you have no idea what i'm capable of (warhorse) wrote in dustofnations,
you have no idea what i'm capable of

30 Somethings - Thrillers: 02. Blood

Fandom: Devil May Cry
Title: Jigsaw
Author: Amanda/warhorse
Theme: Thrillers: 02. Blood
Pairing/Characters: Dante and Vergil
Rating: Eh. We'll go with the heavy side of PG-13 for descriptions of brutilized murder?
Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them. This time, I'm sure it's Dante that's glad I don't. FYI: I took a serious turn with this, because I'm contemplating making it a mini-series dealing with the murder. It could pan out, it could not, but it is what it is. Stands alone, at least.
Summary: Dante is a demon hunter. Of course, Dante is also a mercenary. However, he gets a job about a 'serial killer' that's been terrorizing the city he lives in for the past month, and goes to check it out. And he thinks Vergil's connected, which obviously makes him so overjoyed in having to deal with it.

The deepening night found Dante in the seediest part of the city's underbelly, where the hookers he was somewhat acquainted with (and on good terms with, because he damn well knew the majority of them had been forced into the work, and he'd always looked to give them a little muscle when it was needed) walked the streets, and some of the city's roughest and most corrupted individuals could be found. True enough, the most corrupt of the corrupt could be found further uptown, where the idle rich made their homes and touted around looking down their noses at everyday Joes like himself, but that was beside the point.

He'd initially planned on spending the night bumming around. The thought of heading down to the Bull's Eye had been a good one, because then he'd be among people he could understand, and most importantly, he wouldn't be left alone to dwell on things he had no business thinking about. The call that had roused him from his lazy indecision on what to do had been from a trusted informant - as trusted as someone like that could be, anyway - about the rash of killings that had happened in the last month in that part of town. He'd been, true enough, a little unnerved at being given the exact location of a fresh body, but he'd yanked on his jacket and wandered that way, anyway, just to check. It wasn't the first time that particular informant had pointed him on the trail of something big, and he figured it wouldn't be the last, until they got their ass shanked, which was why he trusted it, despite his misgivings.

So there he was, working in the dark in a cramped, dank apartment on the shady side of town, the smell of blood overpowering to his senses. He was, to be honest, a little afraid to turn on the lights, or to 'switch visions', because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see what he was working with. His vision was damn good, but even he needed light to see every detail. It was with a great amount of hesitation, however, that he located and flipped on the lights in the main room, where the stench of blood was most concentrated, and when he did, he greatly wished to flip it back off.

Whatever had killed...Whoever it had been hadn't been very clean about it, which explained the mass blood coverage. It really had taken the phrase 'paint the walls' to a new level, as far as Dante was concerned, and for a moment he just stood there, pressed against the one spot that seemed to have escaped the splatter, breathing. He was used to it, but sometimes even he felt his stomach churn when faced with high levels of brutality. It never ceased to amaze him what both demons and humans could do when provoked.

He moved a bit closer, taking great care not to step in the puddles of blood on the floor and staining the worn, generic floor rug, because he damn sure didn't want to leave footprints behind. The last thing he needed was for the cops to come knocking on his door. The body itself, if it could be called that with how it had been rendered asunder, lay prostrate in the middle of the rug, a large burgandy stain spread around it and bits of organ and muscle tissue clinging to bone and carpet alike. It was a red, butchered mess, and he made a face as he moved to kneel next to it, not really wanting to get too close, because the smell was overpowering. It started that clawing in his chest, and he knew what it was; his demon side always reacted that way to the smell of blood, and the sight of carnage. He paused at that a moment, wondering how his brother could stand it. It nearly drove him crazy at times, in his line of work.

That was pushed away for a more thorough examination of the body. It was definitely demonic, whatever it had been. It might have elluded the police, and confused the hell out of them, but Dante's nose, and the feel in the air, didn't lie. It was unusually cold in the room, which was the first sign, as far as he was concerned, and his skin tingled, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He looked around before digging through a pocket, finding a pencil deep within the recesses of one, and prodded around at flaps of skin and body fat, grimacing as he did so. He couldn't help it: Demon blood and corpses he could handle without batting an eyelash. People were another matter altogether.

There were organs missing; he was no medical examiner, but he'd seen plenty of bodies split open to know where everything went, and there were things that should have been there that just weren't. And, as he glanced around the main room, they weren't left lying about, either. It could have been a sacrifice of some kind, but he didn't know how a person could have been strong enough to rip limbs off. That was typical of lower level demonic killings. And he knew some demons had a taste for human flesh, too.

"Jesus, dude." He let the flap of skin he'd been holding away flop back down against the white gleam of ribs, making note of the missing head. It, too, looked as though it had been ripped free from the stump of neck, which explained why there was so much damn blood. He bet the person he was poking and prodding at had gushed like a fountain all over the place. Explained the adrenaline he could smell in it, too. He bet the limbs went first.

