when things break bad...

Bad End AU Meme

Sometimes you want a fix-it AU. You want everyone to live, to be happy, to find love, so on and so forth. You want the bad guy to lose early, for victory and triumph. Those are great things. Those are happy things. But sometimes terrible things happen to good people and you want to get catharsis through making some characters suffer. We understand. We really do. Sometimes no one wins. Sometimes the villain wins. Sometimes even if the heroes win everything is for naught. Sometimes, things just don't end happily.
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[He knew those hallways better from his nightmares than the few times he actually tread through them. Every time he thought about them, they grew darker and yet, more defined. What gaps he missed, he filled in with shadows and it hardly stole from or contributed to what struck him with fear and anger. In truth, it had been a cakewalk for him at first. He went in, assuming it would be clean work. Mundus was going to pay for what he took from his family and that would be it.

The estate bedroom they had to find was what he dreaded finding the most. Not that it was avoidable. There was no scaling the outside. Moving without looking would make an otherwise easy trek into something tricky even regarding his ability to heal. There was no 'bypassing' anything Mundus had to offer.

He paused, nearly locking his jaw painfully. Why did he assume Mundus was alive? Where were they?]

...I gotta lead, Bea. [He shook his head, holding out his arm to stop her, his lips curled into a deep frown.]

This place shouldn't exist anymore. When I sealed him, this place blew apart with him. If it's the way it was before--

[He was about to make excuses. Dante stopped himself. No one would believe him if he tried to make some claim that it was for her sake. It was only for himself.

So far, the rooms matched. The presence of Mundus was in the air, the same way he recognized him before. It was completely and utterly the same as it was. Even knowing all of that, it was still leaving him with a sense of dread he couldn't separate himself from. All without realizing it, Dante was right back in the shoes of a 20-year-old who was too angry and cocksure to think clearly. He hadn't felt quite that way since the last time Mundus' assassins had managed to get the drop on him.

He wanted to think he'd be fine if Beatrix were ever involved in those situations--that she'd be fine and he wouldn't need to bat a lash over it but he couldn't begin to articulate, even to himself, what left him with that old sinking feeling. Stupid, he chalked it up to Mundus' magic. Something artificial to throw him off. Beatrix had been patient enough with their situation, even if she were tense and trying to figure out for herself what she was dealing with.]

--Look. You're the toughest person I know. I'm not worried about you being hurt. This is...

[As he stared down the dark hall leading further into the castle, Dante's voice fell further to a hush and into a tone of voice he usually reserved only for himself. Something absent from humor that shed light on what he really felt about himself. It was a moment in which the one real fear he possessed came through clear as day.]

This is where I killed Vergil.

[She stopped only because she held respect for him. It had nothing to do with the idea that it was a foreign situation. Not being familiar with the lay of the land had certainly never stopped Beatrix before. She knew very well it was because she respected his feelings and knew very well that there were some things he had deliberately kept to himself. Much in the way that there were some things she simply didn't discuss. They had lines drawn between them intentionally and though she largely felt like she could approach him on most things, this was an area she wanted to tread with caution over.

Instead of stepping in front of him the way she very much wanted to, Alexandria's general stayed put, a reflection of concern in her expression that she didn't bother to speak of.

He needed time to figure his own things out and though he was sort of doing so aloud, she could almost see the gears in his head turning. Only for brief moments did her attention move off of him, just to check the halls and make sure nothing was going to attempt getting the advantage on them. She didn't like thinking it, but Dante seemed so pulled into his thoughts that being caught unawares would have been dangerous for them both. It'd make it much more difficult to guard him, though he probably didn't need it from a capability standpoint. But if he couldn't focus—

When he made mention of his brother, she almost immediately snapped her focus onto him. Sharp and serrated. Although it seemed like death was... Well. She wasn't sure death worked the way for demonic beings as it did for humans. If she died, that was it. There was nothing for her to leave a piece of herself in. All it would take was the right wound with the right pressure in the right area and there would be no Beatrix. Just a memory of the woman. Dante, on the other hand, had come close to death more than once and whilst she didn't want to take advantage of it or be complacent about it, there was no doubting that he and likely his older twin could handle things far better than her very delicate, human body (by comparison) could.

She stopped at his side, keeping her gaze on him, trying to read for anything that might guide her on what to say. How to respond. How to comfort him. If he needed that at all. And she realised she couldn't do any of that. Beatrix had never been good at it. She could only be direct.]

Listen, what happened then happened. Maybe we will relive it. Maybe we will not. I think the only way to get back is to move forward.

[Lifting a hand she set it to his forearm.]

Regardless, I am here with you. You need not go through this alone. Take the time you need to collect yourself, but you are ready, we need to move on. I do not want to rush you, but I feel like staying here for too long is inviting more danger.

Forward is... success, ain't it? Victory. Yeah, we just gotta make it through tonight.

[He wasn't sure what he was saying but it was the first reaction he had. The instinct that carried him through his teenage years could keep them alive. If he struggled and fought without showing an ounce of mercy then they would be fine. As for his brother...

For someone who usually strolled around dangerous and chaotic battlefields with relaxed shoulders, Dante looked tense and bunched up. As if he had to react at the drop of a hat to something coming out from a corner. Even with the effort she showed, Beatrix couldn't soothe him out of it. Dante's thoughts drifted, even as he looked her dead in the eye, his spirit nearly visibly crumbling at her acceptance of the fact.

