Doubt

This is rated M for language, violence, disturbing content, 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 more swearing, lol.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this to their alerts and favourites. All feedback is appreciated. :D Welcome back to the most disorganized fic ever. I kind of want to re-write this whole chapter. :P

Chapter Fourteen: Through Me

Nero said nothing, staring icily into Dante's pale eyes. Ivory was loaded, and the hunter held the gun before him in both hands, as though he might've raised it in supplication. The teen sat up slowly, taking his time. Most of the gunshot wounds on his chest had sewn themselves shut, although the ones that had ended up under Dante's prying fingers remained open and burning. The hunter reached out to touch them again, and Nero flinched back, a growl escaping his throat. He clenched his fists, driving nails and talons into his palms until he felt blood ooze under his fingernails.

"Fuck you," he hissed softly, using the headboard as a crutch as he awkwardly rose to his feet. Dante made no move to stop him; the slayer's fingers sliding over the detailing on the gun. Nero found his jeans and boxers crumpled at the foot of the bed, reached down to pick them up, and nearly fell over as the room spun around him. The teen staggered dizzily, and would've clunked his face into the bedpost had Dante not used his considerable reflexes and caught his shoulder. Nero tried to wrench his way out of the other man's grasp, throwing his weight away from the slayer. Dante let him go abruptly, and the youth crashed to the floor. Fucking pathetic.

Nero began a laborious climb to his feet, which Dante watched in silence. The ex-Knight scowled up at the older man, trying to come to grips with the situation he'd found himself in. He wondered if Dante was really as duplicitous as he appeared. You knew this would happen. You knew it would, and you let it. You're as guilty as anyone else. Guiltier. Nero was almost standing upright again when the floor rippled, rising up to meet him. He swore, trying to keep his balance, and felt powerful arms wrap around him.

The teen thrashed in Dante's grip, feeling his wounds tear further. The hunter grunted when the spiked elbow of Nero's devilbringer met his ribcage, but refused to let go. A moment later, Nero found himself seated on the bed. Dante stood in front of him, his hands resting on the youth's shoulders, holding him in place. His frosty gaze swept over the teen, lingering on the bruises he'd left. Nero waited for Dante to say something, but the room was silent save for his own ragged inhalations. When the normally loud-mouthed hunter had remained quiet for nearly three full minutes, Nero gave in to his anger and glowered at the man.

"Gonna shoot me now?" Ivory was beside him on the bed, abandoned by Dante when Nero had stumbled the first time. The older slayer let go of the teen's shoulders and took a step back, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, swallowing his words and infuriating Nero further. He leapt up and swung at Dante, aiming for the slayer's jaw in hopes of breaking it, but found his fist knocked away smoothly. Dante grabbed his wrist, and for a moment Nero thought he'd just snap the bones and be done with it.

"Don't," Dante hissed, his grip tightening threateningly. He let go before Nero could try to pull away, reaching around the teen to pick up the pistol. The teen watched him, nausea and rage vying for control of his insides. The hunter tucked the gun back into its holster and turned to face him. Nero wasn't reassured. It wasn't as though Dante had ever needed a gun to kill. The man was a lethal weapon all on his own, without even triggering.

"Are you?" Nero demanded again. The wounds on his chest felt scorched, and his mind refused to calm down. Rage and pain, remorse and lust whirled together in him, filling him up with sickness and despair. He didn't know what to do anymore; he couldn't even begin to describe the things wrong with him. Dante had finally done what he'd expected him to do, and despite predicting it, Nero felt less vindicated than traumatized. He glared at Dante, daring him to answer.

"Do you want me to?" The softly spoken words were uncharacteristic of the slayer, and Nero glanced at the older man. Dante stared back at him levelly, his tension betrayed only by the set of his jaw.

Nero considered it, how easy it would be to escape this whole situation. He'd be gone, and it would be done with. There'd be no more craziness, no blood-spattered rooms or wounded friends. It would be safer for everyone if he were out of the picture. He knew it was necessary with a bleak certainty, but he could not honestly say he wanted it to happen. There was enough of an enraged punk teen left in Nero to prevent him from willingly going to his death. It warred in his mind with the part of him that knew his duty, the Knight that would defend others with his last breath. Nero dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his head.

