Hey guys! Welcome to The Longest Night, which is my very first foray into the Devil May Cry fandom. I've had a fun time working on this one so far, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have!

Brief explanations... The story is divided into three major chapters, which are divided into parts due to length. The first chapter, which is a major retelling of Devil May Cry 3, is in two parts, but the other two chapters might be longer—wouldn't know, haven't written them yet! This is already a lot longer than I had anticipated...

This is very much a DxL fic, but told realistically over the course of a long time. Because Dante and Lady are silly fools who need to work out a lot of stupid shit before jumping each other's bones. Damn it.

Rated T for language and overall...ness. Yeah. Enjoy!

I don't own Devil May Cry. I don't even own any of the games—I stole them from my friend. Fail.


The Passage of Time

Part One: The Longest Night

Chapter 1: Youthful Endeavors

"Lady," he called her, despite the fact that she couldn't be older than sixteen. A gun-wielding, ass-kicking, demon hunter, but a sixteen-year-old one nonetheless. At nineteen, Dante was only a few years older than her, but it was different. He was a half-demon. She was a human. What good did some human girl serve in a place like Temen-ni-gru anyway, other than as eye candy?

He had given her a variety of nicknames in the hours leading up to their encounter in the Subterranean Garden. "That hot chick on a motorcycle" was one; "the ungrateful bitch who shot me," another.

And she told Dante that she didn't have a name, so he could call her whatever he wanted. Briefly, he considered something humiliating, something to deliberately piss her off, but he relented when something akin to guilt held him back. He sympathized with this apparently nameless girl, even though she had probably said all that because she didn't trust him with her real name. Either way, he brushed off her comment with a simple: "Whatever, lady," before leaping into the air to escape the chaos. He used "lady," perhaps out of instinct, or maybe he had said it to compliment this stubborn, dauntless girl and avoid another bullet in the head.

Somewhere mid-air, he shook off whatever gravity was gripping him, and it landed amongst the carnage. "I'll leave this to you," he called out to her, watching as she rapidly changed targets and blew a nearby Pride to bits. He owed her an explanation, he figured. "Because I don't want to miss the party!" And there it was. She scowled. He blew her a kiss for good measure.

After all, she really was a babe.

It dawned on him only a little later, when he was staring down Nevan—who was also a total babe; too bad he was going to have to kill her—that compared to this ancient-in-age-but-not-in-appearance demon, the girl Dante had faced before really was just a girl. A stubborn, short-tempered girl. And she still didn't have a name, only two more nicknames to add to the list: "hot chick," "ungrateful bitch," and now "lady" and "girl." He figured he'd try asking her for her name again if he had the chance.

More importantly, he wanted to know what he was doing thinking about some sixteen-year-old when he had a hot topless chick in front of him. He opted to force that girl's pretty little face out of his head, and try to see if he could catch a glimpse of some nipple when Nevan tossed her hair around like that.


Dante never thought that he'd be sick to death of this job, but he was starting to know the feeling very well. It wasn't that he was tired of killing demons—quite the opposite. It was that he was sick of puzzle-solving and backtracking and getting items to open doors and rotate bridges and do all kinds of stupid shit like that. Not even kicking the stupid Neo-Generator like a soccer ball was enough to make up for the bullshit he had gone through to get it. Fighting Nevan aside. He just hoped, uselessly, that the rest of this completely unpaid job wouldn't be like this.

The sun had been setting when he entered Temen-ni-gru. He hadn't known what time it was when he started, and he definitely didn't know what time it was now. Far be it from him to wear a watch. The little glimpses of outdoors that he had caught as he climbed the tower had shown him three things: first, the city was toast; second, it was definitely night; and third, the clouds were really fucking weird. Dante had passed that last one off as a joke when the girl had fallen off of the tower—and once his anger at being shot in the face had faded, he realized that he wanted to know how she had pulled that one off. Later, as he battled Vergil, he had assumed that it was just a bad storm. But when dealing with matters demonic, one should always assume that odd, dark clouds were a sign of bad things to come.

Dante didn't always make the wisest choices, but he was no idiot either. He knew his shit. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

Hopefully there would be more ass-kicking, less item-hunting. How the hell Vergil had gotten through the tower if Dante was the one unlocking everything? He hadn't been going the wrong way this entire time, had he?

A brief glimpse into the next room, beyond the now-rotated bridge, showed that Dante definitely was going the right way. It wasn't much of a surprise: that weird man who had visited him in the shop earlier, now nothing more than a bloody heap on the floor. Death by Yamato. It was typical Vergil to kill his minions when he was done with them. Vergil thought of it as less bullshit to deal with later when the time came for splitting the reward, but to Dante was really more like a bloody trail.

Dante heard a click, and quickly tilted his head to the right, narrowly avoiding the bullet that would have otherwise hit him in the head. He wasn't sure what that chick's deal was with shooting him in the head, but it seemed to be her trademark. He was just lucky that the first two bullets hadn't gotten stuck in his head. He had never tested that one out, and wasn't exactly aching to either.

