Doubt
Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes. Implied Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause there'd be a lot more swearing and nudity, lol.
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Chapter Seven: Surpassing All
Nero realized at once why Dante used vital stars so sparingly: the hangover was brutal. His skull felt like it might collapse in on itself at any moment, and his mouth seemed to be full of sulphuric grit. Nero grimaced and opened his eyes, blinking in the pale sunlight that flooded the main room of the office. He was still on the leather couch, wearing the same damp, bloodstained clothes he'd worn the night before. Someone, presumably Dante, had tugged off his boots, and draped a tattered woollen blanket over him.
The Ex-Knight sat up cautiously, his breath hitching as his sticky clothing pulled away from his sensitive skin. His chest still ached, but his wounds had closed and healed overnight. He peeled away his torn hoodie and shirt from where Dante had stabbed him, exposing pale, healthy flesh. He was still covered in dried blood, but at least he wasn't bleeding.
Nero glanced around the office, trying not to move his head too quickly. Dante was snoring in his chair, apparently having spent the night there. The place wasn't messed up too much more than usual, although the wooden floor was stained with several large, crimson blotches. The teen could see the jagged scrape where Alastor had sliced into the floor after going through his ribs. He winced at the thought, and scanned the rest of the room. There was another large puddle of blood by the place where the Devil Arms were stored on the wall; that was probably why Dante had grabbed the electrified broadsword to defend himself instead of Rebellion.
The truly disturbing part, Nero decided, was that Dante had felt threatened enough to pick up a weapon at all. Sure, he might've pistol whipped the teen the first time Nero had lost it and attacked him, but Nero was certain that that had simply been the old man being an asshole. He hadn't picked up the gun to protect himself. Even on his best day, Nero couldn't beat Dante in hand-to-hand combat. That fact had never stopped him from trying, and Dante was always willing to let him, but Nero knew he was being toyed with every time he and the older hunter sparred.
The main benefit to practicing swordplay against Dante was that he could attack the man full force. He never had to pull his punches, or control his strength. Sparring with his fellow Knights, on the rare occasions he deigned to, was quite different. Half the time he'd avoided landing blows at all, simply to make sure he didn't cleave anyone in two. Nero sighed and rubbed at his nose, realizing that there was blood caked under both his human nails and demonic claws.
"Out of my fucking mind," he muttered softly. Nero rose gingerly to his feet and stretched slowly, not wanting to pull any muscles so soon after they'd knit themselves back together.
"That's kind of an understatement, kid." Dante yawned and tipped his chair a bit so he could put his feet on the desk. The movement brought the hunter out of the shadows, and Nero realized that Dante, like himself, was still wearing ripped and bloodstained clothing. The teen couldn't guess why Dante had bothered staying downstairs with him rather than getting cleaned up and heading to his own bed. He didn't know whether to feel touched or insulted at the older man's ostensible concern.
The teen ambled over to the desk and sat down facing Dante. Nero's movements were still a bit stiff, and he rubbed his clawed hand over the cord and muscle in his neck, trying to soothe the tension. His back and shoulders hurt from where he must've hit the floor hard, unless it was from earlier when Dante had shoved him against the building during his walk.
"Yeah, well…" Nero trailed off, unsure of where he wanted this conversation to go. The slayer was probably the best friend Nero had ever had, apart from Kyrie. But there was more to Dante than he'd realized at first. The pizza-loving, skirt-chasing fighter was a persona that Dante presented as though it was all of him. It led people to believe that he was nothing more than a smart-mouthed goofball, a nice guy who just happened to make his living by slaughtering sentient creatures. Nero had to admit, he honestly didn't know much about Dante. The man sitting less than a metre away, casually watching Nero with too-pale eyes, had killed his own brother.
I don't understand you at all, Nero thought. The idea was an uncomfortable one, and he pushed it away abruptly, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "Why'd you stab me?" The teen cleared his throat, trying to avoid seeming petulant. It was a stupid question. Dante had stabbed him because he, Nero, was going batfuck crazy. Obviously.
"You started it." Dante's frosty eyes roved over Nero's lean frame, studying him intensely. His lips quirked, as though he knew the reaction his words would cause. The teen glowered at the half-devil in irritation. When Dante gave no sign of commenting further, Nero grabbed his legs off the desk and threw the seated hunter over backwards. He landed heavily with a thud, the chair protesting its treatment.
Without hesitating, Nero pounced on the slayer. Dante had a lot to answer for, and if he wouldn't give Nero honest replies willingly, the teen would beat them out of him. Being stabbed had brought back memories of Agnus and the Saviour, viciously-toothed swords and demonic armour. He remembered being pinned to the wall while the alchemist twisted the blade into his chest, warm blood sliding down the sword and dripping onto the floor. Even during their roughest sparring matches, Dante had never done anything like that. Of course, Nero had never managed to give him cause to, either.