"It doesn't matter what I want." He muttered, searching out patterns in the scarlet-stained floor. Part of him wished fervently for Lady. She'd know what to do, and would do it without balking. All it would take would be a couple well-placed bullets; a severed spinal cord would do him in, or massive lower-brain damage. His healing abilities weren't as swift as Dante's, and he suspected they'd be unable to cope with large amounts of trauma. Lady probably knew this, and he wondered why she'd chosen to shoot him in the chest. The wounds were painful, and slowed him down, but were nowhere near lethal. Unless she couldn't bring herself to do it either… Look where that misplaced loyalty got her.

"That isn't an answer." Dante's voice broke into the youth's musings, scattering his thoughts. The slayer seated himself on the bed, handing the teen his clothes. Nero bit back a snarl and accepted them wordlessly, quickly pulling them on. The movements aggravated his aching body and brought his thoughts back to the source of his irritation.

"Then what the fuck do you want to hear, Dante?" Nero's anger escaped him again. "No, I don't want to die. I don't want you to have to kill me. I hate this, all of this." Nero sank down onto the bed beside the older man, trying to calm his breathing in hopes that it would hurt less that way. "I mean, hell, I don't know how to fix this, but I do know how to stop it. What do you want, written permission or something?"

Dante watched him mournfully, his eyes troubled. He started to reach for the teen, then appeared to think better of it. "I'm sorry," he muttered, more to himself than to Nero. The youth glanced up at the words, trying to decipher the meaning.

"Yeah?" Nero replied, trying to keep the growl out his voice. He wondered if Dante would be the last person he'd ever see. It was beginning to look that way. He wiped his palms on his jeans, smearing them red with sweat and blood. Look at that. You're scared. Like some stupid little kid. "So what? You got what you wanted, so stop dragging this out," Nero blurted, watching to see if he'd succeeded in provoking the slayer. A warm hand touched his shoulder but he smacked it away.

"Just get on with it," he hissed, hating how his voice caught in his throat. "You know I deserve it now, at least. What are the odds that Lady will live through the night?" Nero spat, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. The fact that his friend was dying, and the knowledge that it was his fault, kept him from fleeing or fighting for his life. If Lady hadn't been hurt, Nero would've attacked Dante the second the hunter lifted a hand against him. Instead, he remained seated on the bed, his eyes fixed fiercely on the floor.

He felt the slayer rise to his feet, and heard the heavy footfall of his boots as he paced across the floor. Dante stopped at the window and opened it further, letting more cool night air drift into the room. A car cruised slowly down the street, its radio blaring out an old rock song, and in the distance sirens started to wail.

"Lady didn't blame you." The words were spoken so quietly that at first Nero wasn't sure he'd actually heard them correctly. "She's too good of a shot. She aimed to slow you down, not to kill you." Dante chuckled bitterly. "That's why I dug the bullets out of you, instead of just adding to them." Nero looked up in time to see Dante turn to face him, the slayer's eyes flickering nearly white in the dim light of the room. "If she'd tried to kill you and failed, I would've finished the job for her." The half-devil paused, studying Nero.

"You still think you should?" The ex-Knight asked.

Dante refused to answer, turning back to the window. Nero took his silence as an affirmative, gracelessly rising to his feet. He stalked towards the taller man with his hands clenched into fists, his thoughts scattered and reeling.

"So what's stopping you? The same worthless sense of loyalty that Lady has?"

The slayer whirled, backhanding Nero across the face and knocking him to the floor. "Damn it, Nero, would you just stop for a second and listen to yourself?" Dante growled, crouching down beside the prone teen. When Nero didn't bother trying to stand, the slayer settled cross-legged on the floor. He leaned over the teen, bracing himself on one arm. Nero brushed his bangs out of his eyes and scowled.

"This is bullshit, Dante," Nero swore, anger thickening his voice. Dante's gaze was intense and too close, and the teen fought the urge to crawl away from it. "You don't have to pretend to care; I'm not some girl that requires pillow-talk. Stop dawdling," he muttered, staring at what little he could see of the night-sky. "Do it before you have a fight on your hands."