Having to kill his brother a second time? Seeing her do it? The thought alone was enough to crush something in him that stole light from his eyes all at once. Her presence would support him but if he had to confront it again, he wasn't sure what it would do to him. The relief and joy he felt when Vergil returned could so easily be stomped out by the realization that he was entirely capable of doing it all a second time. He wasn't worried that he'd fail. He knew they'd succeed. If he didn't, he'd die. Beatrix would die.

His expression drained, Dante turned his head from Beatrix slightly. Something just behind her left him wondering aloud--]

...There's supposed to be a collapse in the ceiling, here.

[She wasn’t sure she would have called it a ‘victory’ herself, but… Whatever got them moving, right? Instead of holding onto the subtle concern that had hooked its way into her mouth, Beatrix simply straightened up, drew in a deep breath, and released it as she rebuilt her strength. He would likely need more of her in this particular exchange than he’d ever really needed of her again.

The man she’d thought so unshakeable… Well. Not immune to everything. No one ever could be.

It was hard to stay so even in the face of his transparent expression, however. Even she could see the way the situation drained him. Of what in particular, she couldn’t say. Maybe everything. Perhaps she simply should have gone through all of this herself. She would have wanted to bear that weight of responsibility instead of allowing him to. Where she wanted him to find an inner peace that he’d known so little of, she felt as if she was only allowing him to destroy his person more.

How much of Dante would she lose by the end of this? How much would he lose of himself?

When he addressed the nature of the ceiling, Beatrix turned and set sights upon it curiously.]

…What does it mean if there something does not match the memories of the past? Is this… a different reality? A different possibility?

[...She’d never believed in such things, though far fetched books had told like tales.]

[In a number of ways, Beatrix had grown close to Vergil. Though it was nothing more than a safe distance between the two of them, it was evident to him that she understood quite a bit about what made him tick even if neither of them had filled her in on the worst of it. Somehow, though, she understood the nature of it from what he could tell--that his brother was making up for something terrible.

Really, Dante had felt the same about himself. At any stretch of the word, he was reckless. The way he approached any mission or operation had always been from the perspective of someone looking to kill time until there was nothing else in the world left for him. Ticking boxes. Fighting just for the fun of it. The man who pulled them into that portal resembled the worst of it. He could see excitement in his eyes that left him unnerved.

Was that what Vergil saw in him all those years ago?]

Mmph. [He'd been occupied in his thoughts but he hadn't left Beatrix out of his sight at all. Whether or not she would let him think of her more than herself, he understood that keeping his thoughts to himself would rarely center around safety. He was going to run through the mill of all the things about himself that he knew had damaged how he regarded himself and everyone else. Worse over, she must have known. No matter how much they went through that day--

He'd end up playing it off as a joke. The version of himself that stole them away must have been thinking the same thing.]

Dunno. [He shifted his gaze from Beatrix to that spot in the ceiling that hadn't collapsed immediately.] Yet, anyway.

[In a sense, he looked like he'd already given up. Any hope he could squeeze out of a difference in the castle didn't offer him a sense of peace.]

I've seen tons of weird things, Bea. Whatever it really is doesn't matter.

[With a quiet shuffle, he took steps forward and looked to Alastair's pedestal and statue at the end of the hall. Its blade was lodged firmly in the heart of the statue, though not for much longer. Dante, turning his sword over in his hand, ripped the statue and its sword apart with a blast of red, destructive light after only a single swing. Dust and stone collapsed to the floor and the door just aside from it swung open all on its own.

Dark and thorough, his voice came out in a low mutter.]

We can just make new potholes to match.

[He was still so quiet and so thoughtful that all Beatrix could really do was build conjecture after conjecture of whatever he must have been thinking about. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to see a reflection of himself. As much as she said it wasn’t him, she knew that wasn’t fully the truth. Rather, she suspected it. She said otherwise because to her, that was the right thing to say. It would be too easy to get wrapped up in the complexity of it, to start having an existential crisis. If she had been in his position, however? She doubted she would have been able to insensitively brush it off.

Dante deserved better.

As she gave him time to his thoughts whether they were his own personal approaches to the situation, wandering over memories that had left him listless and apathetic, concerns over her person now in a situation that she was never intended to be in, in a time she was never intended to explore, in a place she certainly didn’t belong, Beatrix merely studied the environment. The design. The floors. The walls. The Ceiling. The paintings and other pieces of decor that were strewn in their respective places. Before she could gather any real conclusion on how she felt about it all, he spoke up again.

Turning to look at him, she didn’t seem convinced or reassured by anything he said. It definitely mattered. He said it didn’t, but she didn’t believe that for a moment. Considering for just a moment to say as much to him, she refrained. He likely didn’t need to hear it. The man, for as much as he acted the fool, he really wasn’t one.

Instead, she watched him bring his sword down into the statue and accompanying blade, and for only a moment at the sight of the red did she shield herself behind her hand. Dante didn’t seem concerned, but it didn’t mean she shouldn’t have been. Her attention shited onto the door as it opened and she took a step closer to it.]

I admire the courage to pave your own path, but need I remind you of caution.

[She sighed at him, shaking her head.]

Do not lose yourself, Dante. Wherever you are trying to go, try to remember the you now.

I am. I'm bein' vigilant. If you're gonna look out for me... you bet your ass I'm lookin' out for you, too.

