Author's Notes: This was a weird little thing I wrote a little over a year ago, for an AU-verse with a Dante and Vergil pair called the Tabloids (if you've read Doomsday? and Cold Cash and Colder Hearts you're already familiar with them).
So the gist is this: How would, say, an unnamed bartender in a dive Dante frequents views things? Especially when he realizes he was the first person to see that mysterious brother of Dante's after God knows how long?
Quick oneshot for no reason at all.
Just because he'd matured over the years, it didn't mean it made his attitude any better. He was still the same smartass he'd always been, with the same hairtrigger temper that would put the offender to his sensibilities (if they could be called that) at the business end of the two guns he'd had as long as anyone could remember him. He was still a bright red target, standing out like a neon sign against anything and everything other than a fire truck, and even then, it was debatable which was brighter. Most who knew him on a base level expected him to turn up dead one day, from some stupid stunt he'd pulled trying to look like a badass.
They might have been the majority, but the minority who knew him better knew it would take more than that to kill him. The man had been to Hell and back, after all. Three times, if anyone was keeping a scorecard. Not many were, obviously. Not many even knew the truth of that. They had always figured it was a metaphor, because the red bastard always got himself into trouble with some jackass or another with too much money and not enough brains. Otherwise they would have wised up and realized everyone who tangled with guy ended up dead somehow or another.
Funny how the police never got involved with that.
So while it was no surprise to have someone come looking for him, usually they had more bluster than the idiot that had stood in the doorway, looking like he'd been buried in a cave for the last ten years. It had been hard to tell anything about him, to be honest, and really, the only thing he'd gotten out of him was that he was looking for Dante. It was always that they were looking for Dante.
Really, he was getting too old to deal with the shit Dante inadvertly sent his way just by existing.
But, hell, he'd figured whatever it was, Dante probably deserved it, anyway. Bastard was always running his mouth, like he was cock of the block (even if there were few who were familiar with him that would disagree), so he'd get something he couldn't handle, one of those days. Not that he thought the ragged mess that had shuffled off as soon as he'd been given an address was going to be that comeuppance. The guy looked like the type that couldn't even tie his own shoelaces, much less take on somebody of Dante's caliber.
How surprised he was to learn later, then, that that ragged mess had been, as far as he knew the stories to go, the only person to ever beat Dante at anything. He was, after all, one of the few to be privy to the fact that Dante had had a twin brother, but everyone who knew that also had been told the bastard was dead, and probably for the better, too, though he'd never say that to Dante's face. There were a few stories that floated around from time to time, about how years ago, the dumbass that had been Dante's twin had decided to raise some tower from Hell, and how spectacularly that had gone. If it was true, no one knew or not, and even so, it had happened so far away, and so long ago, it hardly seemed to be a thing that was for real, anyway.
Still. If it was true, that spelled bad news, as far as he was concerned. Gave him the creeps, if he took the time to think about it, so he prefered not to, and Dante never said a word about it, any time he happened to be around. For the better, too, because while he could hold his tongue, there was always the chance he'd slip up and say something to piss the guy off. And nobody wanted that, really. Even the blonde, with the legs up to heaven, and who was somewhat chatty a good bit of the time, never said a word. Proved one of two things, really. Either there was no twin, or they weren't letting that fact out.
And who the hell cared, anyway? It was a liability, knowing shit like that. He had enough on his hands, without worrying about Dante's shit, too. Bad for business, anyway, to know too much about anybody, even if he was the type to keep his trap shut. He had his own worries and woes, Dante could keep his, since they always seemed larger than life, anyway. Admitting knowing him better than in passing never did anybody a damn bit of good anyway, and he wasn't going to shoot himself in the foot.