Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry.
This… sort of came out of nowhere. I haven't been able to write recently but this offered to write itself, so I took the bunny up on the offer. It's a weird little piece.
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Demonic power used to make him sick. He'd been told it killed humans, too much mystical energy in the air. He'd cursed the handicap at the time, but now?
Yesterday he'd gone right through an open portal, not just someplace demons were gathering, not just something trying to open a portal, and it had felt good, made him stronger. He hadn't even felt a tinge of nausea. He'd become a demon, that power tingling in his veins (if he had veins when he was a demon), and had only felt more alive.
So had everything the demonic energy could kill off already died?
One of these days he had to find a geneticist he could terrify into secrecy and get him to run some tests or something. Find out what the hell he was. Were his genes different? Did he even have DNA?
It wasn't like anyone would believe the guy if he talked, probably.
Screw it.
If he was becoming less human he didn't want to know.
Lucky Lady, conked out on the bed. She'd told him this was her first time getting drunk. She'd insisted on them going to the bar downstairs, and on Dante paying for the drinks. He'd ended having to carry her to the motel room he was also paying for now after she'd carefully drunk herself into oblivion. Smart girl.
Enzo would send his stuff to wherever he went.
He couldn't go back to LA, memories. And now there were memories here too. Someplace in the Heartland?
If he lived as long as his old man would he end up running out of places to make a new start in? Or would everything always seem new? The world had already changed a ton in the short time he'd been alive.
He'd drunk too, but it had already worn off. He hadn't drunk too much, someone had to look after Lady. Right now she was in no condition to shoot straight. He remembered getting plastered the first time he'd gone to the mercenary bar. Vergil had gotten plastered his first time there too, and robbed. One more thing they had in common.
Maybe he should try drugs? Nah, with his luck his healing wouldn't cure addiction. No, addiction was a physical change in the brain, right? So it should be okay. Not that he wanted to test it. He had Sparda's sword now, everything and what spawned them would be coming after it.
He kept it tucked away in his coat while watching the news on the bar's television. Gas explosion in the slums. Instant urban renewal. The people ripped apart by the demons were victims of that.
Someone would probably end up having to pay damages to the victims. Class action lawsuit. He would have to remember to pay attention to that, he'd need the money to set up his new shop.
Going back to New York, where his mother had her shop back before she met Pops. He'd made it clear he wanted to follow in her footsteps. Now he had Pops's power and probably his soul, though he hadn't said a word.
Dante thought that if he had he probably would have done something to the sword, something really unpleasant. He hadn't wanted any of this.
Vergil, always coming by and screwing everything up. No way he was going to survive fighting the whole demon world.
Good thing alcohol had worked better a year ago. Back then he'd have tried anything, the more self-destructive the better.
Lady rolled over in her sleep. If she rolled over again (and she was tossing and turning like crazy) he'd have to catch her. It wasn't a nightmare, no fear or anything. He'd wake her up if that happened. He didn't want to put up with any more of that today, and there was enough just in the air as it was.
Enzo was helping with the cover up, couldn't call him over here to party. He didn't really have any friends. He'd had friends once. They'd died.
Vergil.
Well, that was over.
And now it was over he was already missing him. Psycho bastard.
He wanted to kill some more demons. Something so he didn't have to think. He hated thinking.
The way he looked at it was that in his head there was all that shit, and there was his boat. Don't rock the boat. Fun things bailed stuff out before he drowned. All his instruments were smashed. There was Nevan, but that would wake Lady up and then she'd be pissed as hell. Good thing green orbs worked on hangovers, or she'd kill him in the morning.
He should probably just leave her here. Go away. She'd be safer. She could find someone else to train her, someone who wasn't what she hated. She'd survived the tower, anyone would respect her for that.
He couldn't afford hostages, even if she was beautiful and brave.
There was nothing on the TV in here. Another time he might have watched the coverage and snickered, but not after this. He didn't want to be reminded. So he was just sitting here on the bed cleaning Ebony and Ivory. They didn't need it, as perfect as the night he'd put them together (not even any soot or smell of smoke), but it was better than admitting he was doing nothing.
And he wasn't going to stare at Lady. The only reason they were in a single was that this was the room she had rented for herself when she came to town to hunt down Arkham and all the other rooms were full of people who had escaped the 'explosion.'
If she became conscious and found him staring at her like a lovesick puppy she'd send him away no matter how hard she was trying to be grateful to him.
No room in here to fight imaginary opponents.
He'd closed the curtains, didn't want anything looking in. The view was miserable anyway. Lady wouldn't want sunlight in her face when she woke up.
He'd gotten drunk with Enzo, the other Enzo (and how was he doing) right after facing Vergil the first time. He'd never face Vergil again.
He really should be thinking about the world, and how he could use Sparda's power to protect it, but he was already missing the feeling that only came from fighting with his twin. Even human twins, he'd read, had special bonds and shit. So maybe it wasn't a demon thing that he'd barely been able to contemplate the idea of killing Vergil. In the end, it had been better than letting him become the killer he already was.
Not that Dante hadn't killed humans. He tried not to do it now he knew what he was. He didn't have the right to shed human blood. He'd cut his fangs on human killers, now he killed demons.
Right now, he really wanted to be down in that bar with a lampshade over his head singing something. Even drunk he sang really well. He liked singing.
He was polishing Rebellion now, trying not to study the new hilt design. It didn't need it. He really should be looking over the weapons he'd found, like the shotgun, trying to improve them. He was going to need all the firepower he could get.
Well, Lady would get a lot of practice killing the demons that would come after him for Sparda's sword.
He didn't want to take that one out and look at it.
It, not him.
Sparda.
Hell.
Lady started snoring quietly. Lady Luck.
There'd been a dealer in that bar, he could pop down, get some crack or something to try… no, he had to stay awake to look after her.