[She had been careful in ways he hadn't been the first time he went through those halls. Every demon that should have been lying in wait at their feet had not so much as appeared or even shown sign that they had been there in the first place. The decor that made it Mundus' castle fell under her inspection without interruption and, he wondered if she'd notice the unnerving aspects of it. Beatrix had spent her days within Alexandria's walls. The art had positive aspects to it and, though some of it was commissioned to depict more macabre themes, those pieces weren't on full display where anyone could pass and see them.

The elegance of the decor was betrayed by the undertones of torture and manipulation that Mundus had considered staples of what he adored. Control. In a sense, he had missed the first time around what it all said about the owner of the castle. Seeing it all again with fresh eyes, he realized that Beatrix wasn't only being confronted with something dangerous--it was something that was unnatural for a human being to see depicted as a total norm. It was a reflection of a demon's perspective, through and through. He had told her, albeit gently, that he didn't know how to bond with his brother like normal siblings. Their hate for one another had died down but they continued to fight because it was in their nature to want to test one another.

How often did he raise his guard after shoving Mundus back through the gate? For years, it had been easy. Every catastrophe, a breeze. There wasn't anything left for him to lose by then.

He wouldn't slouch. The rooms, the corridors and fixtures that decorated them to paint a picture of a great monarch had been changed. There was no wind outside the walls, spelling out the storm to come later. He remembered the weight of it on his chest the first time he stepped out into the courtyard and how it was oppressive just to breathe under it. The atmosphere was bare.]

These halls are supposed to be filled with Mundus' puppets. He controlled them from his throne and attacked me the whole time I was looking for him. Don't think we're quite off the hook, even if they aren't running around.

[When they found the library, Dante stared past shelves and shelves of gnarled tomes and grimoires, each one dark and without a title to find at its spine. A massive painting hung in front of him, resting between a number of shelves. It was no longer a dark depiction of Mundus. Rather, it was himself. A young man, clad in rich, wine red attire. Resting atop a throne with his father's sword resting at its arm.

His stomach turned. Turning from it, he spoke up once again.]

Should be a key around here. Let's find it.

[Except she wasn't the one emotionally wrapped up in any of this. Beatrix didn't need him looking out for her, but she suspected that it was likely due to his connection to the place that he felt more compelled than usual to keep her carefully tucked away under glass. At least in the proverbial sense. Both of them knew she wasn't some delicate flower. Petals, perhaps, but a whole lot of poison and sharp edges to go along with it.

She listened carefully to him, making certain she didn't go too far or cause him more concern than was necessary for the situation. Taking in the sights was... She wouldn't have described it as anything particularly positive. Educational, perhaps. She didn't exactly know where or when they were. She knew that for a castle, grandiose as it was, it wasn't anything like Alexandria or Lindblum. If anything, both seemed dwarfed by the whole situation.

What she did learn with relative ease was she didn't belong in... whatever this was. It wasn't made for humans and she suspected that there likely may not have been many human eyes who'd ever placed eyes on such things before. It was only by sheer association that she was here now. She recognised that. If the fates of the two of them were not so closely interwoven, it was extremely unlikely that she would have been there.

The library itself would have been, could have been a nice change of pace, except that it was about as welcoming to her as the rest of the place was. Not unlike the demon hunter she accompanied, she spent more than a few moments eyeing the painting that was... without a doubt him. Beautiful in its own way and haunting. On one hand, she didn't like looking at it any longer than necessary and on the other, it was difficult to turn her attention away from it.

Perhaps because her thoughts were still turning with the infinite possibilities of what all of this meant.]

A—

[She began, gradually catching up to what he'd directed and after just a breath, Beatrix dipped her chin. Taking a moment to sheathe her sword, deciding it wasn't going to be immediately needed (hopefully), she lifted her hands to check among trinkets and baubles, drawers, statues, and other things that had been on display.]

One singular key in a room like this. Could be anywhere. Behind a painting. Hidden inside of something. [After a pause, she continued—] Want to tell me about the painting?

[He probably didn't.]

[Checking under candelabras, goblets, behind books on the shelves and within them by unceremoniously flicking their contents about by snapping at their spine with his fingers, Dante turned over a fair portion of the library. The entire place might have been orderly before he and Beatrix began turning it over but there was no inkling, at least to him, to return it to any semblance of cleanliness. When he was done, he hoped it would all burn to cinders as it had the first time.

The two of them had torn through quite a few of the trappings set out for them. The collector in question hadn't arranged anything according to a precise system. It seemed that every decoration included had been shoved into place simply at the point of acquisition. Dismantling that poor organization likely did the place better in some sense though he couldn't even settle himself to consider it a small victory once Beatrix stole him away once more, reminding him of the one haunting piece of art he wanted to avoid. She had paid it mind long enough for him to understand what might have crossed her mind. How accurate could it have been? He couldn't expect her to believe or accept what grand purpose the portrait had been laying out for her. Would she recognize whether or not it really was him?

Straightening his back, Dante allowed his attention to drift from the pile of books he was looking to sift through to look to what Beatrix had been going through. He didn't meet her gaze, understanding that it wouldn't make either of them happier or more comfortable to recognize that he was lost. Whether or not her sword was in its scabbard, he could see Beatrix was a wound spring. She probably had more questions than she could sort through and only a few would rise to the surface. The most urgent ones.

As far as her choices went, he couldn't blame her for it. Dante's shoulders built up tension until his fingers snapped a tome's spine under their pressure. With shreds of leathery paper falling between his fingertips, he echoed his ultimate concern in tune with Beatrix's awareness of the unknown. He watched pieces fall, a dry and easily deepening frown left on his face.]

