Doubt

Rated M for language, violence and sexual themes. Unrequited Dante x Lady, eventually Dante x Nero. Set post-DMC4. I obviously don't own DMC or any of its characters, 'cause then there'd be canon femslash and a lot more swearing, lol.

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it!

Chapter Ten: Nothing

Nero woke up slowly, his mind gradually drifting towards consciousness. He felt weak as a half-drowned kitten, his limbs lying limp and heavy on the mattress. He didn't try to move; he wasn't even sure that he could. The pillow under his head felt softer and more expensive than his own, and smelled strongly of Dante's weird strawberry shampoo. The realization that he was in the slayer's bed brought Nero forcibly out of his doze, and he managed to open his eyes.

Of course, opening one's eyes and getting them to focus were two entirely different things. Nero blinked sleepily, trying to perceive the room around him. For one horrifying moment, he thought he'd gone blind, but eventually his vision cleared and he could see in the dim light. A small lamp was illuminating the area around the nightstand. A rustle to his left made him turn his head, and he realized Dante was beside him in the bed, seated against the headboard.

"Awake, kid?" the hunter asked, conversationally and a bit too casually, given recent events. He was wearing an old pair of black sweatpants and a faded red t-shirt that stretched taut over his muscular chest. A catalogue selling firearms was opened over his thighs, and Nero couldn't help but notice that Ivory had been carefully placed on the nightstand, within easy reach. The teen couldn't decide whether to he was bothered by that or not. It seemed like common sense to be armed around him, especially if no one knew the next time he'd try to maim someone.

"Yeah," Nero growled, surprised at the rasp in his voice. He must have hurt his throat screaming. He lifted his head carefully, worried that the room would spin. It did. Horribly.

"Feeling better?" Dante asked, watching him with eyes that gleamed silver in the twilight of the room. He lifted his arms and stretched wearily before reaching down and brushing Nero's hair off his face. The gesture was so natural it seemed apparent that Dante hadn't been thinking. The youth tensed immediately, and Dante froze for a second as well, realizing what he'd done. He smirked at Nero, slowly and deliberately removing his hand. The teen sighed, wondering when he'd started holding his breath.

"I don't feel like I'm on fire anymore, so yeah. I guess. How long was I out?" Nero was surprised at how steady he managed to keep his voice. All his nerves seemed overwrought by Dante's touch. He decided it would be best to just ignore the old pervert, despite the fact that he felt better when Dante's hands were on him. Wait, no, that's not right. Just ignore. Ignore.

The slayer was radiating heat, right next to him. Nero remembered how the older man had looked after him when he'd been nearly delirious with pain. Why would he have bothered? The temptation to simply forget about resisting Dante and shuffle closer to the hunter reared up in his mind before Nero could stop it. It wasn't as though he'd be refused. Wouldn't he have taken Dante up on his offers long before this, if he hadn't started going crazy? Now he'll just think the holy water fried my mind even more. It's not that unlikely. Don't seizures cause brain damage?

"You've slept about thirty hours, I think. It's a little after ten at night, and it's tomorrow, now," Dante was talking, responding to his question. Nero forced himself to focus, rolling his eyes at the older half-devil. He hissed softly at the motion; even so small a gesture hurt. Dante shifted gingerly on the bed, tucking his legs up. "Think you can get up?"

"I'll try." The ex-Knight attempted to rise, pushing himself up off the bed with shaking arms. He promptly collapsed back onto the pillow with a thump, wishing he could just sink into the feather mattress. "Maybe I'll just stay here," he mumbled into the comforter. Dante snorted, picking up his magazine and flipping through the pages. The rustle of the paper grated on Nero's ears, and he grit his teeth, trying to block it out. The teen fluffed the pillow up to block the sound.

He was almost asleep again, basking (no!) in the slayer's warm scent, when a thought forced him awake. "Shit. The mission. Lady's gonna be so pissed."

"Despite what Lady says, it can wait. And you weren't going anyway. Trish will help her." Dante turned a page, stifling a yawn.

"They'll need back up, though. You can't send them in there alone." Arguing this point was futile of course. Dante had been adamant about not going back to the tower. Nero closed his eyes and found himself immersed in the vivid memory: being shoved hard against the brick wall, freezing rain soaking him to the skin, Dante looking older and more exhausted than he'd ever seen him… That had only been a couple nights ago. It seemed like an eternity. The ex-Knight shifted as best he could, settling so that he was facing the hunter.

"I'm not sending them anywhere," Dante muttered. "As if I could. Hell, give me that kind of power and I'd send her right back out the damn door when she comes lookin' for cash. Lady accepted the mission; she can handle it."

"She accepted it thinking she'd have us to help her." Nero's tone implied that, despite rampant personality clashes, they were all friends, and needed to watch each other's backs. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow, wanting to get a better view of the hunter's face. Not that I can read his moods anyway, but… It was useless, and Nero let himself sink back into the pillow. He ached to the very marrow of his bones.