Dante moved closer, reaching up and gently running his knuckles along the teen's jaw. "You won't win a fight with me," he stated quietly, reminding Nero of the sparring match that had destroyed their kitchen. That night felt like it had happened an eternity ago, instead of only a week. It seemed as though Dante had lost his obnoxious cheerfulness as swiftly as Nero had been stripped of his sanity.

"I shouldn't have to," he sighed, recalling his words from that night. Nero's memory of being smashed into the cupboard was especially vivid, as well as that of Dante pouncing on him and demanding to know what was wrong. The situation hadn't seemed as dire then. Yeah, not until I went for a walk near the tower and Dante flipped out about it. He didn't call me crazy-pants anymore after that…

The teen braced himself and finally met Dante's smouldering gaze. He studied the firm lines of the hunter's face, trying to read him. He couldn't decipher half of the emotions that flickered across the older man's countenance; he caught glimpses of rage and hatred and despair, but these were all eclipsed by grief. It was strangely disturbing to see these expressions on Dante, because for as long as Nero had known him, the slayer had always been irritatingly exuberant. Now he gazed at Nero, appearing both anguished and possessive.

The teen didn't pull away when Dante leaned in closer, pressing warmly against him. He didn't flinch when rough fingers threaded into his hair, or startle when they slid lower to wrap around his throat. Nero forced himself to continue staring into Dante too-pale eyes, refusing to look away no matter how uncomfortable and naked the intimacy of it made him feel. Dante's hands slid over his windpipe, the threat veiled by the caress, and Nero knew with a sudden jolt that he was about to die.

The slayer must've felt him tense, because the hands left his throat and moved to his back, stroking soothingly. Nero shook his head bitterly. "There's no point in trying to make this anything other than what it is, Dante," he stated, but then he didn't turn away when the half-devil moved to kiss him. Instead, he lifted his hands to the hunter's shoulders, pulling him closer. The teen opened his mouth to let Dante deepen the kiss, allowing the other man's tongue to touch his own.

Dante pushed him down until he was flat on his back on the wooden floorboards, straddling the teen's hips and bracing himself with one hand on either side of Nero's face. The teen grabbed fistfuls of Dante's shirt to keep his hands from shaking. Part of him insisted that he resist; that he should refuse Dante's touch no matter how calming it was this time. It screamed inside his brain, calling him a spineless bitch for essentially digging his own grave. The rest of him was too wracked by guilt to move. Nero closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax into Dante's caresses. Warm hands roamed over his bare chest, careful not to touch his wounds or leave additional bruises. Nero would've shared a few choice statements about the irony of that, but Dante kissed him insistently and he barely had enough air to breathe, let alone talk.

The slayer sat up for a moment and edged forward until he was sitting on Nero's chest, sending a sharp spike of pain through the youth's diaphragm. Nero gasped, inhaling shallowly, and felt Dante's hands slide back up to his throat. Calloused fingers ghosted along his trachea, and Nero swallowed reflexively, suddenly nervous. Dante was studying him again, rubbing along the cords of Nero's neck until the teen squirmed and coughed.

"What are you waiting for?" he rasped, his voice edged with a loathing he didn't honestly feel. He released Dante's shirt and dropped his arms to the floor, frowning up at the hunter. Dante's eyes flickered in the dim light, a hint of crimson glimmering in their depths. The last face you'll ever see…

Dante closed his fingers, and Nero's airflow was cut off abruptly. He tensed immediately, but managed to suppress his instinctive thrashing reaction. The ache in his lungs intensified into a shrieking need for oxygen, and his throat felt crushed in Dante's grip. Nero watched as more scarlet bled into Dante's eyes, his own vision starting to blur. He dug his talons and fingernails into the floor to keep himself from attempting to pry Dante's hands off of him.