He's a loser. [Not in the childish sense. Not in the sense that he wondered if simply 'growing up' would be the solution to his problems.

The sword in the painting hadn't been of the Rebellion. It was the Force Edge. The one who claimed that sword would be marked the victor by the end of that duel so long ago; however, the dark knight hadn't been wielding it. There was a reason why the painting had been of himself when he was young.

His thoughts drifted to Beatrix, overconfident, losing half the world in the space of one swing. In the end, she grew after that loss. Picking herself up, the became something else and stood out in front of that old picture, becoming cunning, more terrifying and fairer with a sobering experience to remind her of that mistake. He couldn't have possibly been as strong as she'd been then.

At the time, Dante had been besought by loss after loss against his brother. He hadn't been chasing glory or the promise of recognition. Losing to Vergil once more. Facing Mundus alone. Losing, again and again, wouldn't have taught him anything other than spite. An understanding that he was destined to lose and that it was his fault for everything and everyone he lost. It could only be cemented by seeing himself, beaming with arrogant pride as people put their trust in him and fought for his sake.]

So, it isn't him in the painting. It's me.

[She had kept herself preoccupied. Had to. If she didn’t, she knew she would start to think. She would start to question, just as Dante theorised that she would. A plethora of questions with not enough answers, no time to start asking them, no time to really figure out what the hell was going on. It was overwhelming in the same way that discovering he had been ‘Red’ was overwhelming. She’d hated that feeling then and experiencing the same knot of anxiety twist and turn about in the pit of her stomach was not what she wanted. In any way. In any form.

There were other things she would have accept far more easily.

When he eventually snapped under the weight and pressure settling down against him, she almost immediately turned her attention onto the spine of the book that practically crumbled in his hold. Was it her question? Maybe the situation as a whole. Likely everything. All she’d been trying to do was fill the air with something that wasn’t just tense breath.

How he began was… not wholly unexpected. She remembered the night aboard the ship in her quarters. When the darkness greeted them both outside of the porthole window. He’d not had fond thoughts of himself in his younger days. He’d not had fond thoughts of himself in general. She had worried then that his hatred of himself would keep him from pursuing a life he deserved. He had not been too reassuring, but she liked thinking that he had begun to heal from such things.

Maybe he never had.

Setting down the relatively small serrated sculpture in her hand of twisted metal, she simply observed him, trying to pry into his head, whatever complicated thoughts he had stirring about up there.]

I know.

[She began thoughtfully. Well. She… didn’t exactly know, per se. She did, but she didn’t. There was simply something about it that made her come to that conclusion.]

I mean— [Beatrix tilted her head thoughtfully, turning to look back up to the painting. No. She definitely had that feeling.] I do not know how to describe it. I knew it was you when I looked at it. Maybe the same you that brought us here to begin with. A different you. A different version of you. With… different feelings and different thoughts. Different… experiences?

[Her eyebrow furrowed as she eyed it closely. She just sounded nuts, she was sure.]

[He didn't know what to make of himself. The more he dwelt on it and the more Beatrix took to his reflection's differences, Dante realized he didn't understand what he had been looking at in his face and in the painting. All the qualities that made him who he was had been absent in that shell of a man. Whatever aspects of who he was, that Beatrix had appreciated and maybe even admired in him, had been replaced with empty points. He couldn't imagine her wanting a thing to do with a man obsessed with victory over everything else.

Even battered and defeated, as she saw him in Red, she understood what pushed him forward. He may have been repellent then but there must have been something worthy left behind in the dredges of his failings. When he regarded that painting, he saw a shallow caricature of perfection that he never realized for himself. It was a loser pretending to understand what made him worthwhile, discarding the sloppy and pathetic pieces in favor of a veneer of power and nobility.

With that, he realized who it was. A suspicion right from the start drove a stake into him, only for him to come to understand it far too late--right when they were sitting in the palm of his hand. Dante held his breath, grimacing.]

Probably more than you think. [In the most base sense, each time she said it. Each time Beatrix said it was him, he understood. It really was him. Every time she alluded to a difference, it felt more and more like it wasn't just a deviation or a separation from who he was. What was the core difference? Could he really be that different a person just because he lost that one time?

Disgust and revulsion rolled through him as he set a hand over his mouth, resting his free hand for support on a shelf. The overwhelming urge to vomit seized him as he gripped at the wooden post, realizing what he had seen had been one such extreme. Vergil had been pushed that far, hadn't he? As brothers, they were equals in victories and losses, so there was no doubt in his mind that he could truly sink so low.]

Questions. That's all I've got--[An end to his grimace, for the moment. Dante stood up straight after a moment reconciling with his suspicion. Steadying himself so that Beatrix wouldn't need to carry him if only because neither of them would settle for leaving without the other. She was half his heart and all of his ego.

He only barely managed to face her with a sturdier air about him. Putting that face on was less over his overwhelming ego and much more about the worry that she would put him before herself. It could only ever be a battle between them to ensure they saved the other.]

Earlier, when we fell through. Did you see he had a third eye, Bea?

[Despite the strength he forced out of himself, he was still focused on the painting. How it resembled the false angel's depictions and how he showed himself to his enemies. If Dante had discovered, with the broken Rebellion, what it was capable of? If Vergil had come through years later and finally sealed Mundus back into the underworld, weakened and ready to be picked off by the next Lord in waiting?

