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“Devil May Cry, what can we do for you?”
Dante takes the call that started it all half zoned out; mentally checked out enough that he almost gave the usual excuse of “We’re closed.” before his mind registers the codeword. Quickly swallowing the words down, he clears his throat, pulling a notepad towards him.
“Why are you calling, Miss?”
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “Well, you see, me and my husband have had… issues with break ins recently. Something keeps slipping past our security system, probably more times than I was even told about, and absconding with parts of our priced wine collection. Every time we check, nothing is out of the ordinary, we’ve ruled out everything.”
Biting back a comment, Dante leans back in his chair. He’s taking this seriously, god damn it. “So you think a demon breaks into your wine cellar?”
“It’s not a human; our security system would have caught that,” the lady continues, as if she’s sensing his doubts. “We’re willing to pay 200.000$ if you can ensure that it won’t happen again.”
Glancing towards the red stamped water bill on his desk, Dante stands up, quickly jotting down the address. “I’m already on the way, consider it sorted out.”
“Wonderful! But, there is… a minor… issue.”
Already grabbing Rebellion from the wall, he eyes the phone warily. “I’m all ears.”
“My husband is… less willing to believe in occult explanations,” the woman continues. “Which is why he hired a human mercenary to take care of it. Someone called the Hound, I believe. I will sort it out, but I thought this courtesy proper.”
“I’m sure we’ll find a solution, Miss,” Dante assures her. “Be there in a hitch.”
Of course it’s the Hound he might have to compete with. Because who else would it be. He’s been in the business for about 5 years, maybe longer, considering that the mercenary is kind of a household name in the right circles for nearly all of that time.
There’s not necessarily much known about him, but he’s been crossing over into devil hunter territory for a while now. Honestly, it was only a question of when Dante would have his own run in with him; god knows Lady had been less than enthused about the Hound poaching her jobs for a while now, and she’s not the only one in the business he’s heard it from.
Like the well-adjusted man he is, he’s mostly excited to finally be able to put a face to the name. Well, that, and the paycheck.
Cigarette smoke is the first thing that greets Dante when he pulls his motorcycle in the giant courtyard. No wonder they can pay a price that big , pops into his head, but the thought quickly fades into the background.
Because the Hound, mercenary of great renown with at least five years in the business, is a fucking kid.
He doesn’t hold himself like one; he can’t be much older than very early twenties, but there’s a confidence to him that almost makes him look ten years older. Keyword being almost, because there’s just no hiding the youth in his regal features. There are no weapons in sight, and he looks almost innocent in the oversized hoodie, but Dante’s no fool; he knows army pants and boots when he sees them. No doubt the kid’s in full combat gear.
There’s also not a single doubt in his head that that kid is the Hound, and isn’t that fucked up?
Electric eyes flick over to Dante and the kid lifts a hand, lips pulling into a wry smile around the cigarette in his mouth. It’s the first time they meet face to face, but the Hound’s been crossing over into Devil Hunter territory for a while now. He had been recognized as well, no doubt about that either.
Instead of showing any of his discomfort with the kid’s age, Dante saunters over, slowly looking over the giant mansion. “No wonder they can pay a nice buck, eh?” he strikes up a conversation.
The Hound chuckles quietly, a low rumble. “You better have a good demon demonstration prepped if you want it,” the kid nods towards the house. “They’ve been fighting for half an hour now.”
And apparently, aside from being a kid, he’s not human. Dante has to focus to hear the conversation; has to release some of the tight hold he keeps on his sharp senses, lest Redgrave would be unbearably loud. He’s right; there are two distinct voices, one of them the lady that hired Dante, arguing about the existence of demons.
Now that he’s focusing on it, it’s obvious. There’s something inhuman under the cigarette stench the kid covers himself in; not demon, but also far too much ozone and… wolf? Odd.
“That’s some good hearing you’ve got there,” Dante notes, crossing his arms as he joins the kid in leaning against the wall.
The kid shrugs. “What does it say ‘bout you if you can hear it too?” comes the amused reply. He pulls out the last life the poor cig had left and presses the smoking nub out on his hand as he blows out the smoke. It sizzles against his skin, leaving behind a small burn, but the kid flicks the snuffed out stump into the flower beds instead of reacting to the pain.
By the time the kid has lit his new cigarette, the wound’s already gone again.
Dante sighs. “What gave me away?”
“You mean aside from the shit ton of rumours that if you call Devil May Cry, a monster comes to slay the demons?” comes the amused question, accompanied by a lifted eyebrow. “You reek of demon, dude.”
His mouth tightens, and Dante looks away. Yeah, he probably fucking does. It’s kinda how most demons identified him, too. Most people who notice that about him tend to turn out as problems, though.
If he didn’t smell that weird, he would already have a bullet in his head.
“It’s stupid,” the kid continues. There’s no way he missed Dante’s reaction, but he doesn’t seem keen on reacting to it. “He wasn’t lying when he claimed to have a state of the art security system. Last time I felt an electricity web that tight, it was at the fucking Met. As if any human would break in again and again just to steal out of his wine cellar.”
Dante shrugs. “Some people just don’t wanna see it,” he says, well aware of how hypocritical that statement is. “Did he say how often it happened? His poor lady seemed to think that he hid some of the break ins from her.”