The Ex-Knight had to admit that despite living with the man for several months, he was really no closer to Dante than he'd been the first time they'd met. Sure, Dante looked after him, gave him food and a bed and a job, but Nero was fucked if he knew why. He couldn't tell when Dante was really pissed off, or concerned, or even when the slayer was actually paying attention to what Nero was saying. Dante was more than nice to Nero much of the time, but it was impossible to gauge his sincerity, or if he meant anything he said. And although the hunter was sometimes flirtatious to the point of obsession, Nero had seen him direct almost the same level of attention to Lady. The slayer's behaviour was confusing, and being confused pissed Nero off.
Nero managed to land a solid punch on Dante's jaw before the half-devil threw him off and rolled to his feet. The teen ignored the older hunter's pleased grin and tried again, dodging an uppercut aimed at his chin and kicking Dante in the face. The slayer's head snapped to the side for a moment, but Dante quickly shook off the blow. He laughed and took a step back, but Nero rushed at him, sending a roundhouse towards the older man's neck. Dante's reflexes kicked in, his hands coming up to grab Nero's leg. He flipped the teen onto the floor and followed him down.
Nero hit the planks hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. In a flash, Dante straddled him, trying to pin his hands. The teen thrashed, bending his knees to try and gain leverage, but Dante was heavy. The slayer clutched at Nero's wrists, crushing them in a vise-like grip against the floor and leaning his weight on them.
"Doesn't matter if you're crazy or not, kid. You just can't seem to keep your hands off me." Dante grinned, thinking he'd won. "So, what's got you all riled up now? You wake up on the wrong side of the couch or somethin'?"
Nero growled, his devilbringer sparking cerulean in warning. The old pervert was probably enjoying every minute of this. A burst of incandescent rage gave the teen strength, and he managed to break the hold and roll them both over, winding up on top on Dante's chest. The slayer smirked up at him and batted his eyelashes mockingly at the youth, enjoying the fact that Nero had gotten so close willingly.
Maybe Dante thought it was erotic, but Nero was mad as hell. In the past twenty-four hours, this man had groped him, mauled him, thrown him into a cupboard, smashed him into a brick wall, and stabbed him with a broadsword made of electrified steel. All while being fully aware that Nero was having... issues. He was going to mess up the older hunter's handsome face, and beat the hell out of him for not caring… Whoa, that's not what I meant. The thought distracted the teen for a moment, and Dante landed a punch on his jaw that was decidedly less harmful than it could've been. The old man was obviously fucking with him. And Nero was going to kill him for it. He grabbed a fistful of Dante's white hair in his human hand, lifting his devilbringer to begin the onslaught.
A soft sound from behind them caught Nero's attention; the scuff of boots of the rough plank floor. Lady's voice rose liltingly over the sound of his and Dante's heavy breathing.
"Am I interrupting something?" The brunette's grin was vicious and gleeful. She strutted further into the office as though she owned it, setting Kalina-Ann down carefully on the pool table. Nero swore and rolled off Dante, stalking past the smirking young woman into the kitchen. He heard Dante climb to his feet and pick up his chair, settling behind his desk.
Nero picked through the broken glassware in the cupboard until he found a mug that was relatively whole. A quick glance inside the fridge confirmed his suspicions that there was nothing inside it but two cases of beer and a sketchy-looking slice of pizza. The teen sighed and turned on the tap, trying to get his breathing under control. Didn't Dante give a damn that he was going insane? They were friends, weren't they? But then again, Nero had considered Credo a friend-of-sorts as well, for a time, and look at how that had turned out. Credo had betrayed him to Sanctus without a single qualm. Just chucked him into the fire as though he was worthless, and deserved his fate.
The mug in Nero's fist shattered, and he barely resisted the urge to smash the pieces further. Instead, he scooped the whole mess into the garbage and leaned over the sink to drink from the tap. The water tasted like the chlorine used to clean the city's reservoirs; a complete opposite from the purity of Fortuna's spring-fed wells. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Nero marched back into the main room of the office, keeping his eyes on the floor as he headed to the couch.
Lady took off her sunglasses and blinked at them both as Nero slouched past her. "You two look like shit," she announced, taking in their tattered clothing and ravaged appearances.
"Thanks, babe. You know, if you called before you showed up, we might even dress up nice for ya." Dante propped his feet on the desk once more, and gave Lady the finger. The huntress rolled her eyes and dragged a barstool up to the desk, perching on it gracefully.
"Why is there blood all over the floor? I mean, other than the obvious explanation." Lady crossed her legs, balancing easily. She drew one of her pistols and ran her fingers over it absent-mindedly, her gaze switching between Dante and Nero to see who would reply.
The slayer glanced at the teen; two sets of blue eyes meeting for a moment before Nero frowned and looked away. "It's Nero's. And mine."
