A/N: Written at 3AM because I just really wanted to see Dante being caring and protecting Lady in his own way because I love their comradery and I'm a sucker for platonic cuddling
Sorry if it's OOC, I think Lady is made of steel so I tried to make it seem more of a circumstantial thing she could have probably escaped anyway...
Warnings: Violence, language, attempted sexual assault (& DantexLady if you squint one eye and cock your head to the side like a confused puppy, I guess)
Lady watches languidly as Dante toes the arm of the crumpled would-be attacker with the tip of his boot. It shifts unnaturally, the area below the elbow angling all wrong, as if the skin took on a strange gelatinous property.
"Oh," Dante breathes, with an air of unwanted discovery. He looks up from the unconscious man to meet her eyes with a sheepish expression. "Shit."
Lady just laughs, because some people seem to think Dante is uncaring. Some people think he doesn't give a damn. Which is true, in terms of deadlines and rent money, but some insist that there is little he truly cares about.
Some people haven't seen him break a man's arm while in the process of caring.
They'd been out for her 27th birthday, conducting the ritual they'd designed for their respective celebrations: the one turning another year gets shitfaced, while the other remains sober for the event, so as to lower the potential destruction of property that could occur. Trish was out of town, but what else was new. They went to some hole in the wall where the beer wasn't watered too bad and she'd downed glass after glass while Dante toasted to various occurrences with the spoon from his strawberry sundae.
Dante had jogged back into the bar to pick up the coat she had left in her inebriated state before they began the walk home when she was grappled from behind. Her balance thrown, she stumbled backwards as the assailant intended and was roughly shoved into the brick wall of the alley alongside the bar. Lady swore aloud, in both pain and incredulity. All the time she spent learning to sense demons, only to have a drunk human sneak up on her. It sounded ridiculous.
She began to struggle, with both her lagging brain and with her attacker, who had pinned her wrists above her head. Somewhere Lady knew he shouldn't be able to, that she hadn't shouldered the Kalina Ann all those times to have her wrists easily captured, but that somewhere was in a fog and the man had pressed his knee into her thigh right over that fucking scar—
And then a red hurricane blew through the alley, and as she shut her eyes intuitively she heard a snap and a loud whump that she knew was from the storm.
When she opened them again, hearing only heavy breathing, Dante was there. He towered over the pile of dirty flannel and flesh that was presumably her attacker, motionless except for the heaving of his chest.
Lady let out choked noise, as if gagging and spitting at the same time, and collapsed against the wall behind her. Dante's gaze snapped to her upon hearing it, his eyes blazing with that inhuman crimson color, but softening back to his usual blue at the sight of Lady unharmed. He then looked back down at his victim, a bit puzzled as to what exactly he'd done, as if he hadn't just shattered the ulna and radius of a man who had the dreadfully bad idea of groping his friend.
Lady laughs, because Dante, the stupid, friendly neighborhood demon that he is, doesn't even know when he's being caring.
She's reminded of this later, after Dante slings an arm around her and steers her back to Devil May Cry, whispering bad jokes and horrid puns in her ear to put the alley scene behind them. She's drunk enough to giggle, and sober enough to appreciate what he's doing, though some of his wisecracks are cringe-worthy. Upon their arrival he insists she take the guest bedroom, but when he guides her to the bed, patient as she re-teaches herself the art of stairs to get to it, he doesn't leave the room right away.
Instead he stares with a worried expression as she tugs her boots off and lies down. She stares right back with a challenging look. Worried doesn't suit him well.
"Demonic instincts?" Lady questions, with a bit of a mocking tone. While he really does feel driven by primal instincts, she knows he likes to use it as his excuse for showing any feelings.
Dante swallows and looks away, ashamed to have been caught showing compassion of all things. "No, just…" he trails off, unable to explain.
"Just...Dante instincts?" Lady offers. Dante blinks at her, unsure if she's still joking, but she seems genuine and he knows she listened to his explanations.
"Yeah," Dante repeats with a smile, "Dante instincts."
"And what are they telling you?"
"To protect."
Lady motions him over with a wave, rolling onto her side and curling up in the cozy bed. Dante removes his heavy leather coat, throwing it to the floor, and eases onto the bed with a respectfulness that makes Lady want to laugh aloud again. He curls around her like a dragon protecting his horde of riches, and the tense mood surrounding him seems to dissipate almost immediately.
"I could have taken him you know," Lady whispers. It's true, and Dante agrees from somewhere behind her, pulling her closer all the while.
"Happy Birthday Lady," he mumbles into her hair. Lady elbows him in a playful response before wishing him goodnight.
If a devil can cry, then a devil can care, Lady muses. Dante, Lady decides, cares a little too much.
Not that she's complaining.