A loser, more experienced with loss and more desperate to survive, could cannibalize someone conveniently weakened by their first true defeat.]

[That heavy silence hung betwixt them again. Beatrix, once more, found herself wondering if honesty really was the best policy when it came to the situation at hand. She could share any number of conjectures, but she was, truthfully, walking into the happenstance blind. On the contrary, she'd not even walked into it. She had quite literally been pulled into it. Trying to make sense out of something she knew nothing about? She didn't really have a place to be doing anything like that. She suspected nothing she had to say or share was going to help.

So instead of continuing, she opted for observation instead. And listening. At least when he was finally able to get a grasp upon his words. What he said, however, she didn't fully understand. Not a big surprise, all things considered. It sounded like he didn't necessarily have the full scope of the situation either. Something that caught Dante unawares, a man she had defined as unshakeable, was certainly something to be cautious of.

His reaction, physical as it was, had her take a few steps in approach, offering a hand if he needed it, though she doubted that would be terribly useful either. She didn't know how long it'd taken him, but at a point Dante righted himself. His facade, if it was even that, was an impressive one when he turned his attention back onto her. She was, in her own way, not convinced, but unwilling to press any further. His question provided a worthy distraction and for several moments, she said nothing and simply contemplated.

...The furrow of her brow, she thought, was indicative enough.]

Did he? [She asked, a frown seeping into her features. Had she noticed? Probably not. Or if she had, she'd certainly not thought of it as noteworthy, but that couldn't be right either.] I do not think I took note of it. The striking resemblance likely distracted me.

[As her weight shifted and she set a hand atop her hip, she studied him for some long moments before finding voice once more.]

Is that representative of something? I have never met anything with more than two eyes.

[He didn't need to forgive himself for something he never did but it was unlikely he'd ever forget that it was something he was capable of. Something he'd be willing to do if the cards were stacked just the wrong way. If he had done such a thing for himself, would Beatrix think of him the same way? Surely, devouring the King of Hell himself wouldn't do the world a disservice but there was no way it wouldn't do something to him.

Something in him changed when he looked to Beatrix once more with the worst misunderstanding resting on his heart. He couldn't possibly be the same. Whatever noble impression she had of him? It was certain to die with that inhuman form he'd take. For that precise reason, that dark and decrepit shade of himself needed to die. He had to be rid of it.

With that, he shrugged. Cleanly, seamlessly, he breathed a sigh and seemed to let it all roll off his shoulders.]

The Rebellion has the power to create bonds. It's the way I turn into that ugly-ass demon. And... [Even if he so flippantly drifted right back into his work attitude, there was one little wrinkle in his thought process that couldn't quite bury itself beneath a veneer of comedic confidence.] ... Well, Mundus had three eyes.

[At the other end of the library, there was a 'click'. The door unlocked itself and slowly began opening, creaking in a long, unwelcome greeting. As if fighting against Beatrix's worry with all the wrong weapons, Dante cast a wide, mean grin.]

Guess it's time.

[This entire situation had really only taught her that whatever answers Dante had been looking for were not answers she could provide. Rather, it was a glaring reminder that she had no idea how to otherwise be… supportive in a situation like this. Or in much of any, she supposed. As she cycled through her memories, she had never been very good at consoling or anything akin to it. A wonder that he thought to rely on her at all.

Holding back a frown, Beatrix settled a hand atop her hip as she watched the features in his face change yet again from one unreadable thing to the next, leaving her only with a mountain of theories and no real solid conclusion.]

…I do not think the demon so unsightly. Jarring, perhaps.

[Not that she’d spent very much time with Dante’s demonic form. He didn’t seem to favour it, or he was just trying not to completely terrify Alexandrian citizens. She didn’t ask and he didn’t offer up that information, so she assumed, as she had with so many other like situations, that this was a topic that was hands off.]

Are you implying that what we saw was Mundus posing as you? Or Mundus’ creation and the three eyes his staple?

[They both sounded like plausible ideas to her, but Dante would have known better.

Before she thought to continue, though she doubted she knew what she could really contribute, her attention turned onto the sound of the door. No key necessary then, perhaps. Or, and it was more likely—]

Appears to be an invitation. At best, a goading. If for any reason you feel you are unprepared, I am still willing to take point. I would rather take point.

Mmm. That's sweet of you.

[As grim as his mood had become, he meant it. There wasn't enough time in the day to unpack how he felt about his 'true form' being something that would scare most any child and adult into sleeplessness but Alexandria had treated him well when it came to that sliver of who he was. Even when people had seen it, they were just as distraught as stunned when they saw how he'd been hurt. Hearing it from Beatrix lessened that sting even more.

He stopped in the doorway, not quite looking to Beatrix but still replying to her point precisely. The way she carried herself had been prepared enough but when it came to him--he was more than aware that she could be distracted. It was no surprise they could compromise one another but even knowing that wouldn't help.]

Couldn't be. If Mundus could use our old man's weapons, then he would have used the Yamato to open his gate to the human realm way before I got to him.

[If it were Mundus, he wouldn't have felt that sickening rot. Beatrix would have no worries over whether or not he was teetering on something or if he was about to take a dive into something beyond their control. Even so, holding onto hope that it couldn't have been him was something worth appreciating.

And, though he knew she wanted to defend him from himself, Dante shook his head. He had little idea of what to expect in the courtyard. Of all questions he could have for her, the next was one he was more willing to ask than most other things.]

You willing to fight dirty, Bea? Nothin' we'd be proud about.