He wished he could sleep but he wouldn't be tired for a few more hours. He was still hyper, on adrenaline or whatever equivalent. He'd killed like crazy, that always felt good. Like a drug, but a stimulant, not a depressant or however it worked. He wanted something… no.
Couldn't do anything that might take him out of action. He'd nap when she woke up. Then they'd skip town. Somewhere out in the woods she could practice without people seeing or getting hit by stray bullets. Not that she would miss like that, but it was good to be careful.
He had to be responsible now. Had to look after the sword. Didn't want another Arkham. Bastards.
Lady was stronger than his mother had been, he was pretty sure. Not to mention that she'd been around that portal too without getting sick, and if she didn't know what a ble orb was she didn't have any of the charms human hunters used. She damn well wasn't normal, he could smell demon-taint on her. Probably Sparda's fault. She was a descendant of the priestess, and no one had a spell that powerful cast on them without something happening. Two thousand years of demonic power in their veins? He'd never tell her this, though.
One more thing to blame his dad for.
Everything was fucked up, and what else was new.
He wished he had something to do besides wallow in it. She needed her sleep, she'd been fighting for how long?
He was humming under his breath now, something tuneless at first that morphed into something based on the song he'd played in the tower. That, that was how he wanted to feel. So alive. Pretending he was a rock star, that demons didn't exist, that everything was peachy keen. He always pretended.
When he thought it made it harder to pretend to himself. Lie.
The TV, on soft for background noise, a futile attempt to distract himself, was harmonizing with his humming.
No, that wasn't the TV. The sound was coming from the corner he'd thrown the weapons that didn't fit in his coat. He'd grabbed them all from the God of Time statue he'd found. Coming in carrying them had raised eyebrows, but everyone knew he went around armed. Only a nutcase would use a sword anyway.
He hated sanity.
Music was an obsession that he got lost in. Killing too. Just do, don't think.
Nevan, that was it. The guitar-thing. Woman. Person? Demon. He stopped humming.
She continued for a while, ending on a questioning note.
Hell. He started humming again.
Words were murmured at first, then he sung quietly. He heard her voice too, joining in the choruses, harmonizing. She couldn't sing the verses, he made them up as he went along. He could do lyrics in his sleep, and that was what he did now, not paying attention to what came out of his mouth as he lay back on the bed with his eyes closed.
"Beautiful."
"Indeed." Agni and Rudra.
Well, that wrecked the moment.
"Shh, boys," that voice said, sounding a little less sultry. Still went straight to his groin, and that was wrong because she was a fucking demon, literally. Wasn't he in love with Lady?
He needed to give that up, bury it deep. She didn't need her teacher after her. She needed someone she could trust while she tried to put together a life. He didn't want to taint her. (But wasn't she already tainted, just like he was?) She was human, even if a little off, and he was… hell only knew.
Demons were cold-blooded killing machines. Harvesters of the emotions they didn't quite have. That was part of why he went so far overboard letting his impulses control him. It made him unpredictable to them, hell knew he frustrated Vergil. Had frustrated Vergil.
Vergil.
His hand gripped Ebony tighter.
Ebony and Ivory, together in harmony. Hell, even the full demons were better brothers than they were. Had been.
Vergil had to be dead, but somehow he'd thought he would feel him die. Maybe they were too far apart. Maybe that was just superstition. Was there even a line between reality and fantasy? Legend?
He'd meet the Easter Bunny next.
Nevan was singing again, and he felt someone sit on the edge of the bed. He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him.
Her hair was still stuck to her breasts. Probably magic. Damn.
He lay still and watched her carefully. She watched him as well as her hand reached up, bypassing his neck, to touch the top of his head. She belonged to him now, she wouldn't cast any kind of spell, right?
The TV was turned off and one of her bats fluttered back to her. She was stroking his hair now.
Was this a lullaby?
He didn't want to be babied by a demon.
She had a really pretty voice. He listened carefully, no weird harmonies that might be trying to hypnotize him. Did she think he'd fuck her? Not with Lady in the same room. Not ever.
She seemed to understand this, smiling slightly. Did she like him? He seemed to amuse her at least, just like in the tower.
His lips moved and he sung again. She kept stroking his hair. And now he did feel a little peaceful. Just like in the tower.
This was a really weird duet. She had a beautiful voice. If he ever got vengeance they should start up a band.
There was a muffled thump as Lady fell off her bed. Damn.
Nevan vanished as Dante went to Lady's side. "You okay?"
She blinked at him. "I'm consciouz." She glared at him like it was somehow his fault.
"Yeah?"
She wobbled to her feet and fell over, he caught her and put her back on her bed.
She must have been not all the way awake: in a minute she was snoring again.
There was a tug on his coat. He didn't spin around. Nevan. Just Nevan. Just?
"You should get some sleep too, Sugar."
"I've got to keep an eye on things." Somehow he wasn't insulted by a demon telling him what to do.
"We'll keep an eye on you, Sugar. You'll be as well guarded as the tower." She indicated the pile of devil arms in the corner, Ebony, Ivory and Rebellion on his bed.
"That's comforting." He climbed back on his bed again: he would have just flung himself on but the thump might wake Lady.
She laughed and he joined in, softly.
That warm hand (too warm) returned to his hair and when she started humming a tune he didn't know he matched words to it, eyes closing to focus on the sound, burying himself in the music.
They stayed like that until Nevan took her hand away.
"Dante!" Lady shook him a few seconds later, when he was wondering why the music had stopped. "Wake up!"
He sat up, and realized he must have dosed off at some point. He felt amazingly refreshed. "Yeah?"
"It's time for the continental breakfast."
"I think I'll order a pizza."
"We had pizza for dinner."
"Whatever, Lady."