The Hound huffs, the sound so dog-like that it seems almost wrong coming from the kid. “Two days ago was the 19th time this month, apparently,” he offers up, rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist. Not the burned one, but the other, where black ink peeks out from under the hoodie.
He whistles. “That’s some dedication,“ Dante nods, shooing some of the smoke away as the kid breathes out again. “We’ve only got the 25th.”
“Whole lotta effort for some cheap ass wine,” the kid grumbles. “Only odd thing is the crime scene being spotless every time. Not counting the missing bottles.”
“A smart demon or just some appreciative staff,” Dante thinks aloud.
At the edge of his vision, the kid rolls his eyes. “Whole staff’s been swapped out three times already.” His lips curl up in disgust, highlighting the small scar at the corner of his mouth, and the kid shakes his head. “Some of them worked here for a decade with no issue.”
“So the big bad Hound who takes every job long as the price is right draws the line at people losing their jobs at some rich fucks whim, huh?”
The comment earns him a laugh; a real this one this time, low but full. “I’m still gonna get my pay,” the kid smirks, sharp canines on full display. Electric blue eyes flicker over towards the basement. “Does mean that I’m gonna keep my pretty mouth shut about the 20th time though. Since supernatural things don’t exist and a human wouldn’t know about it..”
It’s true; there’s something down in that wine cellar right now. Something’s sliding around down there, accompanied by the quiet sound of glass clinking against each other. It’s easy to hear, now that he lets his senses run wild.
Chuckling, Dante shakes his head. “Somehow I can’t help but feel that you wouldn’t have sold yourself out even if the guy wasn’t a dick.”
“What kind of amateur do you take me for?” the Hound huffs, but his eyes give him away. He’s still thoroughly amused, that’s for sure, no matter how insulted he pretends to be. “I don’t need to show myself to give a helpful hint. Some creativity goes a long way.”
He would have quipped back, if the argument inside hadn’t finally ended. Two sets of steps have begun to move towards them, expensive shoes clacking against what sounds suspiciously like marble.
Next to him, the Hound pulls hard at his cigarette, depleting the stick. Again, he presses it out against his skin before chucking the snuffed out nub away into the bushes. This time, Dante pays some more attention; watching as the bright red skin darkens for a moment, only to disappear into unblemished skin within seconds.
And he’d thought his healing good.
The giant ass doors open, revealing the young heiress of the mansion and her husband. She’s back to playing the demure wife, now, just like she’d done during the phone call. If he hadn’t just heard her verbally tear her husband a new one, Dante might have even believed it.
Now that he’s paying attention to it though, the steel in her eyes is almost painfully obvious.
“As my wife has pleaded with me to do, you will have a chance, devil hunter,” the man says haughtily, brushing off some non-existent dust from his shoulder. “You will be permitted to accompany us when I show the mercenary where the break ins have taken place. In the unlikely case that such things as demonic entities should exist and be behind this, you shall be rewarded greatly for it’s… extinction.”
Dante lifts an eyebrow. “And the poor Hound you’ve got here? You just wanna sent him home with his tail between his legs?”
As the man goes to open his mouth, his wife innocently tugs at his suit - and he goes rigid. “Ah, well,” he stutters, only to clear his throat. “Of course not. As the existence of demons is highly unlikely, it would be you who shall leave without reward, of course.”
“You’re running the Zeus security system, newest model,” the Hound suddenly says, not even bothering to look at them as he lights a new cigarette. “It’s good, aside from the common weaknesses, but that’s what your security guards are for.” The kid blows out a cloud of smoke. “Your guards aren’t bad. You’re paying for some of the best in the market. They’re good, I’m sure… for home security, at least.”
It’s a threat if Dante ever heard one; a clear warning. I know the weaknesses in your protection, and your guards can’t take me.
He shrugs. “Would be a real dick move of you if you sent a poor kid home with nothing.”
The Hound laughs. “That’s why I take part of the payment in advance,” he admits openly, finally completely turning towards the rich couple. “Would be a real shame though if I need to enforce my contract.”
Spluttering, the man clears his throat again. “Oh, well, you won’t,” he starts, only to stop, the realization visibly setting in. “You believe in occult concepts such as demonic beings.”
“I believe in what I’ve seen .”
The Hound is still smoking when they’re inside.
Neither part of the couple seems particularly happy about it; but while the woman bears it with dignity, not even stooping low enough for an annoyed glance, her husband is less… enthused. He hasn’t snapped at the mercenary yet, but considering the way he keeps looking at him and visibly biting back his words, it won’t be long until he does.
For now though, the kid’s passive aggressive behaviour is kinda funny, despite the unholy stench.
“This is it,” the rich guy says, hand on a doorknob as he goes to open the door. It’s the fanciest damn basement door Dante had ever laid eyes on, that’s for sure. “The pride of our esteemed mansion, formerly filled with countless one of a kind wines, which is why this is of great importance-”
Something scratches behind the opening door, too quiet for human ears.