[Sweet. She didn’t think so at all. It was only honest. She’d not known at all what to think the first time she saw him like so. It had taken time and a lot of personal understanding for her not to throw him in with the rest of the demons they’d gone up against. Not all of Alexandria was quite so accepting, but things certainly had changed. Surely a case of ‘not all demons,’ as it were.

Leaving a hand on her hip as she listened, she tipped her head in a quiet contemplation. What it sounded like was that this Mundus… could have been a pain to deal with. If he’d had the ability to make portals like that. The Yamato, though. Vergil’s sword, if she remembered correctly. Dante used one called the Rebellion, at least at some point in time, though she supposed she might have been more familiar with the one that shared his name.

In an interest in learning more about all of them, she made a note to ask him about them later. When they weren’t in potential peril.

Her attention snapped back onto him when he addressed her again.]

I have already shown more than once that I am capable of such things, have I not?

[Burmecia. Perhaps there had been something a little more at play at the time, but… the fact remained. If she had done it once, it was forever within the realm of possibility that she could do so again. And as someone in her position, sometimes it didn’t matter what her personal feelings were. In war and battle alike, she couldn’t be that selfish.]

If you have a plan, I would hear it. Otherwise, I was just going to very recklessly take charge, and I am thinking you may not be in favour of that.

[In a situation where she didn’t have enough information to approach it tactically, the only thing she really could do was rush in.]

Usually, this is where you tell me to think. I don't want either of us resorting to that.

[There was an old memory seated deep in him that he remembered only through sensation. The night itself hadn't been too clear to him but it came and went when he least expected it. The night of the fire and his mother's death, accompanied by his escape to the countryside. He remembered seeing warped steel closing in on him, threatening to cut him to ribbons over and over. The only thing he thought he could do back then had been to run.

Beatrix wanted to charge in. There were only so many things in the world that could really hurt him and many more that could hurt her but she wanted to dive forward and trade blows with it for his sake. Sick to his stomach, he reached out and touched the next door frame, leaning on it as he processed her words. Had it been in a more welcome setting--had she run through the process with him during dinner or a quiet meeting, he might have laughed and reminded her of how incredible she was. Her sins served as a reminder of the flaws she took ownership of and the power that allowed her to overcome them. He was still stuck on the country road, whirling around at the slightest noise.

When he thought about her mortality and his capacity to continue despite that, he wanted to crumble. Just those words alone made him sick to his stomach. What happened to the legendary devil hunter?]

When we practice, Bea, what's on your mind?

[It wasn't enough to simply say they had to think beyond the norm. Dante glowered through the flickering light in the recesses of that dark hall and moved down it, listening to every sound made as if he had to pick out what was abnormal. It was a hall he'd stepped through so nonchalantly once.]

When you want to get me on the backfoot, what's on your mind?

[Even if she laid out her plan as something reckless, he knew better. It was her backup. The tactics she used in Burmecia weren't only cruel--they were dangerous. They both needed dangerous. She once told him there was a time and place for certain things. Many things. That whole time, Dante had been keeping his voice to a hush--not because he was worried they would be heard but because he didn't like to hear that tone in his voice.

She still sounded inquisitive. Soon, she would likely get a chance to take in an alarming amount of detail. He had to count on that. Her perceptiveness. Her persistence. They needed those qualities of hers, no matter what events had come as a result of them. He felt sick for knowing he had to count on things that made her unhappy.]

Even if you don't want him to be me, he is. I don't know my flaws half as much as I should.

["When we practise, Bea, what's on your mind?"

She didn't respond right away. She couldn't say she thought particularly deeply. She observed him a lot. Wanted to learn from how he moved. Wanted to find counters to everything he did. For each situation they were in together, it was important that she be able to parry or meet him with something. Keeping him on his toes, never letting him underestimate her, making sure they both put their all into each exchange that they had. Complacency was dangerous in their line of work, whether it was hunting down demons or other beasts lingering outside of Alexandria.

As she eyed him, the furrow in her brow deepened.

"When you want to get me on the backfoot, what's on your mind?"

Ah. He wanted tactic and strategy and if anyone knew that, it was quite possibly her. Vergil, she thought, would have been an appropriate person to ask as well. He knew his brother far better than she ever would. In the case when it came to her, it was a special circumstance. A particularly different relationship. But the answer wasn't as simple as it seemed like it might be.

Because again, she didn't think too deeply. It was feeling. It was instinct. It was expression.]

Should I be giving away all of my secrets?

[Beatrix loosed a sigh, but as she tightened her grip on her sword, she shook her head. Better to have something than nothing.]

Feints sometimes work on you. You can get a little caught up in what you predict. Thinking you know the outcome of something and it can prove to be disadvantageous for you. Sometimes I can make use of that. I also know that you watch me closely and I know that if I move in certain ways, if I make use of my appearance, I can distract you minutely. Enough that I can slow the movement of my sword, or turn it just so.

[Although she wasn't sure she could use that against this other version of him.]

I doubt my appearance will work on this other. After all, it is not as though he has the memories that you and I have.

Only the ones I can't beat.

[There was a reason why two warriors in duel could be described as 'locked like lovers'. Thinking of the way Beatrix took to paying attention to the finer details of him, he understood it came with a great deal of insight beyond something soft and sweet. It wasn't just a matter of figuring out if he needed a new dress shirt or if the soles of his shoes had been less comfortable and yet it still required that same sort of attention. She'd see small things no one else would notice and he couldn't say he was disappointed by the results. It might have been a strange way for him to feel loved but to be paid that much attention to on and off the battlefield had been proof of something tangible. Something the other 'him' would be lacking.

