t help but oblige. “I do not know. I would have been too small to remember.”
“Tell me about what you do remember.”
And just like that, Tamlin distracts Nyx from all his worries. They chat the evening away while Nyx acclimates himself to being around Nero. Feyre is happy to step back and sneak away, letting her boys have their moment together and take some time to herself.
***
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“What are you reading?”
“Winter Court’s archival tomes, volume seven hundred and ninety-six.”
Nero pokes Nyx’s metal arm. “You got any toys in there.”
Nyx refuses to look up from his book, turning to the next page. He will not be deterred by the curiosity or the boredom of a child. When he was a boy, he found ways to entertain himself, even through the horrors. “My arm is not a toy.”
“That means you’re not trying hard enough, anything can be a toy.”
The child is not wrong, but he is annoying. Nyx looks up, staring at the wall in front of him, breathing slowly and measuring his irritation. He loves his little brother, he really does, but as he grows, he becomes more… needy. He needs more attention from Nyx or wants to do things that tire him out. He’s been here for two weeks while their mother tours the Human Lands and builds rapport with her former people. Nyx needs space.
“You know, dad says that uncle Cas and uncle Az used to play with him all the time when he was a kid ‘cause that’s what brothers are for.” Nero leans full bodily on the arm of Nyx’s chair, tipping over so that he falls face-first in the ancient and precious book. Nyx catches him by the forehead and tips him back over before he gets his facial… grease on the old pages.
“That’s a flaw of your father’s character, needing to be entertained all the time.”
“Our father,” Nero corrects, swinging forward and making a game out of annoying Nyx. “‘Cause if he’s not your dad, then we can’t be brothers.”
“Then your statement about brothers is a fallacy. Cassian and Azriel do not have the same parentage as Rhysand.”
“As dad.”
“We can have the same mother and different fathers, anyway.” Not that Nyx claims that one either. He likes to think that he has many mothers and the only father worth recognizing no longer remembers him. Lucien remains a good friend, and Nyx gives him the reverence he deserves after all he has done. “Half-brothers are still brothers and blood does not make loyalty. That is earned. Love, too.”
“Okaaaaaaay,” Nero sighs, bored of his older brother’s lectures. “Can you play with me now?”
“Go and see if Tamlin needs help doing rounds.”
“He’s busy. It’s training day for the new sentries.” Nero falls back onto his feet. “It’s okay, I’ll go play with the lady in white over there.” He points his little finger to the corner of the room, and Nyx stills.
Every day, he makes sure to sweep the ground of Tamlin’s manor and make sure that there are no errand souls. Bryaxis and Amren do a secondary sweep throughout the day, ushering monsters to the other side where they belong. Nyx might not be inclined to play with his brother, but he loves the boy and makes sure to protect him at every turn. He follows the direction of Nero’s pointing and sees nothing, but—
He can’t be sure that his brother didn’t see anything. One thing he knows for sure if that company helps keeps the monsters at bay. Their demons thrive in loneliness and in darkness.
Nyx sets his book down.
“No. I’ll play with you. What did you have in mind?”
“Can we go see the dinosaur dimension?”
Nyx sighs and offers Nero his metal hand. “There are other interesting universes, you know.”
“Yeah, but do they have as many teeth? ”
***
It’s strange, watching what would have been himself grow. Nero is unlike anything Nyx could have been and it grows apparent with each passing year.
Nyx is too attached to the Spring Court to leave it unless specifically asked, so his little brother comes to visit more often than not. He sits under a tree reading another book and one of Tamlin’s handrolled cigarettes hanging from his lips. This time, it isn’t Nero who calls for Nyx’s attention, but Nyx’s eyes keep flickering towards him anyway. The younger Night son is standing on the outskirts of the local village flirting with a farmer’s daughter. Several of them actually. He takes after Rhysand a little far too much.
Is this what would have become of me if I was happy?
He’s not judging, but it is a choice. He knows that there is a brilliant mind inside that pretty little head, but Nero seems intent on using it for reasons that Nyx cannot comprehend. Nero solves problems at the drop of a hat, but chooses not to innovate. He chases little pleasures instead of genius and that is so… strange.
A touch on the lobe of his ear pulls his attention elsewhere. He looks down at Tamlin laying in his lap; the Lord had been dozing minutes ago.
“What’s wrong? You look so serious.”
“Nothing, darling.” Nyx doesn’t like bothering Tamlin with his nonsense. He glances back at Nero who is learning far too close to the lesser faerie, touching her chin and coaxing her to look up at his eyes. They’ve turned more violet over the years, closer to Rhysand’s than Nyx’s eyes ever were. Perhaps they are more different than everyone expected. Nyx squints. “Is he growing a beard ?”
He swears, he swears he can spot little whiskers on Nero’s youthful face. Nyx picks up a stone and launches it perfectly at his younger brother’s head. It smacks him with a thud. When he catches Nero’s attention, Nyx drags a finger across his neck.
“Are you threatening him?” Tamlin says, confused.
“No, I’m telling him to cut it off.”
They have rules. To prevent confusion between himself, Nero and their father, Nyx has declared a monopoly on the family’s facial hair. None shall sport it, lest they risk a repeat incident of their mother grabbing his ass thinking she was getting frisky with their father. Unacceptable. Horrifying.
Nero pales, and Tamlin laughs. “That does not mean what you think it means, love. You’ve just told him you’ll slit his neck, or well, kill him.”
Nyx stares at Tamlin, unimpressed, as he processes this new information. “That works too.”
“Nyx!”