"And there's nothing stopping her from backing out." Irritation laced Dante's voice, but it was mild. He began to shred the magazine on his lap, tearing the paper into tiny strips.

"You know she'd never do that. Do you want her to get hurt?" Nero continued, sleepy but still wanting to prove a point. Devil-hunting was their job, and it pissed him off when Dante refused to do it. It wasn't as though Nero could help the women; at the moment, he could barely work up the energy for this verbal sparring match with the slayer. He realized abruptly that he was deliberately trying to pick a fight, and bit his lip to keep from saying anything else. What am I doing, exactly?

Dante smacked him upside the head with his rolled-up magazine. "Don't be an idiot, kid. Trish'll look after her, not that Lady needs it. I doubt there's much of anything left in that tower." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Though your loyalty to the little terrorist is commendable. I might have to remind her of that next time she wants a seventy-percent cut of our pay."

Nero exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. He couldn't even muster the force necessary to form a fist and retaliate, so why was he trying to piss Dante off? Dante was staying up in his cramped bedroom to look after him, and Nero seemed to be subconsciously trying to start a raging argument out of a minor disagreement. He didn't like the fact that Dante didn't want him to help with the mission, but it wasn't that big of a deal. If the ex-Knight could be sure that he wouldn't suddenly lose it and attack blindly, he would've gone with the women in a second, no matter what Dante said. As it was, he thought he was doing well just being able to lift his head off the pillow enough to look at the slayer.

"Is Trish alright? I didn't attack you guys, did I?" Nero threw the questions out as a peace-offering, trying to get his thoughts under control. His sleepiness made it difficult, but Dante seemed glad to change the subject.

"She's tough as a boiled owl, and heals as fast as me. You didn't try to fight us, just flailed. You were hurting pretty badly." Dante gave him a once-over, the casual appraisal making Nero want to blush with embarrassment. He hated that the slayer had seen him in such a pathetic state. Although, right now, I'm not doing so great either.

"Bawled my eyes out, huh?" Nero could only imagine his reaction, and fought the urge to cringe. He'd probably thrown-up on them, or something else equally gross and humiliating.

"No," Dante said flatly, as if he didn't really want to think about this. "You didn't cry at all."

Fuck. But that means… That statement, and its implications, gave Nero pause. He felt a quivery sensation in his stomach, as though he was going to retch from nervousness. The teen pushed his face into the pillow to hide from Dante's damning gaze. He should've cried, machismo or no, from the amount of pain he'd been in. It would've been a normal response, a human response. The teen tried to shuffle further away from the slayer, part of him wondering why Dante bothered with him at all. He inhaled the warm scent on the pillow, wishing he could just disappear.

A moment later, Nero felt gentle fingers entwine in his hair. He waited for them to clench into a fist and yank his head up, demanding an explanation, or an apology, or something, but it never happened. The teen repressed a sigh and managed to not lean into the touch too much. He had to admit, Dante's hands felt good, and always had. Shit. Way to go not resisting perverts. You know it's just a game to him; one that he wins as soon as you give in. Like you're doing. Right now. Nero debated whether or not to stomp on his inner voice.

"Kid? Are you listening?" Dante's voice broke through Nero's musings. The youth wondered how long the other man had been talking to him. The hand left his hair, and Nero turned his face back to the other man, knowing he was probably red as a beet. He didn't want to talk to Dante about this; his reaction to the holy water was bad, probably as bad as his dissociative episodes. Things were getting unpleasantly intense and progressively worse. He didn't know what was happening to him, and for the first time, he didn't want to know. Nero realized that Dante had started and stopped speaking again and was now looking at him as if debating whether or not Nero was going to lunge at his throat.

"What's with the catalogue?" He floundered awkwardly, suddenly desperate to change the subject and save the situation. "Don't you have enough guns? I thought most of your weaponry was imported from hell, anyway," the ex-Knight added sarcastically.

Dante made as if to hit him with the magazine again, but seemed willing to play along. He apparently disliked contemplating Nero's illness as much as the teen did. "I was thinking of buying another for you, if you behaved yourself." He ignored Nero's dubious look and continued, words spilling out as though he'd rehearsed them. "Blue Rose is a bit of a bitch to reload, right? You have to admit that a double-barrelled revolver is kinda unwieldy. And while I'm all for the unique old-school models, you do need something that we can fix up to reload itself, like my handguns."

Nero felt his insides warm pleasantly. There he goes being too-nice again. Probably wants a fuck in exchange. The teen pushed the negative thoughts away, trying to make himself feel genuinely happy that the slayer would find a new weapon for him. If Dante was buying him a gun, it would seem that the older man was planning on him getting better. He relaxed almost immediately after that, calming down so quickly that even Dante noticed.