"Well that was quick," he said wryly, turning to face his tiny would-be assassin. Actually, he was kind of impressed that she had managed to catch up with him so quickly, given the number of Hells he had left her with. He felt no guilt there—she was just a human, but she could take care of the lesser demons well enough. The idea that he should feel guilty about that in the first place almost made him scoff.

Still, he knew that she managed to catch up with him because she simply walked through any door that he had just spent who-the-fuck-knows how much time unlocking. At this rate, anyone could have followed him into the tower. Hell, he half-expected fucking Enzo to show up next. He wasn't sure what Enzo would be doing there in the first place, but the idea itself was enough to drive the point home.

The girl stepped forward, one gun aimed at Dante, scowling proudly as if she had just cornered the big bad demon with her scary gun—yeah, right, because shooting him in the face had done her a load of good the other two times she had done it. He allowed himself a nice sweep of her body, again, as if he hadn't done it before. She might shoot him in the face again, but hell, if he was going to stand there then he was going to enjoy the view.

That thick pocketed skirt, which she unfortunately wore shorts under, had definitely been made from an old schoolgirl skirt or two. The blouse was uniform too. She probably went to some uppity private school, only dropped out to do whatever she was doing now. Demon hunting, he guessed, but that raised as many questions as it answered. She was in the school of hard knocks now, of which Dante was a proud alumnus. He imagined offering to tutor her privately, if she knew what he meant, grinning inwardly despite the vivid image of her shooting him in the face for saying something like that.

Underneath those schoolgirl clothes, though, were the toned muscles of someone who had at least spent a lot of time in the gym. They seemed to add something to her shape, which was nice in a not-done-growing kind of way. She would always be a little short, but she was going to rock that tiny little body of hers later. Muscles and curves and all. As a man whose tastes usually ran in the twenty-two to twenty-five range, he said this with the utmost sincerity. He hoped she would be around that, because a part of him honestly doubted that she would last the night. Not with Vergil around.

Dante looked up at her face, finally. She was scowling back at him, well aware of the fact that he had just been eyeing her. Again, he found himself staring straight into her eyes, one blue—no, blue-green—one reddish—or just red?—which he had expected to see more on a demon than on a human. Still, they suited her, just like the scar that ran across her nose. Did she ever self-conscious about them? Unique features, he knew from experience, always attracted some negative attention. Too bad, because she was pretty in an impish kind of way with her short, messy hair, long neck, and pouty lips. She definitely wasn't his usual type: he usually went with the porn-star face kind of girl. But hell, there was a first time for everything.

And she was still scowling at him. He was pretty sure that angry was her neutral, and she never smiled. It was as if her face was constantly severe, trying to give off a sense of strength that she might not have actually had. She tried to be a strong, confident woman, rather than the teenage girl that she really was.

Before he could open his mouth to say something witty, her gaze shifted towards the figure lying on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. She continued forward, eyes wide in disbelief, one gun lazily pointed at Dante. Her aim was a little off now, he noted, but he wasn't about to correct her. "That man," she suddenly said, gesturing to him with her other gun. Her hands and voice were shaking. "Did you kill him?"

Loaded question. Was this the kind of thing she was going to shoot at him for or kiss him for? The way she shook, Dante assumed that she had wanted that man dead in the first place, so there was no harm in telling a little white lie. He wanted to see if she'd get riled up again. "So what if I did?" he answered, shrugging, almost taunting her. Quietly, he hoped that she would be grateful and not angry.

She didn't hesitate much before pulling the trigger. Dante felt himself lean away from the bullet anyway, even though her aim had been off and he wouldn't have been hurt anyway. Reflex: he wasn't too keen on getting shot again if he could avoid it. He leaned out of the way again when she turned and fired several bullets in a row from the gun in her other hand. She was a pretty good shot, but he was faster when he wasn't caught by surprise. And he didn't plan on hurting her, either, so he might as well have a bit of fun and try to tire her out until she gave up.

With an amused whoop, he spun out of the way, parrying her gun with Ebony, then Ivory, then Ebony once more as she attempted to shoot again. She was pretty easy to deflect, despite her best efforts, and he was almost disappointed that she wasn't putting up a better fight. "Come on!" he taunted, and grinned slightly when she gritted her teeth in determination and tried again. This time, she brought both guns forward, pinning his arm between her own as her fingers twitched to pull the trigger. But he was much stronger than her: he simply swung that arm up, hers following his, bullets from her gun spraying the ceiling and breaking the lamps. Glass rained down, coming so close to slicing them both but miraculously leaving them unscathed.

Dante forced his arm down and she responded with a short cry of frustration, or pain, or both. She stared at him with disgust, frozen momentarily as she figured out her next move. Dante took this moment to lean in a little closer, and smoothly tell her: "Ooh, I love a fast woman."

"Shut up!" she cried in retaliation, moving one arm out of the way to swing his around. He shouted again in amusement at the scowl she sent his way. She was that disgusted with him. Hell if he cared, really. He probably deserved it, but that wasn't going to stop him.

