I love writing Dante and Nero as the most awkward uncle and nephew pair trying to figure out how this whole family thing works.
I also like making up dumb headcanons.
The pasta Kyrie had made was an old staple of her family. Six ingredients, so simple that we could make it as kids. Nothing made me think of home like that odd mix of parsley, oil, and garlic.
Too bad I couldn't taste a damn thing.
"Are you upset about your arm?" Kyrie asked. She sat on her knees at the edge of the kitchen, watching me with troubled eyes and a hesitant smile.
A sniffle tore through me. "No," I said, pouring more red pepper flakes on my pasta. "My mouth is on fire." I wasn't sure if I could taste the pepper flakes either, but my lips were burning, and I was content to have some reaction to the food. To get to the seasonings, I'd climbed off the table and gone to the kitchen, but standing was a lot of work, so I'd taken up residence on the cool tile floor, leaning against the cabinets. I liked sitting. Sitting was nice. Lying down would have been even better. Kyrie had scolded me for that, though.
"Right," she drawled. "Don't hurt yourself."
Her smile widened as I waved my fork at her. This wasn't funny. "You're supposed to be at least twenty meters away." I'd told her at least three times. Maybe six. Maybe twelve.
"I would be outside if I were that far away," she said. "You're crying, you know. Maybe you should take it easy."
Patting my face, I found my cheeks wet. That explained why everything was blurry. "Oh, I'm crying out of both eyes," I said. Despite the sharp pain that came with it, a grin found its way to my face. "Maybe Black is hurting too."
A knock rattled the front door, and Kyrie heaved a sigh as she stood. "I don't know what you're talking about, but stop doing whatever you're doing. Behave. I'll be right back."
If we were getting visitors late at night, it was because of something I'd done. People expected me to be out on patrols past dark, so they'd whine to Kyrie about me when I was gone. I'd learned to stop caring back when they would complain to Credo before her.
As Kyrie slipped out of sight toward the front door, I leaned from side to side, watching the kitchen sway in a lazy, comforting rhythm. I'd never had so much wine before. It made the world feel soft and warm, like being under a mound of blankets.
That stopped short when my Bringer shot up and slapped me across the face. I heard the sound before anything else, a smack that made me realize my head had been jerked to the side. The pain didn't catch up until after I'd blinked a few times, trying to understand what had happened.
"Oh, fuck you," I hissed, my cheek stinging like my mouth as I brought down my fork against the now-limp hand. The metal prongs bent against the stupid scaley hide of the thing. I felt nothing, not that I'd expected to. Besides the weight of it at my side, I might as well have not had an arm. All feeling cut off at my right shoulder. If I'd closed my eyes and reached over with my left, I would have expected to meet empty air.
But the Bringer was still there, and Black seemed to have infected it with whatever he was. "I'm not your fucking puppet," I said, trying to keep my voice low against the conversation in the other room. Kyrie was arguing with someone, probably about me. I didn't need to prove whomever right by showing off how crazy I was, talking to my damn arm.
Just because we had guests didn't mean Black was going to get away with being a prick, though. Rolling over to the fridge, I wrenched the door open and smacked my useful hand down on the strawberry carton. The damn thing might as well have been a bear trap for all the luck I had trying to open it with one hand. In my struggles, the smooth plastic slipped out of my grasp and hit the floor. I had to sit up and put the container between my feet to pry it open.
I might have eaten some of the leaves along with the first strawberry I bit into.
"There you are."
Glancing up, I found Dante grinning like an idiot.
"Don't break open those stitches trying to crawl around, you lush," he said as he dropped to his haunches. I tried to smack his hand away when he grabbed for a strawberry, but I might as well have been a cat batting a toy. "Your new visitor seems rude. Gave me the ugliest look just now."
"Shut up. Of course, they're rude. You're the worst." I shoved another strawberry in my mouth. "I'm mad."
He snorted a laugh. "I've noticed. But it's kind of hard to pull off anger when you're eating fruit, kid."