Dante snaps forward, one arm outstretched in front of the couple, the other hand already cocking Ivory. He feels something push past him, the form of the hound sliding forward, burrowing a knife in the empusa’s gut and twisting his body to kick the head clean off, his cigarette forgotten on the floor.
An appreciative whistle leaves his lips before he can even think about it. Those are some powerful legs, damn . Outstretched like that, it’s hard to miss the muscles, even through the baggy pants. As if he knows that he’s being watched, the Hound takes his sweet time to lower his leg, pulling his knife out like it’s nothing. It’s the typical army knife, though they’re not usually made out of flashy gold.
Nodding towards the already disintegrating corpse, Dante turns his head towards the mansion’s owners. “This proof enough for you?”
Thickly swallowing, the man stumbles back. “Your pay…” he starts, blindly grabbing behind himself in an attempt to reach for his wife.
She seems to take pity on him, because she offers her hand up freely, stepping up with steel in her eyes. “We’ll pay extra if you can finish this with as minimal casualties as possible,” she promises, already pulling her husband behind her. “We’ve already lost enough of our collection to-”
It’s completely silent, snapping out with only a sharp gust of air - but not fast enough. Without looking back, Dante adjusts the angle and pulls the trigger, the long tentacle going down without issue. “We’ll try,” he offers up. “Now get out.”
Neither of them protests, the woman looking pretty shaken now too, as she hurries her husband back up the stairs. Well, she had almost been shish-kebabd by a very pointy tentacle.
“Fucking finally.”
The satisfied growl is the only warning Dante gets before the Hound’s bones begin to creak and break, muscles squelching as they readjust. It sounds painful; nothing like the quick Devil Trigger transformation he gets to call his own, though it’s not slow by any means.
Blonde fur sprouts down the back of the Hound’s neck, spreading out from his hair as two pointed wolf ears replace his human ones. It continues over his hands, nails sharpening and lengthening into fearsome claws, black fur highlighting the placement of his tattoo. A fluffy tail whips past him, slapping against the wall hard enough that light cracks spread through the stone.
When the kid turns to him, he’s grinning, wide and open, fangs on full display, all his teeth distinctly sharper than before. “You up for some fun, Mr Legendary Devil Hunter?”
That inhuman thing in his chest is purring at the opportunity of the hunt, and for the first time in years, Dante actually completely forgets all about his quest for vengeance. It’s been a while since he has let go; has enjoyed a hunt with a strong companion.
“Let’s keep a tally,” he suggests, hungry grin already pulling at the edge of his mouth, canines sharper than they should be. “Loser buys dinner.”
The Hound grins, wide and free, blurring away into the wine cellar, sinking his claws into yet another empusa. Dante shakes his head in amusement, the world already tinged red, sinking a few bullets in another one jumping towards the Hound. Instead of gratitude, it earns him a low, territorial snarl, electric eyes bleeding gold.
And instead of reacting to the warning, he sinks a few more rounds into the empusas closest to the Hound.
“Gotta keep up, kid,” Dante calls, already at five as he crosses the threshold into the cellar. “Or I’ll bleed your wallet dry tonight!”
It happens in the blink of an eye; one moment, the Hound’s still on his second empusa, the next he’s suddenly right in front of him, thrown forward by a gust of wind. Sharp claws dig into Dante’s shoulder and he curses, Ebony aimed at the kid’s head.
Golden eyes gleam down at him dangerously. “Do I look like a child to you?” the Hound asks, voice low and dangerous. He moves his head back slightly, until he can lick a long stripe up the gun, not breaking eye contact for even a second. “It’s Jason,” the blonde offers up with a wink and presses a kiss at the end of the barrel. “Jason Grace.”
Dante swallows thickly, pants suddenly uncomfortably tight. Absent-mindedly, he adjusts Ivory and downs another demon, eyes still fixed on the man in front of him. Because yeah, fuck no, he’s not calling him kid again when the guy got him hard.
And that show of trust was way more attractive than it should have been. After all, people know that the Hound is a man called Remus Effront.
“Your surname’s Grace and you called yourself a short version of effrontery?” he asks, smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s some real creativity there.”
Jason chuckles, low and throaty. “I always aim to impress,” he practically purrs, still eyeing him like a five course meal.
Before Dante can adjust Ebony and take out the empusa peering at him from behind the Hound, the fluffy tail whips out, punting the lesser demon across the cellar with one hit. A loud screech sounds out as it collides with something in front of the wall, scales shimmering iridescently as a long body collapses in a heap on the floor.
“Huh,” Jason exclaims, blinking at the swaying demon.
It’s doing a less than stellar job at getting up again; it’s clearly trying, but its arms give out more than once. Dante might not have had the joy of seeing drunk demon before, but this one definitely is.
It’s also oddly pretty for a hellspawn. The long snake tail shimmers iridescently, meticulously groomed into pretty perfection. Its upper body is that of a woman, perfectly proportioned like she just slithered out of a porn magazine, with a matching pretty head to boot. Dark brown curls hide her modesty just barely, but her slitted green eyes give her away just as much as the snake tail, narrowing at the Hound.
“Hera’s pet,” it hisses, revealing crocodile teeth and pulling itself up by a table. “And here I thought you were one of us.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Should have known it was you,” he huffs, pulling back from Dante and licking his blood from his fingers. “Though you’d do well to call my queen by her proper name, or has the wine already rotted your brain, Lamia?”