Beatrix's assessment had been spot-on but he was still having a tough time thinking of how to actually use it. The way she calmly regarded him and recalled it, it almost seemed as if she were just describing how to fix a broken pipe. There was a problem for her to solve and she had to use the right tools to correct it. If they hadn't been in dire straits, he might have said he loved hearing her take to him like an artisan, unenthusiastic over a particularly difficult project. Utterly professional and still somehow confident in ways he couldn't be. After all, he always worked on trying to avoid over-committing. Beatrix would let him overstep and punish. She'd let him reach too far and remind him of his range. She wouldn't distract his worse half quite the same way as he might have expected. Nothing else would tick off the guy with nothing than the unfettered bragging of someone with everything.]

You know, you make me sound like I'm being careful.

[Said with the slightest coloration of humor, Dante shook his head. He couldn't deny it. He'd even admitted it a few times before--he couldn't hope to get under her skin so easily, so he had to be ready for her as opposed to trying to just overwhelm her. His counterpart would make that mistake more than a few times before he caught on.

Once they found themselves in the master suite, Dante pushed open the door and strolled to the center, beside the four-post bed.]

Now, we get to find out if he's been listening...

[As he crossed beside the bed, he came a step too far and suddenly hopped back. A shadow cast from the bed on the floor sharpened into a spike solidified into a spear, stabbing into the ceiling when it narrowly missed him. Dante stepped forward and kicked the wielder square in the side when it solidified but it spun in the air and landed on all fours with a snarl beside the glass door leading to the balcony. The Shadow's body shimmered as it fully returned to its real shape as a massive, black-furred sabretooth cat.]

Didn't think you'd join us, kitty-cat. Damn it.

[Without looking Beatrix's way, Dante started checking the corners of the room without truly keeping his eyes off of the Shadow.]

They hunt in packs of three.

[Fat chance, that.

She wasn't interested at all in divulging everything she considered in his presence. Would have made their duels considerably less interesting and far more predictable. Besides, she liked being able to make observations about him that she could later on use to her advantage. Surely he operated in a similar way. Dante didn't much care for losing, she'd noticed, and though she never just handed a victory to him, letting him earn it was important. That meant he likely applied what he learned to their future exchanges and in a way, it was an odd kind of romantic connection betwixt them.

She doubted many others would perceive it quite the way she did. The language of her sword was just as filled with her own brand of affection as were the words she might have been inclined to share with him or for him.]

Careful— [Beatrix began, rather pointedly.] —is not a descriptor I would apply to you.

[If anything, Dante was a bit the opposite. Reckless. Not necessarily irrational, but plenty courageous with equal parts foolishness. Certainly it had gotten them out of more than a few different jams that she could think of off the top of her head, but rarely were they ever the methods that she wanted to personally employ. A case of the ends justifying the means, evidently.

She'd followed after him relatively closely, just over her arm's distance from him, and the moment he hopped back, he nearly collided with her, saved only by last-minute reflexes that had her pause on a back foot, grip tight on Save the Queen. She couldn't describe what she was looking at. Seemed like everything Dante involved himself in was something she could only consider otherworldly. Strange. Foreign. Alien.

It eventually turned from questionable mass into something more solid in shape, however, and it was only then that she was able to assign it some form of remote recognition. Beatrix couldn't say she knew much about cats or similar beasts, but she'd certainly seen them and knew that there were bestial creatures akin to, even back in Gaia.

At his input, she found herself yet again thankful that he had information they could use to their advantage. It would have been poor form to be caught unawares, especially when only one of them had a relative idea of what was happening in the current time and space. His warning was heeded and it didn't take Beatrix long to keep her back to his. Better to let them divide their eyes where they could.]

Heard. [A little flutter of light coursed along the length of her blade.] Take care of that one. I will keep a weather eye out for the others. It will do neither of us any good if we are scattering our attention too widely.

[It was different, fighting them that time around. Dante didn't think twice about Beatrix's direction. It was simple and straightforward, the same as his explanation. Well over a hundred times, the two of them fell into that routine. Beatrix had seen what it could do and would have understood why he chose to tell her just the bare minimum to let her know where their problems would lie. She had a sharp eye for spotting and exploiting weaknesses. The advantage of numbers wasn't going to shape out the way they might have expected. It was communication he couldn't have built up with anyone else, after all.

The whole macabre decor of the room lent itself to deep, dark colors. The wallpaper, the dark oak floors, the bleak bed spread, and the sheets. He had to eyeball it all. There was some small 'tells but they weren't easy to spot without having seen them in action once before. When a lamp didn't move itself but its shadow decided to move? Then, they were trying to play sneaky. As a razor-sharp tail came bursting from an unnaturally shaped shadow cast beside one of the bedposts, aimed right for his head. He blocked it with the flat of his blade and lunged forward to drive his sword into its side, missing and ripping into the floor. The blade, strangely, didn't sink particularly far at all.

Two shadows attempted to surface and flank Beatrix but the light shining from the blade's edge sent them in opposing directions. It caused them no pain to see the light but it was sickening to be close by. They were darting back and forth, looking for their chance while Dante kept his eye on the one that evaded him. The three were being more passive thanks to Beatrix's guard but it just meant that they'd only be willing to attack if they saw a real opening.]