That sounded like a challenge to me. "I'll show him," I snarled. "Fucker thinks he can use my body."
Dante plucked the stem from the strawberry with a quick flick of his hand. "I wouldn't recommend going around saying it like that. How do we even know it's a he? Could be a she. A lot of demons don't even have genders."
"Look, I don't want to think about that. No option is good, and I'm too drunk."
His smile was so wide that it showed his age in the corners of his eyes. He must have been like forty, and if he could survive that long, there was no way some dumb thing was killing me now. I was way less stupid than Dante.
"Everyone is less stupid than Dante."
"Thanks, kid," he said.
"You're welcome?" I wasn't sure why he was thanking me until I realized I'd spoken aloud. "Whoops," I muttered, scratching at my neck.
As the door slammed shut, I stuffed another strawberry in my mouth. "You know you're not supposed to eat the stems," Dante said, but Kyrie's howls of irritation drowned him out.
"I appreciate the concern!" She stalked back into the kitchen, shoulders taut near her ears. "But they should really be used to- Nero, no! What are you doing!?" Rushing in, she snatched the strawberries away. My attempt to grab them from her came up short.
"Black slapped me," I explained as she slammed the carton down on the kitchen counter. Any other time I could have gotten it back without issue, but getting to the countertop would have been like climbing a mountain at that moment. The air felt thin enough for it.
"Hang on, what?" Dante asked as I leaned over and took a bite of the strawberry in his hand.
Kyrie smacked the back of my head each time I chewed. "No! Stop that!" she demanded. "Ugh, that's it! You're not allowed to drink ever again."
For some reason, I couldn't help but laugh, even when she stormed over to the first aid kit and started rifling through it. I just laughed harder, clutching my aching gut as I struggled for air. My laughs became quick wheezes.
"Are you allergic to strawberries?" Dante's voice was so flat that I almost didn't recognize it as his.
"That'll show him," I tried to say. It came out as a hiss of breath, and I fell over, still fighting to laugh as my mind grew hazier. The kitchen dimmed, and I felt even more distant and floaty than before.
The familiar sting of a needle jammed into my leg brought me back. "Eating my strawberries," she grumbled. "What's gotten into you? Terrible. You owe me for those, and for the pen. These things are expensive, you know."
"Kid, please stop hurting yourself to get back at Black. It's doing more to you than him."
Maybe, but if it did anything to him, it was worth it. I didn't have any other way to fight back. I had nothing against him. He could take over at any moment, could take my arm from me like it was nothing. I really could have been just some puppet he was playing with for all the power I had over him.
I'd managed to hold control before for the first time, but I couldn't say if that were a fluke. At the time, I felt like I should have been asleep. The world had gone dark like I'd drifted to the bottom of the ocean. I felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing, but I knew I wasn't asleep. I knew that I should have been conscious, and reaching out with whatever was left of me, I found my ability to hear again. It started muffled and distant, but I recognized Dante's voice, and I latched onto it until I was able to wrench myself to the surface.
From there, everything was hazy. I couldn't remember much beyond pain. Everything hurt, but especially my head. My skull must have cracked in two. Black had said something to me then, but it was so loud that I couldn't understand anything beyond the pain cutting through my head.
Fighting had been hellish torture. Passing out had been so easy.
I didn't want to give in, but if fighting back meant that much suffering every time, I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. I would fight for as long as I could, but there was only so much of me. Only so much I could endure.
No matter what I did, no matter how I'd changed, I would always be so damn weak.
"Looks like it's already putting him out," Kyrie sighed. "I don't really want for him to sleep on the floor. Sorry, Dante, could you carry him to his room?"
I tried to refuse and say I could get there myself, but the only sound I made was a growl. The limbs I could feel were so fuzzy that they must have been stuffed with wool. I couldn't even remember how to make myself roll anymore.
Dante put his arms under my knees and around my shoulders, and- Fuck no! I would not be carried like some damn princess. Again, my arguing got me nowhere. A slur of grumbles fell from my lips.