Lady raised one eyebrow incredulously. "Well, that's kinky but-"
"He's been having dissociative episodes." Dante interjected, ignoring the small sound of protest Nero made. The teen forced himself to calm down by thinking of all the martial katas he knew, and how he could twist them into combinations that would end with him stomping on Dante's face. It wasn't that effective.
The huntress shot Nero a startled glance. "The same as what happened the day I dropped off the contact info for the mission? I thought I told you to talk to Dante about it?"
Nero rubbed at his nose, half-embarrassed. Lady's mismatched eyes glared at him, and it was painfully obvious for a moment that although they were friends, she never forgot his or Dante's demonic blood. Nero didn't really want to discuss this, and Dante saved him from having to answer her.
"He jumped me instead. Trashed the shop the first time, before I got things under control."
"He pistol-whipped me," Nero added. Dante grinned apologetically but didn't deny it.
"So they're lasting longer? I mean, that first time you only seemed out of it for a moment or two." Lady shifted a bit on the barstool, watching Nero with concern.
"Yeah," Dante muttered. "Almost twenty minutes this last time, before he came around."
"More like, almost twenty minutes before you decided to stab me with Alastor," Nero spat, still pissed off but trying to wait until Lady left before confronting Dante again.
The slayer yawned and stretched in his chair. "I don't think my efforts to wake you up help any," he said to the irate teen. "They just prevent you from wrecking havoc too much. You wake up when the episode is over; in this case, it was a minute or two after I ran you through."
"Nice of you," Nero snarled.
Dante shrugged, lifting one hand to rub his neck. "What was I supposed to do? You managed to rip my throat out about five minutes in. Good thing I heal fast."
Both Lady and Nero startled at that. Lady's odd-coloured eyes took in Dante's dishevelled and bloodied appearance, while Nero sputtered for words. The teen watched as Lady levelled a hard stare at the hunter; the look the two exchanged seemed to convey more information to each other than Nero was able to decipher. Nero waited, but neither Lady nor Dante spoke for a moment.
"Have you called Trish?" Lady asked finally, opening a pouch of ammunition and counting out rounds. Nero had watched her do this before; if the huntress had a nervous habit, this was it.
Dante's gaze flicked Nero's way, his face emotionless. "Yeah. I called her last night. She should get here this evening."
"That's a start," Lady rose gracefully to her feet. "We'll need her help to clear out the tower."
"I actually called her to help me. If you're claiming her, I guess that lets us off the hook." Dante said it as a statement, but Lady took it to be a question.
"Absolutely not. You and Nero have known about this mission for over a week now. People are missing, and they might even still be alive in there. I need you two to take care of any demons that show up while Trish and I sweep the place for survivors. And if there's humans helping the demons, or even summoning them, then they must be taken alive. Planning this has taken a lot of my time and energy, Dante, and I don't want it screwed up." Lady's stress was apparent in her voice. She was still counting ammo, her clever fingers running over the clips and shells almost unconsciously.
"Well, I'm glad you made a plan, babe, but that's not exactly what I had in mind. You didn't give us all the details when you dumped this mission on us, and you know I'm not going back in that place for any amount of money."
"Too fucking bad, Dante." Lady sighed, seeming more tired and exasperated than angry. "I don't know what goes on in that head of yours, and quite frankly I don't want to, but I wish you'd at least acknowledge that we have two serious situations here." She paused and turned to Nero, "I need both of you to help with this. Are you feeling up to it? It won't take longer than a day, and I'll have the last of the arraignments made by tomorrow. Once this is done, I can help you and Dante and Trish figure out what's happening to you."
Nero shifted on the couch, running his claws through his hair and finding it sticky with blood. He could understand where Lady was coming from; he knew how she got with missions sometimes. It was almost a religious calling with her, he figured. She was intense by nature, and loved her job with a fierce delight. When she got involved in a mission, it quickly became an obsession. Nero couldn't blame her. Just 'cause Dante wasn't thrilled about the task didn't mean they could simply ignore it and hope it went away. It was their job, for fuck's sake. Their duty.
Before he could agree to help Lady, Dante spoke up. "Nero's not going near the tower."
"What?" Lady's eyes widened. "We'll need him. He-"
Dante growled, the threat was veiled but still present. "He isn't going near it."
Lady quirked her head to the side, watching Dante intently. Nero couldn't read her expression, but she certainly wasn't enraged like he would've expected her to be. "You think that-" she began slowly, her voice almost sad.
"I don't know. But I won't risk it."
For once, Lady didn't argue. She was almost subdued as she slipped off the barstool, adjusting her sunglasses to hide her mismatched eyes. The lithe woman retrieved her rocket-launcher and headed for the door. "Call me when Trish gets in. We'll talk then. And take a shower, for christsakes. You reek of blood."
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