She’s not a demon, he realizes. Just like Jason, she smells nothing like that underlying sulfur Dante knows from hellspawn.
Rolling her eyes back at Jason, the woman snaps her fingers, and a flowy top materializes out of nowhere, covering her modesty. A bronze clasp holds it in place on one shoulder while a bronze chain cinches it around her waist. As pristine as it looks, the way it’s made makes it look like she’s an ancient greek statue come to life.
Leaning back as she sits on the table, she regards Dante with utter contempt. “I wonder what your lovely mistress would have to say about you courting something like that,” she muses, gesturing in a come here manner towards one of the shelves. A bottle floats over without her needing to touch it, even uncorking itself for her pleasure. “It would be a real shame for it to lose what humanity it has left, no?”
Jason laughs, deep and full-bellied, entire body shaking. “You think Juno, queen of gods, cares what her hunting dog fucks?” he asks, driving his claws into an empusa that wandered to close. His powerful tail is wagging in amusement. “Then again, you were stupid to enough to try and fuck her husband. Turned out well for you, didn’t it?”
Eyes blazing in anger, the wine bottle whips past them, splintering into thousands of pieces against the wall. “You dare!” Lamia hisses in anger, crocodile teeth on full display. Her nails, sharpened into lizard-like claws, point at Jason. “Reddetis, Jason Grace!” More portals form around the room, the familiar stench of hellspawn wafting through them. “Domina tua te non servabit.”
It earns her another laugh, positively unhinged, his lightly wagging tail now going a mile a minute. “Non opus est mihi salvo,” Jason practically purrs back. “Not from you, at least. I’ve taken down worse things than a cannibalistic sorceress.”
“You’re insane, aren’t you,” Dante can’t help but say, biting back an appreciative whistle. “You wanna adjust the tally for her?”
“Eh, nah,” the blonde shrugs. “She’s not worth it.”
Sharp claws shredding through his own hoodie, Jason drops the fabric to the side, his poor neck scarf suffering the same treatment. It reveals a collar of pure gold around his neck, a peacock etched into it. The same bird covers his arm too, if the tail feathers spreading onto his back and disappearing under his tank top are anything to go by; though it is kind of obscured by the fur covering his lower arms, the black hairs mixing too much with the blonde to accurately see the shapes of his tattoos.
Again, the woman hisses, lifting her hand - but Jason’s already in front of her, claws driving deep into her tail. She screams, a flickering shield around her forcing the blonde back, but he only growls, tail still wagging.
It’s almost like looking at a younger self, Dante can’t help but think, downing another empusa. Those old times where all his cares in the world were having fun in the slaughter and he declined most jobs that didn’t offer that.
“You sure about the tally?” he shouts, putting Ebony and Ivory back into their holsters with a twirl. “I’m over here at 13 already, and she would put you at 5.” It would by far be most efficient to just finish off the armada of low level demons with the twin handguns, but it feels right to pull Rebellion from his back; feels good to jump in and stab, close enough for the blood to splatter onto him.
There’s the cracking sound again; Jason’s bones rearranging again, muscles squelching as he shifts further towards wolf. His body is still adhering to human proportions, but his head is completely wolf already, with fur covering his entire body. His boots have disappeared somehow, leaving his feet bare, the paws adorned with sharp claws.
There was a word for that, but it was never important enough for Dante to remember.
The blonde flips him off, sharp claws gleaming, blood already clotting the fur on his fingers. “Worry about your own tally, I’ll get to it!” There’s a distinct growl to his voice, and then he’s already moving again, snapping towards Lamia.
“Suit yourself,” Dante shrugs, twirling Rebellion with one hand and cleaving an empusa clean in two. His blood is singing as the red splatters on him, drenching his black undershirt. It’s tacky as it clings against his skin, all to reminiscent of the times he’d said fuck shirts and caught all spilled blood with his bare chest.
Perhaps it really is alright to let go for one day.
It’s easy to lose sight of the blonde as the fight continues.
Dante has long since kissed their extra reward for as little damages as possible goodbye - which, in his defense, was fucked the second the snake woman had summoned a shit ton of hell portals - when something blurs past him, crashing through several wine shelves. Jason groans in the rubble, his arms and legs bent in directions they really shouldn’t be, and-
Something’s wrong. Aside from the high doubt in Dante’s mind that a fighter like the Hound would ever go down that easily, the smell is just… off. It’s not easy to tell beneath the shit ton of wine, but there’s just a hint of hellborn sulfur.
The same smell is coming up right behind him and Dante whirls around, sinking Rebellion right into another Jason’s gut. This one looks completely human, if only a few years younger, blinking up at him with innocent electric eyes as throws up blood.
“Fucking illusions,” he growls to himself, jumping back as the young blonde begins to disintegrate. It’s easy to tell them apart since Jason smells nothing like a demon, but the vision is still very much disconcerting. “Yo, kid, where the fuck are you? I’m already at 99!”
Something growls on the other side of the cellar and Dante saunters over. The hell gates have closed by now, only leaving the almost completely destroyed room. Without his demon side, Dante wouldn’t even be able to see the rubble and countless demon corpses, some fading away faster, some slower. Not since the lights exploded a while ago.