She thrust her free hand forward to shoot, and he once again avoided it with his arm and a short yell. He spun, his back lining up against hers, as had been the case earlier, only this time he was her target and not the lesser demons surrounding them. It was too bad that Rebellion was on his back so he couldn't press up closer and feel her body against his. With a silent shrug he bumped her butt, causing her to cry out and stumble away as he turned to face her. It was those little moments of weakness right there, when she was so utterly surprised and caught off guard, that her angry little mask slipped and he could see her for what she really was: a scared teenage girl.

But her angry face returned soon enough, red and humiliated and more determined than ever, and she swung around to fire at him again. Oddly, she started speaking: "He was obsessed with becoming the devil," she grunted between shots, each of which Dante blocked, staring at her in curiosity, "so much he killed his own wife!" Who was she talking about, the man on the floor? He pinned her arms with his own but she soon broke free, leaning back as he swung his gun at her. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to hurt her, but truth be told he was getting a little sick of this "tire her out" strategy.

She thrust her arm forward and her gun fired dangerously close to his ear. He brought his arms up and pinned her wrist to his shoulder, and continued listening as she spat her words at him. "For that he butchered innocent people too," she continued, emphasizing people with a shot at him which he easily deflected. Still, he wondered if she had done that to spite him for not being human enough. He was probably looking into it too much—he was pretty sure she just wanted to kill him.

Quickly switching arms, Dante grabbed her free wrist and pinned it along with the other one that he had already captured, trapping her. Still caught up in her bitter words, she leaned forward, her face inching closer to his face, but still too far, standing on her toes as if to drive her point forward. "He's the most vile kind of creature!" she shouted before shoving him away, and he spun to block her arm for the next round of shooting she sent his way.

Now she leapt at him in desperation, as if to claw at his neck and shoot another bullet into his head. Thinking quickly, he grabbed onto her thighs and hoisted her onto his shoulders, spinning her as she flailed miserably. He shouted, again, this time wanting to prove that he really was just having fun and didn't want to hurt her—probably not the best idea, but hell if he wasn't trying to appease her a bit. He had just listened to her speech, after all.

After a moment he released her, sending her flying off in no particular direction. Unsurprisingly, she caught herself in the air, twisting her body to send another stream of bullets his way, and he avoided them by jumping up as well and spinning to dodge them. She crashed against the wall, put quickly recovered and turned her guns on him again. He, on the other hand, landed on his feet, but noticed, but to his chagrin, bullet holes in his coat. He lifted the edge of his coat, making a noise of displeasure, as the girl across from him smirked lightly, satisfied by his bullet-ridden ego.

Oh that was it, he thought as she ran forward again, guns pointed straight at him. He leapt into the air and fired a few shots himself as he soared above her—just to scare her, not to hit her or anything. He didn't want to hurt her. Why was this now a big deal for him?

Dante landed; she skidded to a stop. They spun on each other, one gun pointed directly at the other's face. Stalemate.

"To top it off," she added, moving to a standing position. Dante kept his aim on her head. "That filthy scum is my father!" She pointed at the man's corpse with her own gun, and Dante, sensing that their battle was over for now, lowered his own.

"Well, we have something in common," Dante said lightly, well aware that she was livid but unable to match her gravity with his own. He raised both guns to his chest, gesturing to himself. "I have a dysfunctional family too." Which wasn't a lie at all.

"And what would you know about family?" the girl demanded, aiming her gun at him again. He almost flinched, but at the words rather than the gun. "You're a demon! This is my father..." She gestured to herself with her fist. "My family! This was all supposed to end by my hand!"

Again, her gun was aimed at his face. Rather that stare at the gun in front of him, he stared straight into her eyes, not conveying any emotion. Just watching. She seemed scared, hurt, sad, angry, disappointed, conflicted... Dante wondered if she planned on shooting him again, out of whatever emotion prevailed over the confusion in her head, or maybe out of misplaced vengeance for killing her father. Had she figured out that he hadn't done it yet? Or had she always known, and had simply attacked him out of rage? There was no reason to correct her, no matter what she thought at this point.

More than ever he wanted to know: who are you? Where did you come from? What's your name? But, for once, he found that he was unable to speak.

Her resolve faltered and he followed her gun with his eyes as it lowered back down to her side. Her eyes followed the motion as well, but soon snapped back up to his. They looked at each other for a moment, awkwardly, painfully, until she turned to look at her father's body. He looked at the body for a split second, before instead focusing his gaze on the confusing girl in front of him, following a strand of her dark hair with his eyes. He took a step backward, feeling slightly uncomfortable but able to mask it as indifference with characteristic ease. "Aren't you going to shoot?" he finally asked, only a little surprised by the crassness of the way he searched for answers. Her silence was enough of an answer. He was almost disappointed. "That's a switch."

"Just go," she responded softly, dejectedly. "I don't care anymore."

Dante watched her for another moment before nodding lightly and shifting his weight. As he turned he patted his gun against his chest, a farewell and an "I'm sorry" all at once, even though she hadn't turned to see it. Her head was still lowered, staring straight down at her father's body, when he turned away and didn't look back.

Tucking his guns away, he laughed lightly, despite himself. "Family, huh?" he said quietly. His thoughts switched to Vergil and he forced himself to remember what he was actually there to do, leaving the grieving girl in his wake.