"No whining, sunshine. You got yourself into this mess," Dante said. "I'm just doing as instructed."
"Nero, don't be a baby," Kyrie added.
I was trying not to be. They were the ones treating me like it.
Unable to find any strength in my body, I had no choice but to hang in Dante's arms until the yellow light behind my eyelids turned to darkness, and I felt myself dropped to my bed.
"Am I going to have to get you out of that coat, kid?" Dante asked.
Though my tongue still stuck against me, I answered as best I could. "Fuck...off."
"Alright, sleep in your gross, blood-soaked clothes. That's on you."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Kyrie said. I could tell just from her tone that her arms were crossed and that she was looking away from me, pouting. "I hope you remember how dumb you've been when you wake up."
I was pretty sure I would. I was bound to regret everything too, but I couldn't bring myself to care then. The bed felt familiar and safe, even if it had never been all that comfortable. I liked it more than the couch or the table or the fucking ground. I tried not to wonder who was taking my boots off because having my feet free was a relief.
Dante's voice seemed to come in through a wall when he spoke next. "Hate to ask this, Kyrie, but do you have somewhere else to stay, at least for the night? I know kicking you out of your own house is weird, but it would be best if you weren't in an enclosed space with me and him if Black takes over again. And I want to keep an eye on him until I get some proper equipment in."
I was glad he asked when I couldn't. Kyrie would have stayed otherwise.
"For an exorcism?" she asked. That didn't sound fun, but if it got rid of Black, I was up for whatever weird rituals Dante had up his sleeve.
"Something like that. Until I can get things sorted, he's unpredictable. And he's whiny about you sticking around. I think he's trying to show that he's worried."
"I understand." She must have been wearing that sad smile. "I'm still working to get stronger, so he doesn't have to look after me so much. I know I'm just human, so..." She sighed. "Kind of useless."
"Hey, I know a human who can kick my ass," Dante said with a chuckle. "And Nero's the one causing all the trouble here, so don't beat yourself up."
No, it was all Black's fault, not mine.
Alright, some of it may have been my fault, but most of it was his.
Some of it was probably Dante's fault too. He was always a pain.
"Is there a room I can take?" he asked. "That one at the end of the hall open?"
Always a pain.
"Oh, not that one." Kyrie must have been wringing her hands. "But you can have the one on the left side."
"Thanks!" I could hear the lazy smile in his voice. "I'll make sure to look after the kid while you're gone."
"Thank you. Um, I'll leave a number by the phone in case you need me." Her voice grew distant. "Goodnight, Nero. Behave." With every shift and creak of the old hardwood floors, I tracked her tiptoeing through the house as she drifted toward the kitchen then to the door. I'd never been able to sneak out because of the damn floor giving me away.
When the front door closed behind her, Dante sighed. "I need a shower. I hope you have hot water here." Despite his words, I could feel him take a step closer. My right shoulder shifted, and I guessed he was messing with my arm. I wished I could have sunk my claws into him for it, but that was up to Black.
The bastard must have felt about the same about Dante messing with my arm because ringing shot through my head like someone had cracked a glass with a tuning fork. I choked on a whine, unable to stifle it. My shoulder fell slack as Dante must have dropped my arm.
"He doesn't belong to you," Dante said in a dark, commanding tone I'd never heard from him before. "Let him go. There's no need to make him suffer."
My skin grew cold from a rush of nausea as the omniscient voice I'd heard before crashed through my head like thunder, shattering my thoughts.
"His life is mine. He owes me this. Stop interfering."
I couldn't tell if I made a sound, so stunned by the agony of it all, but as I dragged myself back together, I realized that my whole body was taut, wound up like a coiled spring. I hadn't been able to feel much of myself between the drug and the alcohol, but every sense assaulted me then. I thought I might snap in half at any moment.
Dante seemed to speak to me from the end of a tunnel. "Easy, kid, easy. Breathe. You're still with me."