Jason - and it is him, he smells right, beneath the worrying amount of demon blood he’s drenched in - dodges out of the way of an Hell Antenora’s slash, only to stab it in the shoulder. He licks the blood off as he dodges out of another cleave, only to whirl around and punt the heavy thing across the cellar with a kick hard enough that Dante can hear bones crack as it connects.
Resting Rebellion on his shoulder, he comes to halt. “Gotta admit, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing you kick things,” Dante admits, and the mercenary whirls around, eyes narrowed in distrust.
In one swift motion, the blonde’s in front of him, claws digging deep into Dante’s arm. Fast enough that he doesn’t have all the time to react, but it wouldn’t be impossible, either. Still, Dante lets him, just slightly tightening his grip around Rebellion.
The blonde licks the blood off his fur again, and some tension bleeds from the furred shoulders. “And here I was worried that she learned how to make the Mist illusions talk,” Jason huffs. His tail has stopped wagging, only lashing out to punt another Hell Antenora away.
It’s easy to tell him apart from the illusions since the blonde doesn’t smell of demon. Jason doesn’t have that luxury with him. Dante had suspected that already, though he’d have preferred to be wrong.
“I’d commend you on your quick thinking, but I have a feeling most of those demon’s taste like shit and have never heard of showers,” he jokes.
Jason rolls his eyes, the gesture somehow even more insulting on the wolf face. “Why do you think I wasn’t taking bites out of them?” he quips back, eyeing Dante’s shoulder thoughtfully.
Shuffling slightly away, so he would have more time to react if the blonde decided that he did look like a snack, Dante shakes his head. “And here I thought you were showing concern for me,” he says, doing his best to pretend to be hurt by it. “Where’s the bitch in charge?”
The fluffy tail, long since clumped with blood, slaps out again, connecting with seemingly nothing - but then the illusion shatters, exposing Lamia’s hissing form. She’s built a shield around herself; the slight cracks in the purple energy from the impact are already disappearing again.
Jason’s already done quite the number on her; part of her snake tail is completely ripped off, and what’s left of it is gouged badly, golden ichor dripping from the wounds. The pretty clothes she’d summoned herself are only scraps by now, clinging on through drying golden blood, and some of her hair’s decidedly shorter than before.
Waving at her, Dante turns back to his impromptu partner. “So, how’s your tally?” he asks, completely ignoring the way the snake woman hisses at him. He highly doubts that she’ll leave the safety of her shield.
The blonde nods towards the shielded woman. “My 100 is trying to figure out a way to escape,” he says, not even sparing her a glance.
Lamia laughs, broken and beaten but still oh so prideful. “I don’t need to,” she says haughtily, grinning at them with blood-stained teeth. “You have no hope of breaking my strongest shield, and I’m sobering up by the second. Do you truly believe yourself strong enough to beat a child of Hecate with several millennia of experience when she has all her spells at her disposal?” One clawed hand moves towards her chest, the deep gouges healing under soft green light. “Only thing you could do is beg your mistress for her help, Jason Grace.”
Rolling his eyes, Jason turns around. “Please, we were playing with you,” he huffs, crouching in front of her. “But I’m running out of patience.” The blonde side eyes him, the look oddly judgmental on a wolf face. “Do I need to pull out all the stops or did you bring something strong enough?”
Chuckling, Dante shakes his head. “Much as I’d love to do the honor, I’m not that stupid,” he says, setting Rebellion’s tip on the ground and leaning on the hilt. “You just want me to break the shield so you can win, don’t you?”
A devilish smirk pulls on the wolfish snout. “It was worth a shot,” the Hound admits, turning back towards Lamia. “I’d reinforce that shield if I were you.”
Something starts to crackle, Dante not quite managing to keep the surprise off his face when he realizes what. It’s the goddamn power lines. All electricity in the building seems to surge to life, enough that the broken lights flicker and crackle. The breaker should long have put an end to this, but the electricity only keeps building.
The snake woman blinks. “You’ve inherited his lightning,” she says, voice openly surprised.
Finely controlled, the lightning jumps over from the broken lamps, concentrating on Jason. It crackles over his fur, singing his clothes and the blood he’s drenched in. As he reaches out, it dances hungrily over his hand, almost singing her shield but not quite reaching yet.
“Have a good nap,” Jason smirks - and flicks against the shield with a single claw.
All lightning surges over, the shield exploding into a thousand pieces. In one swift movement, Dante snaps forward, pushing through the shockwave and driving Rebellion deep into the snake woman’s chest. She’s still crackling, body charred, but none of the lightning jumps over.
“I’ll…” she forces out, charred hand gripping tightly at Rebellion’s edge, already dissolving into gold dust. “I will… remember this…”
With a smirk, Dante shrugs, driving the blade deeper and leaning onto the hilt again. “Good luck with that, babe.”
As the woman fully dissolves, fading into gold dust, he turns around to check for the Hound. What he finds is a collapsed form on the floor, weakly looking up at him. Not quite managing to keep the worry off his face, Dante kneels next to the man. “You alright?”