"Easy to please, huh kid?" He laughed, one hand reaching out to shove Nero's shoulder playfully.

"Fuck you," Nero growled half-heartedly, too tired to fight back. A moment later, he was asleep again.

"And then what, Dante? You'll keep him as a pet?" Lady's voice rang loud and clear throughout the entire office, and Nero lifted his head, looking around blearily. He was still in Dante's room, wrapped in blankets that were saturated with the half-devil's scent. Golden sunlight was flooding in through the window, and from the angle it looked to be morning. He was alone in the bed, although the others probably weren't too far away. Lady had enough volume to be in the same room.

The teen listened carefully, but he couldn't make out Dante's muffled reply. He sat up gingerly, his muscles still tense and aching. He wasn't sure his legs would hold him at first, but he was able to stand without clutching the headboard for support after a minute or two. He padded softly out of the room, determined to take a long, hot shower. Hopefully without the convulsions, this time. Nero cracked open the door slowly, his curiosity peaked by the conversation happening downstairs. He decided it wasn't really eavesdropping if they were talking about him, and crept quietly down the hall towards the stairs. The bathroom door was right there, anyway.

"You have to admit, it looks bad," Lady continued, speaking more calmly now. "I was hoping we could find something to help him, but the way you describe his reaction to holy water, I'm not so sure we can. Didn't Ver-"

"Don't say his name," Dante's voice hissed, cold as ice. "This is nothing like that. They're not the same." Nero heard heavy footsteps; someone, probably the slayer, was pacing across the floorboards.

"That contradicts your earlier suspicions, Dante. Why else were you keeping him away from the Temen-ni-gru?" It was Lady again. He heard the muted clink of metal-on-metal. She was counting out rounds; never a good sign with her.

Dante growled something that Nero couldn't quite hear, and Trish spoke up suddenly, her honey-coated voice soothing and placating.

"We'll do our best for him, Dante. We don't want to see Nero hurt any more than you do. But Lady's right. He's dangerous. And it might get to the point where-"

"We're not discussing this," Dante snarled, interrupting again. "Don't you two have a mission?"

Lady sounded both irritated and resigned. "Yeah, no thanks to you. We plan to be back before nightfall. I'd tell you to come find us if we don't return on time, but I know there'd be no point." There was the stomp of Lady's combat boots, and the clatter of Trish's heels across the floor, and then Nero heard the heavy office doors slam shut. Dante swore so softly that Nero almost couldn't make out the words, and, to judge by the sounds, went to sit at his desk.

The ex-Knight shakily released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He honestly didn't know what to make of what he'd heard. Would they really just shoot him, if that's what it came down to? Just throw him away like Credo had? Nero didn't even know if he'd blame them if they did. He pulled open the bathroom door and started the shower running. His boots were still on the floor where Dante had tossed them, and there were a few blood splatters on the tile. He splashed them away with a fistful of water.

He showered swiftly, rinsing the sweat off his skin. Nero felt like he was in a daze, and not just because he'd been in bed for an undetermined but definitely substantial amount of time. The teen's thoughts were awhirl, and he nearly wrenched the taps off the wall as he turned off the water. He towelled himself dry carelessly, and wrapped the fabric around his waist to make the dash back to his own room.

Nero yanked open the bathroom's entrance and ran smack into Dante, who was just in the process of raising his hand to knock (or, smash) at the door. He stumbled back a step, clutching convulsively at his towel. The slayer filled the doorway, blocking the passage to Nero's room.

"What do you want?" He snarled before he could stop himself. A bitter-tasting rage was threatening to envelope him, and Nero fought it down. Dante looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then folded his arms across his leather-clad chest.

"How much did you hear, kid?" He asked, watching Nero carefully. The man obviously paid closer attention to his surroundings than he ever let on. Anyone who thought Dante was all brawn and no brains probably met with a swift, blood-soaked death. The teen couldn't read Dante's expression. He ducked his head even as he stepped close to shoulder the man aside. It was pointless; Dante braced his feet and didn't even have to take a step back to keep his balance. The slayer caught him by the biceps, containing the weakened younger man easily. "Kid, don't think that-"

"I heard enough, Dante," Nero spat. "Get out of my way." He lifted his hands, clenched into fists, to begin to struggle. And strangely, Dante let him go, releasing his hold so swiftly that the teen stumbled. To his further amazement, the slayer stepped aside, clearing the path to the hall. His too-pale eyes seemed uneasy, and he started to reach for the teen again.

"Don't," Nero hissed, slipping away from the other man's hands and out of the room. He reached his bedroom a moment later and slammed the door shut behind him.

Whew, that was all over the place, lol. If you're reading this story, please review. Or PM me, if you don't want to comment publicly. 'Cause feedback gives me warm fuzzies, and warm fuzzies eventually turn into chapters filled with smut. :D