I must have looked so weak, so fucking weak. He talked to me like I was some child waking up from a nightmare. I hated that his words helped me find my breath again, but beneath his fumbling attempt to sound soothing was a waver of anxiety. He must have thought that Black would take over at any moment.
If he thought that, he shouldn't have still been close to me. People didn't stick close to me, and they absolutely did not touch me. Kyrie was the only one left who would, yet Dante's hand rested over my closed eyes. Despite the calluses across his fingers and palm, I couldn't help but let the tension ease from my eyes. The ache in my head faded along with it.
"Neat trick, huh?" Dante's laugh was as quiet as it was forced. "I always used it for headaches. Good to know it works on calming down feral kids too."
Even though I wanted to hit him, my breathing leveled against my will. With the pain slipping away, I was fading along with it. He must have thought I was already gone because I heard him whisper, "I'll be here, kid. I've got you. Just get some rest."
I guessed that him calling me kid was fair now. I was acting like one. As though reading my mind, Black shoved me off into the abyss of sleep with one last jolt of pain. "Weak," he snarled.
I didn't dream. Actually, I hadn't dreamt for some time.
Either Dante learned to back off on his pain in the ass schtick overnight, or he knew that I would kick his ass if he said a single word about anything that had happened the previous day.
"How's your head?" he called when I stumbled out of my room and into the hall. I couldn't see him, but he must have been on the couch.
"Bearable," I answered. Nothing a quick shower wouldn't fix. "I thought hangovers were supposed to be worse."
"You're still young. Life gets worse."
"If it gets any worse than having to deal with you, it's not worth it."
"Always with the dramatics," he said with a laugh.
I took a quick, lukewarm shower, enough to wake me up and clear off the layers of blood and sweat. After pulling on some of the baggy clothes I'd picked up for cheap, I braved going into the living room to deal with Dante. He looked about the same as I last remembered, so I couldn't tell if he'd showered or changed clothes. Actually, I didn't remember him having a bag or anything when he showed up, so he likely didn't have a new set of clothes. Gross.
"You look cozy," he said.
Shoving my hand in my hoodie pocket probably proved his point more than it looked off-putting. "Well, are we going out today?" I asked.
"Probably not."
"Then it doesn't matter. I don't have many other clothes left, and if I'm staying home, I'm going to be comfortable. Do you need something new to wear?"
His eyes shifted to their corners, and he scratched his cheek. "I wouldn't...mind. Do you even have anything else to wear? Actually, would I fit in your clothes?"
No, he wouldn't have. I didn't tell him that. Had she been there, Kyrie would have killed me, but I fetched him an old t-shirt and sweatpants from the back room so he could toss his clothes in the washer.
He looked over the outfit with one brow raised. "Are all the clothes in this house on a sliding scale from cozy and horrible to formal and stuffy?"
"Welcome to Fortuna," I said, rolling my eyes.
I made breakfast even after he told me that it was past noon. Breakfast was good at any time, or it would have been if I could taste anything. Hard to say if I under-seasoned or over-seasoned the eggs.
I tried to make Dante useful since he was just taking up space in the narrow kitchen, but as it turned out, he was an idiot. "So how long do you put the bread in this?" he asked as he flicked the handle of the toaster up and down.
There was so much to unpack about his question that I couldn't help but toss my hand up. "I don't know. Until it's done? How toasted do you want your bread?"
"I dunno." Squinting at the toaster like it was some untrustworthy contraption, he twisted the knob over. "This much?"
"Do they have toasters where you're from?"
"Listen, I barely own a microwave," he said as he shoved some bread into the slots. "Appliances are expensive, so I'm not going to bother getting one that serves a single purpose"
"How do you barely own something?"
"Well, it makes a loud popping sound every time I use it. I think it's going to explode one of these days."
Not that I'd ever considered visiting Dante, but I decided then that it would never happen. If Black didn't kill me, Dante was bound to. I moved him to the task of putting dishes in the dishwasher because I didn't think someone could mess that up. He was determined to prove me wrong.