Jason mumbles something incoherent as his body begins to crack and squelch, slowly returning to human form. It takes far longer than before; Dante’s legs have started to become numb when it finally finishes, leaving the blonde laying there completely human again.
And apparently, his collar is magic, because two flashes of light fly from it, materializing as the Hound’s boots back on his feet once they were human enough for it. They’re his only clothes not singed.
“I hate using electricity,” the blonde mumbles, the intonation similar enough that it’s definitely a repetition of what once was incoherent mumbling.
Dante chuckles, adjusting his position on the floor, attempting to get life back into his asleep legs. “Yeah?” he asks, gently pushing Jason on his back when he weakly attempts to to it alone and fails at it. “Does it always take that much out of you?”
Electric eyes glare half-heartedly at him. “Electricity does, yeah,” the Hound grumbles, hands gesturing weakly. “Lightning ‘s nice and easy, you know? I can just call it down and it follows, long as I’m somewhere lightning can strike. Electricity I have to force out of the power lines, and circumvent the goddamn breaker and keep it in a specific shape. It’s annoying and meticulous and I fucking hate doing it, especially when I haven’t had a good meal in days.”
“So all I’m hearing is that you prefer it wild, huh?” Dante quips, pushing himself up from the ground. Taking pity on the poor dog, he pulls Jason up by the shoulder, until the blonde rests heavily against him, but hey, he’s standing. “Sides, dinners about to be sorted real soon.”
Shaking his head with a huff, Jason weakly kicks at his shin. “Yeah, on my dime, asshole.”
Their employers were not happy with the result.
Thankfully, it doesn’t matter too much. Turns out that even a step away from passing out, Jason is a stone-cold businessman. Somehow, he manages to convince both of them that without their intervention, their pretty little mansion would have been leveled to the ground. It’s the bold-faced lie of the century; they could have solved it with minimal damages, they just hadn’t felt like it, and that’s a fact.
The performance is harshly contrasted by the fact that Dante had to belt him to his back to keep him from falling off the bike.
Somehow, the blonde goes limp enough against his back that he’s half convinced that he fell asleep, only held on by the belt around their waists and Dante’s mid-drive adjustments when he does start to slip. Once they’re back, he doesn’t bother trying to rouse the blonde; instead, he loosens the belt and carries the half-asleep blonde to the couch, gently setting him down.
Jason watches him out of half-lidded eyes, clumsily pawing at his back pocket as Dante steps out to get his poor bike inside. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Redgrave with his only ride; the city itself is plenty safe enough. Sadly, demons do have a nasty habit of coming to him and wrecking his shop, so he prefers her in the basement, where she’s safe and sound.
As he comes back inside, he’s greeted with a black card wagging over the couch. “And here you were complaining that you lost,” Dante whistles, snatching the plastic from Jason’s lax grip. “I can barely keep the lights on sometimes.”
Forcing himself upright, more laying on the back of the sofa than actually sitting, the blonde lifts an eyebrow at him. “Because you don’t get clients, or because they don’t pay you shit?”
Shrugging, he steps over to his desk, pulling the drawer with the restaurant flyers open. It creaks in protest, having not been used in a while. A first in a long time, Dante forgoes the greasy and half unreadable flyer for the pizzeria two blocks over in favour of pulling out the one for Aegaen Breeze. The few times he’d eaten at the greek restaurant had been good, even if it couldn’t really beat pizza lest he spent a pretty buck.
Tonight, he had quite a bit of money to spend, and the restaurant was kinda known for having frankly giant portion sizes; the way Jason looked, he could use it.
“Most people that call me for business and have password kinda tend to… have less money to spent, to put it frankly,” Dante offers up, already dialing the phone. He wiggles the flyer in the air. “You wanna take a look?”
Rolling his eyes, Jason flops back down. “You don’t even know how good you picked, dude,” he admits, and Dante lifts an eyebrow at him. “Secret menu password is Trivia’s Moon, I’ll take numbers 1, 2 and about… yeah, four portions of number 39 should do it.”
“You gonna fill me in on that secret menu?”
Electric blue eyes flick over to him as the phone rings. “Depends on how open you are to questionable morals.”
Considering everything he’d seen today, maybe he did not want to know, Dante decides. He ratters off Jason’s order when the phone gets picked up, only to follow it up with some steaks for himself, more raw than cooked. As he’d said, he’d won that bet fair and square, and he was gonna get his fill out of it.
“Food’ll be here in thirty minutes,” he says once the call’s finished, lifting Jason’s legs up to plop onto the couch next to him.
Huffing, the blonde weakly kicks at his chest. “I’m dead tired, not deaf,” comes the complaint. “We’ve got some time to kill. ‘s there anything you wanna know?”
Lifting an eyebrow, Dante fully turns towards him. “Really? The big bad hound’s actually gonna explain his world to me?”
The comment earns him a tired glare. “Never said I’d explain every single detail, just that I’d answer the questions you undoubtedly have for me,” Jason grumbles. “‘sides, you earned ‘em, seeing as Lamia’s gonna come back for both our asses at some point.”
“We killed her,” he says slowly, suspiciously. “Or was that a trick?”