Soon, Nero was no longer able to keep from struggling, his legs twisting and writhing as he gagged for air. He tried to focus on Dante's face, but his vision was darkening at the edges. The teen knew he was flailing now, scrabbling for purchase on the floorboards and trying to throw the slayer off him. He couldn't stop himself, his body reacting reflexively. Dante's face was suddenly closer to his own, his lips moving as though he was speaking. Nero couldn't hear anything but the roar of his blood and his own faltering heartbeats. His vision faded further, and then unexpectedly the pressure on his chest and wind-pipe was gone.

It hurt to breathe, but he could, taking as much air into his lungs as he could possibly inhale. The ex-Knight lay on his back on the floor, nearly hyperventilating. The haze left his sight, and he turned his head to the side to see Dante better. He couldn't focus his thoughts; his emotions ran rampant with his mind.

"You fucking coward," he whispered, unable to raise his voice. "You wanted to do it, I know you did. Finish this," he hissed at the slayer. Dante shook his head, his expression strangely horrified. The hunter rolled to his feet, raking a hand through his snowy hair. The man looked as lost as Nero felt, and the ex-Knight took vindictive pleasure in this.

"You really thought I would… You were going to let me?" Dante took a few steps across the room, wiping his eyes with the back of one hand. "And yeah, some part of me wanted to, but kid…" Dante trailed off again. "You're not yourself at all anymore, even when you're not having an episode. The stuff you say, I mean, you always were a punk, but now it's worse. You're just… vicious, or something." The hunter walked back to where Nero lay on the floor, and knelt beside him with a thump.

The teen sat up slowly, wheezing. He refused to look at Dante, even when warm hands gently touched the bruises on his throat, trying to soothe them. The breeze from the open window suddenly chilled him, and he curled up, wrapping his arms around his knees. Like a snivelling baby. Dante pressed closer again, radiating heat that Nero fought not to bask in. Instead, he turned to sneer at the slayer.

"Why didn't you then, if some part of you wanted to?"

"Do you listen to me at all, kid?" Dante shifted until he was sitting beside Nero and pulled the youth closer to him. "You're not completely gone yet."

"So you've just postponed the inevitable. Gonna fuck me again while you're waiting?" Nero felt Dante tense beside him, sending a sick thrill of victory through him. He didn't know whether he was going to laugh or throw up. The soft caress of hands on his bruises paused in their ministrations.

"I won't touch you again if you don't want me to," Dante stated stiffly, his voice strained.

"Not even if I injure another of your friends and you want to punish me for it?"

"Nero…" Dante appeared to be counting to ten in his head. Nero waited for the slayer to lose it and hit him, but Dante managed to keep in control. He let go of the teen and heaved himself back to his feet, looking exhausted. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? You might wake up less of a psycho, and-"

A squeal of tires in the street below interrupted the half-devil, and a wave of demonic malevolence swept over the pair of them as the doors to the office were kicked in. Stiletto heels stalked across the floor towards the stairs, and Dante swiftly stepped to the bedroom door and locked it. Below them, frighteningly loud despite being muffled by walls, Trish began to scream.

"She's dead! She's dead, he killed her!" Her voice was ragged from rage and grief, and Nero felt a tingle of electricity shoot down his spine. Trish's anguish would be horrible to witness, and would quite probably be lethal. He could hear her start up the stairs, and wondered how many volts it would take to stop his heart forever. Dante turned to face him, looking as though he felt the same way Trish did, but was trying to suppress it. The hunter hesitated for a moment, then appeared to make a decision. Now he'll do it, if he couldn't before…

Nero waited, but Dante grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly to his feet. "Run!"

"What?" The youth stumbled, his lungs and throat burning. He fought to organize his thoughts; if he could just think straight for a minute, he could figure out what the hell was going on.

"Run. She'll kill you." Dante snatched Nero's boots from the floor and handed them to the dazed teen, shoving him towards the window.

"And you won't?" Nero staggered to the sill and pushed the window open further. Dante's concern puzzled him, but he could remember a time when it would've filled him with warmth, and so he slipped out of the window into the night.

Fuck I hate this chapter. Sometimes ideas don't translate from my brain into words very well, especially when I have to distort them to reflect Nero's dubious sanity. Two dichotomies that might help: what Nero thinks is happening versus what is actually described as happening, and what characters say they will do versus what characters actually do. Feedback fills me with joy; please review! :D