I swear, these things're too shy...

[A deep roar of a growl came next and Dante spun, kicking the cat-like creature the moment it rose up and tried to take a swipe at him, its body half-turning into a series of saw-blades before it was knocked right out of it. It dissolved and restructured itself into a shadow quickly, looking for another opening to lunge for Beatrix, instead. As if it knew she had to be stopped to make sure the other two could safely move.

Dante watched, puzzled by the desperate move.]

Yeah. Wrong choice, pal.

[Where some might have wanted to dissect and analyse the situation, to do so in the present one would have been foolish at best. She could ask questions later, if Dante even felt like answering them, but she got the impression that he had little interest in a long-winded discussion. That meant the alternative was to simply take action and handle a situation before it became a worse one.

The sound of Dante's assailant grabbed her before catching sight of it. Shadows indeed, in the most literal sense, it seemed. He busied himself with the one when she was granted the attention of the other two in question. Trio, indeed. She was capable of holding them at bay, though she imagined that was purely by the magic that she manifested into the blade. She wasn't an infinite conduit, however. The holiness of Save of Queen was considerably easier to maintain than anything on a grander scale, but she still couldn't keep it up constantly or consistently.

She watches the shadows dart this way and that, never eager to stay in one position. Agile opponents, which she'd expected when she considered what they were. Beasts were not all fools, after all. Some were actually quite tenacious. She couldn't decide if she preferred the demons when she and Dante had first met or their current misadventure.]

I do not think that word means what you think it does.

['Shy.' Unlikely.

Dante caught one, though it didn't seem to last before it set sights onto her instead. In haste, she drew the tip of her sword against the floor, her grasp tightening before she quickly snapped it back up. The crackle of thunder rippled down the blade and across the floor in a cone-like pattern spread across the direction she sent it.]

It seems I have caught their eye. I was not aware Save the Queen would hold such an effect on them. That said, I cannot maintain this for too long if you want me to continue accompanying you. Any bright ideas you have up your sleeve?

Tcch. I just like dogs better.

[He played to a room that knew him too well to expect he was genuinely trying to liven the mood. Rather, Dante was clearly just trying to get under the things' skins. The Shadows had known to split apart when they were avoiding attacks and move in together when they had the initiative but without ground to fight on, they were near constantly on the move. Fighting them alone presented plenty of problems but Beatrix was too much of a concern for them to be more ambitious. Her sudden use of magic and the way she directed it up from the floor wasn't unpredictable but it was much broader than they expected. The web of burns from her lightning registered on their fur even while they were moving through the ground, sending one of them out of hiding to immediately dive back in.

It would probably work if she kept doing that but hammering the room with magic so constantly would wear Beatrix out. Dante sighed, switching from his sword to his guns. The boys were the better tools to use for what he had in mind. It would also be easier to coordinate quickly with any magic she used.]

We never played whack-a-mole when you came with me to Earth, did we?

[With a roar, he punched a hole in the bedpost beside one of the Shadows as it jumped from point to point in the floor. A miss but one that came pretty close. While they were trying to avoid opening themselves up to Beatrix, they were making themselves pretty vulnerable in the air. He was trying to figure it out, watching as the room became a web of trails from each of the Shadows trying to pry an opening out of the two of them and never quite finding something safe.]

No. Very decisively we did not not.

[If only because Beatrix was not a fan of games and she imagined that she would not have entertained too many of those notions for such idle playthings. Minutely distracted by the situation at hand, she didn't sound nearly as annoyed by the conversation as she otherwise might have been. But then, she knew Dante.

Honestly, it was nice to hear him sound like himself. The adventure so far had plunged him into thought and consideration, presenting a side of him that she'd not been too familiar with. Not one she was afraid of, for she suspected there was very little about him she found frightening. Only one that left her concerned for his peace of mind and heart. Even Dante could be crushed if his spirit was. Part of that meant making very certain she was careful.]

You seem to be handling this well enough on your own.

[But she had an idea. It was a rare thing for her to use magic in his presence. She preferred relying on the strength of her sword and in this case, it was less about her strength and more about his protection. With a lift of her hand, careful to keep gaze trained on their adversaries, there was no incantation or anything of particular pomp and circumstance. Only the gentle pastel blue-green glow that came from her hand before it loosely wove about him. A protection spell. A ward. She'd rest easier knowing he had it.]

But I suppose I can help keep them distracted whilst you do the heavy lifting.

[With only a few steps he could fall into the rhythm. Battle after battle began and ended with that moment of elation. A steady and budding growth in his chest that always culminated in a level of violence, natural and familiar to him. He couldn't call it peace. Not with his heart racing quite so feverishly as it always did when he went to work.

What made it different had been Beatrix. A steady, straight line to his jagged cross. In a way, he'd gotten used to Beatrix's work with spells. Magic was something he was used to reacting to but never really looking at closely. Side by side with her, he came to understand some of it. So, when she went to make a particular motion, he responded quickly. The shadows wouldn't know what to look for.

So, when one shrieked as it couldn't divert its momentum and smashed into Beatrix's ward in an attempt to pass her, he flung Ebony in its direction and fired. Its body bent unnaturally, thrown across the room by the force of the round when he wheeled on it and peppered it with Ivory.]

I got it. That's a one-two.

[Weary as he was, he still managed to keep the pep up and threw Beatrix a smile. His little attempt to add a bit more heart to it.]

Knew you could dance.

when things break bad...

Bad End AU Meme

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