With a huff, almost a laugh, Jason shakes his head. “You don’t know how good you have it with demons staying dead if you kill ‘em,” the blonde groans, closing his eyes. “We killed her, alright, and she’s gonna have to stay in Tartarus for a good while, but we never really stay dead.”
Dante shakes his head. “So that woman was the Lamia? Queen of Libya, lover of Zeus?”
“And daughter of Triv- Hecate , goddess of magic, crossroads, the moon, yada yada yada.”
Whistling in appreciation, he lightly hits Jason’s leg. “So you knew a lady like that wasn’t gonna stay dead and still antagonized her like that?”
It earns him an amused snort. “Please, the second I was hired for that shit, there was no hope of ending it peacefully,” he shrugs, forcing his eyes open a sliver again. “All that talk about me being Juno’s pet, Hera's roman incarnation? That wasn’t bullshit. From the moment I was born, I belonged to the goddess Lamia despises since she cursed her and all.”
“How’d that happen, actually?” Dante asks.
An awkward grimace tugs at Jason’s lips. “Oh, you know, funny little things like Jupiter being my father and stuff like that,” he says almost nonchalantly. “Hera’s… not necessarily forgiving, but she doesn’t really punish him for it. Juno’s made him give her every single half-blood child he ever fathered, which kinda defeats the best part of having half-blood children.”
Instead of asking verbally, he just lifts his eyebrow.
“Yeah yeah, getting to it,” the blonde grumbles and pushes himself up on his elbows, arms less shaky than before. It’s actually pretty reassuring. “The god’s can’t really just… well, if they need something done on earth, they can’t do it themselves. That’s what half-blood’s are for. So, half-bloods have to run around and do a shit ton of quests at their whim, while being hunted by every monster imaginable since they smell like five-course meals to them.”
It’s far more relatable than it has any right to be, which is why Dante pushes the thought far, far away, keeping himself firmly in researcher mode. Man, he hasn’t used that in a while. “Is there a particular reason why you say they and not us ?” he asks. “I might not be an expert on greek or roman mythology, but last I’d checked, neither Jupiter nor Juno had much to do with wolves.”
The grimace is back in full force. “Well, yeah, it’s…” Jason starts, only to stop, pointedly looking away. “It’s a damn long story, is what it is. Short version is, I was kinda raised by Lupa and the pack from ages 2 to 5 - yes, that Lupa of the stories of how Rome came to be, no, don’t question the ages - and when I was 4, something… happened, which caused her to give me her blessing at Juno’s behest.” Vaguely gesturing at himself, the blonde finishes the explanation. “So, I’m technically not a half-blood, since I haven’t had a human side in 18 years. I’m just half lightning god, half wolf.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Dante starts, very much sure that he’s not, looking at the blonde with a softness that’s tethering dangerously close to pity. “But I’m gonna wager a guess and say that puts you firmly into monster territory.”
Finally looking at him again, the blonde growls. “Don’t fucking look at me like that, I’m happy with myself,” he snaps, and Dante does his best to stamp down the pity bubbling in his chest. With how little he had wanted to speak about it, it’s just not believable. “I fucking mean it, I’m happy being myself. If I was a normal half-blood, I’d either be dead by now, or be stuck in New Rome, with every trip outside being dangerous.”
The anger on the regal features softens and Jason smirks at him. “I’d sure as hell wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you,” he winks. “Would have been a real shame.”
Quietly laughing to himself, Dante shakes his head. “You’re not as slick as you think you are,” he quips.
He doesn’t ask any further questions; most of the answers are obvious. Like the fact that clearly, while monsters never stayed dead, demi-gods sure as hell did, or the blonde wouldn’t have listed it as an option. In a way, he gets it, that Jason much prefers being the way he is, and yet… He’d practically jumped at the chance to have some contact with him, probably just because Dante himself wasn’t a normal human either.
For someone who was at least half pack animal, Jason sure seemed lonely.
As Dante muses about that, the blonde’s arms give out under him, and his back hits the couch again. “Fucking hell,” Jason grumbles, half-heartedly glaring at him through half-lidded eyes. “I can be plenty slick if I’m not a breath away from passing out.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he chuckles, thoughtfully eyeing Rebellion where she sits against his desk. It’s been a while for him, too; most company he has are the devil arms he’s collected, with some gigs from Morrison sprinkled in here or there. He’s not really a stellar example for social interaction either.
It’s probably what possesses him to make the offer. “You wanna work with me?”
Dante doesn’t get an answer; when he glances over, the blonde’s asleep, body almost completely relaxed. “Guess you can use the sleep,” he shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips.
Fuck, maybe he really was desperate for some companionship, too.
It’s a miracle, really.
One moment, his maybe-partner is exhausted enough that Dante can barely get him awake for food, the next he’s practically bursting with energy, all because of some odd, gold-coloured… cookie?
Jason laughs quietly. “It’s ambrosia,” he explains. “Food of the gods. Doesn’t make people immortal, but it stimulates the godly half in demi-gods, helps them heal faster. For people like Lamia or me, it’s a nice pick-me-up.” Already pulling one of the take out containers towards him, the blonde shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be out cold once I’m asleep, but at least I don’t feel completely dead anymore.”
