Disclaimer: I don't own Devil May Cry.
This is a companion to Vengeances (V/L), and yet another fic inspired by Devil Sunday. I'm easy to get to write things, really I am. pets plotbunnies And yes, this is a plea for feedback. If you don't tell me what kind of fic you want, I won't know to write it, now will I?
Especially since I just finished the novel rough draft and am starting a bunch of projects so I can keep in the habit of writing every day.
If you haven't read the webcomic Sluggy Freelance, I highly recommend it.
"That which redeems destroys."
"Redemption is overrated."
He'd looked at her and smiled, just slightly. Not with triumph, as she would have expected after he kicked her ass. Not with mockery like that goddamn clown. He'd seemed softer, simpler. Like a normal, human teenager about to kiss a crush.
His breath had smelled of rancid blood (her bullet had gone through his head) and… tomato juice?
That hadn't been the reason she had turned her face away in disgust. He was a demon.
His eyes had hardened then, face drawing back right away, exasperated. With himself, for even trying. He'd turned to go.
She'd wondered for an instant if he would rape her. She knew enough about demons to know that losers were killed and/or… used.
Her will to live was pleading for him to just go away, but she had to ask, "Why do you care so much?"
His father. Her father. Demons. He was just as trapped as she was, the cockyness she remembered from when she had hid in his bathroom, before she had known he was a demon, appearing in his voice.
He didn't meet her eyes until he told her this was his family matter as well.
Family. He understood about family.
His brother was working with her father, a traitor to Sparda's legacy and a traitor to humanity. Traitors to family.
Here was someone as trapped in vengeance as she was. Someone who had to keep fighting because it was family and no one else could do it.
But she couldn't do it.
She'd had to do it. Alone. No one to help her.
"I'll make things right for you," he told her flippantly. He meant it, though.
She heard her voice distantly. Soft. Still such a sweet little girl. The person she was becoming cursed it. This was a demon! Still… no one had tried to help her since her mother.
He was… about her age, she could tell. Just a kid. They all were just kids, trying to do too much too fast. Trying to make up for sins they didn't commit.
She couldn't just sit back and watch either. So, tentatively, hesitantly, because she'd just placed her trust in family, family, today and been used, she handed over her weapon. Her symbol of her mother. Her crutch.
She slept with it in her bed: her fathers had sent demons to try to capture her before. At least she was strong enough he'd had to trick her as well as these two.
They were all being used, even Vergil. Trying to be heroes, they'd just made things worse, hadn't they?
And she'd hurt him, really hurt him.
And he still wanted to help her when he had his own family responsibilities. "I will, Lady," he promised her solemnly, flippancy gone.
He didn't call her Mary.
She felt like Mary. She felt weak. She felt like there was nothing she could do.
He was going to do it for her. But she'd hurt him, and there was no way to take back that stab in the heart.
Somehow, as she sat here, out of all the agonies of this day that was what she regretted the most.
He had rotten luck with women.
For Chr… for goodness' sake, she'd shot him. Twice. Called him a demon, even if there had been that truce as they looked up at the spiral pillar that had shot up when the seal broke.
That truce as they fought back-to-back.
He should have known better.
But he'd still wanted to kiss her. Wanted to have there be something good in this hellish day. No, he hadn't even thought that much. Just her lips had been there in front of him and she was beautiful when she fought.
So weak, totally outmatched in this tower of death and destruction. But she'd still fought. She'd been a weak little girl. Now she was Lady.
This wasn't a human's job. This was his job. He'd been doomed to it when he was born, really. Traitor's son, demonspawn. Damned to hell, and maybe if he saved the earth he'd feel like he had a right to live in it.
He wanted her to stay there. He wanted her to live, even if there had been just a tinge of hate when she turned away with that sound of disgust. When she'd asked if he cared like he didn't have a right to care.
This was all because of his father. And Vergil.
Damn it, why did he have to be the responsible one? He hated Sparda, mom had died because of Sparda and his enemies. Vergil was the one who had wanted to carry on his legacy: what the hell was he thinking, undoing Sparda's seal? Fucking everything up.
Vergil was his Twin. Dante had to clean up his mess.
He understood Lady. He'd been innocent once too. He still didn't want to believe Vergil was that stupid and power hungry, there was something that was nagging at him…
But the clown, and the guy Vergil had called Arkham? They were going down.
She was giving him her weapon. "How much is it going to cost me?" But he knew how he was going to have to pay for it.
His name. She actually cared about his name. As if he were a person and not just a Son of Sparda. A demon. Maybe she did care, a little.
So it was possible.
He was fighting for himself, he was fighting for her. A goddamned dark knight walking into battle with a fair maiden's favor given to him, not that it was some ribbon hanging on a lance.
He had to keep his word.
He had to make Vergil see sense. Get his brother back.
Maybe, when this was all over…
When would he learn not to hope?
He was a goddamned demon. He could save the world again and again, and the best he could be was like Dad.
He wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't condemn her to death. Like his father had condemned mom. Condemned him and Vergil.
He couldn't change what he was, and her love wouldn't have saved him anyways.
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