"I don't have one of these either," he said after I resorted every dish he'd placed. "I barely have dishes."
"Do you actually have a house, or is it just some box you found?"
"Hey, I have a house and a shop," he said, crossing his arms. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought he was offended. "I mean, they're the same place, but at least it's my place."
That was more than I could say for myself. With the Holy Knights disbanded, I didn't make much money. Our paychecks used to come out of the Order, and there wasn't much left of that either. I didn't hate living in the old family home, but I'd never felt like I belonged in it. I'd always been a freeloader.
"Is something burning?" Dante asked, frowning at the stove. The only running burner was on medium, cooking ham.
"I don't think so," I said after flipping the ham to make sure it wasn't past browning.
Another few seconds passed as he glanced around. "Really? It smells like-" His eyes snapped to the toaster. "Bread." The knob had been turned all the way over to the highest setting, and as soon as he flicked the spring up, the smoke detector started screaming. "Wow, it's like charcoal," Dante yelled over the ear-stabbing beeps as he placed his hand over his nose and mouth.
With a sigh, I flicked on the fans over the stove. The inhale dragged a few coughs out of me.
"Maybe we should open a window," Dante said.
"Is it really smokey?" I asked. "I don't smell anything."
His brow furrowed. "Really?"
"No." Not the smoke. Not the sizzling ham. Nothing.
Dante took an instant too long to answer. I caught the way his eyes darted from mine in search of an excuse. "Well, you did break your nose last night."
The whirring of the fans claimed the air as he tossed out the charred hunks of bread, and the alarm shut off. I turned the fans off as well before speaking. "Are you really going to do an exorcism?"
"No, that would almost definitely kill you." He didn't look at me, focused on searching the cabinets for dishes. "Exorcisms on partial demons will physically rip them to shreds."
I had to swallow my breath to stop myself from asking why he knew that. "Then I'm possessed?" I asked instead.
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" I bit back. My breaths started to feel heavy and sharp.
His hands dropped to the countertop, as though he needed it to hold himself upright. "You're not fitting the usual symptoms."
"Then what are you going to do to fix it!?" Ugly, bubbling anger tore at me from the inside. I knew I was being unreasonable, but I needed someone to blame, someone to hate, someone other than myself. Dante was supposed to yell at me in return. I wanted a fight. His firm, honest answer made my thoughts brew blacker.
"I don't know." As he locked his eyes with mine, I struggled not to look away. "It's not like anything I've ever seen. I'm just not sure. We'll work on figuring it out."
"You're fucking useless!" I snarled, slamming my fist on the counter. The stitches stung with the threat of snapping open.
"I know. It's annoying," he said with a hint of an honest smile. He needed to stop being so damn understanding. He was supposed to crack some stupid joke, so I could have a reason to throw a punch. "But how about we eat, and then go find some demons to kill? I think you need to blow off some steam."
He was right. I hated him for it. Breakfast, or lunch - whatever it was - was awkward. I couldn't drag myself out of the pit of acting like a child throwing a tantrum, so I sat there in stubborn anger, forcing myself to chew and swallow food that could have been wet paper. If it wasn't good, Dante never complained. He stared at the front page of the newspaper until I gave up with a huff. "Can you read that?"
"No, not a word. I don't know Italian." That was bound to be a problem when he was in the Italian section.
As I stood, I flipped the paper over for him before grabbing our plates. "Oh, I know these words," he said, though I don't think that he bothered to read any of it. The dryer finished, and he changed back into his usual nonsense. He really didn't have room to make fun of my clothes.
"Come on, kid," he said like an eager dog wanting a walk. "Let's go find something to kill."
"Alright." The idea did sound appealing, but I glanced down at my outfit and frowned. Everything else was either dirty, torn to bits, or pajamas. "Guess I'll… wear this."
"You look great. I love that 'I'm doing my best' look."
His grin didn't falter at my glare. "Shut up, trench coat cowboy."
He laughed, short but bright. "Hey, I've seen what you usually wear, I don't think you should be throwing around words like that."