Shaking his head, Dante grabs his own food. Steak’s not nice anymore once it’s cold, after all. They made it right, he notices once he opens the box; barely cooked at all, blood still dripping out. “I’m surprised your gods share even that much,” he quips - and the sky above them rumbles, almost in warning.
“Careful, they don’t share our stellar sense of humor,” Jason throws back, tone light. “And it’s to their benefit. If the half-blood’s have something to heal with, they usually get further on the quests they get sent on.”
Honestly, Dante’s steak was already tethering on the edge of raw, but Jason’s? It’s basically just a wad of meat, sluggishly dripping golden ichor. His teeth are distinctly sharper as he tears into it, wolfing it down like he hadn’t eaten in days.
Who knows how Jason’s work, perhaps he hasn’t.
Though… “Blood like that means unkillable monster, right?” Dante asks, cutting his steak like a civilized person. “There some that don't disappear into dust when killed?”
The blonde looks positively caught in the act, ichor running down the side of his mouth. He swallows and pulls his food containers over towards himself, as if he wants to make sure that Dante can’t get to them.
“Do you want an honest answer or the one that’ll be better for your moral compass?”
Turning away, Dante swallows his own bite down, pointedly refusing to look at the blonde. “Please tell me that whatever poor thing that meat is from isn’t still alive.” The thought alone should probably ruin his appetite. Hell, if he was a better man, it would.
Instead, he busies himself with his steak, hunger as present as before.
“Alright. The poor lycan that has undoubtedly eaten many an innocent demigod and is not much more than a bloodthirsty beast definitely died to give this flesh,” Jason says, followed by the distinct sound of him wolfing down more meat.
Dante turns his head back towards the man. “That wasn’t me asking you to lie-” he starts, stopping mid-sentence when he catches the shit-eating grin. “Fuck you, Grace. For someone who judged that Lamia woman on cannibalism, you’re real happy gluttoning yourself on wolf meat.”
Lifting a middle finger, Jason swallows and licks the ichor from his other hand. “First of all,” he starts, shaking out his cleaned hand and pulls one of the two containers left towards himself. How in the hell did he finish two that quickly? “Lycans are man-eaters, and they’ve done enough to deserve fates worse than this.” Furrowing his brows, the blonde sniffs the freshly opened meat. “Huh. Seems they’ve got Betty and Veronica.”
“They’re human enough to have names?”
Laughing, the mercenary shakes his head. “Oh, no, they don’t remember their names, they’re way too far gone for that,” Jason says, like exclaiming that the sky is blue. “But I’ve hunted them enough to give them nicknames.”
Dante shakes his head in response, turning away and swallowing the rest of his first steak. “You really are insane.”
“Aw, thanks for the compliment,” comes the purr from the sofa, but he refuses to deign it with a response. Just like he refuses to think about the fact that his hunger has only spiked with every bit of context to the meat, the ever hungry thing in his soul purring in delight.
Only quiet music from the jukebox fills the air for a while; both of them busy with their food. It’s a slow song, an odd mix of Soul and R&B. It’s been in the jukebox since before Dante bought it, and somehow, it stuck around as he changed the line up again and again.
Partially because he finds it ironic. After all, the entire song is about being good because the lady fell for the son of a preacher man, as she put it. It fits, in its own disjointed way.
Only when he’s lazily snacking on the last container of meat does Jason speak up. “Did you mean it?” he asks. By now, he’s laying on his stomach on the couch, side eyeing Dante from his comfortable position.
Some of the wolf features have come back by now; big fluffy ears twitch on top of the blonde hair, and the fluffy tail rests on his leg, now free from the blood clotting it. It’s not quite the partial transformation that included his hands, but the fur down his back has returned too, as far as Dante can see without the blonde taking off his tank top.
He looks almost as relaxed as he did asleep, and if that isn’t a boost to his ego, Dante isn’t sure what is.
“You’ve gotta be a bit more specific than that,” he answers, though he’s got an idea what it’s about. Seems like Jason had been aware enough to hear the question before he passed out.
The blonde huffs. “The offer of a job,” he specifies, resting his head on his arm, “Did you mean it?”
Shrugging, Dante leans back in his chair. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” he promises, tilting his head. “Though I get if you don’t wanna, the money’s not gonna be the best.”
“Bet you that I can fix that,” Jason smirks. “But, no, seriously. You’d really want that?” He nods towards the last two pieces of meat, still dripping ichor in their take out container. “This is only the tip of the iceberg. I’m plenty fucked up.”
Shaking his head, Dante stands up and marches over to the Hound. Ichor clings to his glove as he nabs himself one of the pieces, eyes widening slightly as the taste hits his tongue. Damn, this was good. No wonder Jason had wolfed down that much of it.
Meeting surprised electric eyes with a smirk, he grabs the second piece too, holding it towards the blonde. “That makes two of us,” Dante shrugs. “I’m not a saint either, far from it.”
“Huh,” Jason exclaims, visibly perplexed. “In that case, count me in.”
Chuckling, Dante throws him the meat, and like the good boy he is, the blonde catches it with his mouth, barely chewing before he gulps it down.
“You just made a dog joke in your head, didn’t you?”