I had to put my right arm back in one of my old slings to keep it out of my way. It was just dead weight. "Alright, let's go," I said after holstering Blue Rose.
"Not going to take your, uh?" He made a motion like he was either knocking on a door or revving a motorcycle.
"Red Queen?" I guessed. "She's too heavy to throw around unbalanced. I don't have a Caliburn." I tended to break them after a couple months of use, so the Order stopped handing them out to me.
Dante shook his head. "We need to get you some new weapons. Variety is the spice of life."
Variety sounded like a lot of work to carry around.
"But you're reasonably capable with that gun, so I'll pick up the slack for you," he said as he opened the door. Shouldering him aside, I stepped out in front of him.
"Wow, it really would be too bad if I accidentally shot you," I muttered. "Just too bad. What a shame."
"Hey, don't start helping Black out."
After a good hour of trudging through the snow and dealing with Dante's badgering, we found a few small fry to pick off on the edge of the forest. Dante did his best to be flashy, and I did my best to ignore him, especially when I noticed him watching me. Constantly.
His eyes were burning a hole in my back. I hoped that was more for his sake than mine, or I was going to kick his ass. He could worry about Black taking over, but he didn't need to be worrying about me. I could handle myself.
"Not bad," Dante said as I shot the final straggler into a hissing mess writhing toward death. "But I think your aim would be better if you had a gun that didn't shoot two bullets at once."
With quick jerks of movement, I emptied the shell casings and snapped in a fresh set of bullets, staring him down all the while. When I tried to speak, I found my words sticking and stuttering against me. "I think you would be better-"
"-if I shut my whore mouth. Yeah, we've been over this," he said.
Reholstering Blue Rose took all of my willpower.
"Now that you've got some energy back," he continued as he cleaned his sword on the snow, "do you think you could Trigger? I think it would help your healing."
I tried, tried to feel something of the power I'd had. Triggering was like taking hold of fire that burned through my hand and up into the rest of my body. Now, though, there wasn't a flame in sight. No warmth, no power.
"I think I need Yamato for that," I said. My voice was still shaking for some reason, no matter how hard I tried to clamp down on it.
He clicked his tongue. "Damn, then I guess we should head back."
"Why?" I snapped in a rush of anger. "I'm not injured. You're not my goddamn babysitter."
Something dark and unsettling flashed in his eyes before he could look away from me. "No, but your lips are blue. You're shaking like a leaf, kid."
Holding up my hand, I found my fingers splotched in patches of red and bloodless white. My whole hand trembled like I'd caught some fit.
But I didn't feel cold. I didn't feel…
When he started back, I followed him without arguing and matched my steps to his longer strides and larger footprints. That way I didn't have to drag myself through the snow anymore. He didn't talk much on the way back, or maybe he did. I couldn't focus on anything he said, couldn't focus on anything but taking each step. One after another. By the time we made it back to town, the sun was setting, and I wondered where the day had gone.
"I'd get you some wine to help you warm up, but I think Kyrie would find out somehow and come lecture me," he said as we reached the house. My hand shook so hard that Dante took the key from me to open the door. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't summon the desire to snap at him, not even when his upbeat tone sounded strained. "You'd better take a warm shower before you get frostbite."
I'd just taken a shower, and I hadn't broken much of a sweat against the demons, but I felt myself walk into the bathroom. Glancing at myself in the mirror, I wondered when I'd gotten a cut on my cheek. I curled my hand around the edge of the sink, feeling pressure against my fingertips but no chill from the stone.
The shower ran with just my hand under the stream for so long that my fingers started to prune, but I couldn't tell what temperature the water was at, no matter how I spun the knobs. In the end, I took steam fogging over the mirror as a sign that it was good enough.
No taste. No smell. Only half my sight. Always half my hearing.
And now my sense of touch was failing me too.
I'm glad Nero is having a good time.
I am also having a good time.
Huge thanks to my reviewers. Hope you enjoyed it. In the next chapter I'll get to the goddamn point.