"Just what in hell does he expect me to do?" It was said to himself, more than the body. "I can't track this thing on this shit alone." He gave a snort and started to his feet once more, looking around for a place to get rid of the pencil. He really, really didn't want to shove it into his pocket once more.

His ears perked at the sound of police sirens in the distance, and he inwardly cursed as he shoved the pencil back in anyway, and started once more for the window. He'd been warned time would be slim, but he hadn't been expecting it to be that short. He swung himself to the overhang over the window, which groaned at his weight, before moving to the drainpipe and starting to climb upward, figuring that, at the moment, the rooves were the way to go. He didn't want to be spotted, as the sirens drew closer, after all, because the last thing he wanted or needed was someone questioning him about his shop.

He made it to the top relatively quickly, and his boots crunched on the gravel of the roof when he swung over the ledge, before he leaned over, watching the play of the red and blue lights on the brick walls of the building he stood upon, and the one next to it, as the black and whites skidded to a stop right outside of the alley entrance. He hadn't gotten out a moment too soon, apparently, and it was surprising. The cops never showed up on that side of town with such a swiftness, but Dante figured there was a rising hysteria in the city, with the brutality of the killings that had taken place. Ten that month, and everyone was baffled. Everyone, apparently, except for himself, and his informant.


There hadn't been anything else he could do that night, with nothing more to go on than the scent of a demon. Maybe if he'd been his brother, he could have found it, killed it, and collected commission from the informant, but as it stood, there wasn't anything else to do but place a few calls, and call in a few favors. He didn't have many to do so with, and he half-way contemplated calling Vergil because he knew damn well his brother could get into places he himself couldn't, but he pushed that idea aside. He was still pissed at him, for up and leaving like he had, and he just knew the asshole would say it was just so Dante could pester him.

He hated to break it to Vergil, but his life did not revolve around the elder twin at all.

The calls hadn't done much, and he found himself disappointed the next morning, when he couldn't get through, or was flat out turned down, despite the fact that those he had connections to had had their asses saved by him, usually more than once, for messing around in things they shouldn't have. So it brought him to a standstill, one he didn't like at all, but figured there wasn't much he could do. With no autopsy or crime scene reports, he was pretty much screwed, until the demon struck again.

At least he hadn't broken out the booze yet. That meant there was still hope someone would change their mind about turning him down, and cough up the goods. While he realized his requests put people's jobs on the line, they were the ones who owed him the favor, and if they hadn't expected him to call them in when he needed them, that was their problem, not his. Or would have been, if it hadn't left him so goddamn castrated as to how he could move.

It was creeping up on noon, and Dante had started throwing darts at the clipping of the front page of the paper announcing the latest death where he'd taped it to the dart board, when the (new) front door swung open, revealing the one person he truly had no desire to see. And he figured he knew what it was about: Vergil was looking for his wallet that Dante had lifted off of him in their last scuffle about the picture Dante had taken, and put on myspace, as retribution for him being a giant prick.

There was proof, however, that he wasn't looking for a fight, when he said nothing as Vergil strolled in and slammed the door behind him, as he yanked open a drawer on his desk and held up the wallet between two fingers, before flipping it to the desk's edge. He made no move to stand, or even sit straight, however, and simply recrossed his legs on its surface, before going back to tossing darts. "Figured you'd come looking for that."

"Oh, my, how thoughtful of you." There was no missing the sarcasm in Vergil's voice, as he drew closer and pocketed the wallet. Dante fully expected some kind of physical revenge, but when Vergil just stood there, he glanced upward, raising an eyebrow.

"Well? Spit it out. Can't you see I'm working?"

"Indeed. I wonder how you'll budget time for poor, pitiful me." That only served to make Dante's eyes narrow sharply, before Vergil tossed an inconspicuous looking file folder onto the desk, next to Dante's feet. "Don't ever say I've never done anything for you."

"The hell is that?" Dante made no move to open it, instead folding his hands over his middle. For all he knew, Vergil had done something to it, and that was how he'd get his retribution for Dante humilating him.

For a long moment Vergil said nothing, swinging his arms behind him and clasping his hands there, as he paced slowly in front of the desk, while Dante inwardly rolled his eyes. Did everything have to be so goddamn melodramatic with Vergil? Honestly? That was exactly why Vergil had been the last person he wanted to see, because he damn well knew Vergil would rub his face in Dante's being 'underdeveloped' on his demonic side. Like he wanted to be 'developed' in the first place. "Well? Spit it out. Believe it or not, but I've got shit to do and you're holding up the process."

"Yes, I can tell with your throwing darts at a useless piece of paper." His eyes narrowed sharply when he caught Dante mimicking a sock puppet with a hand. "Must you always be such an ungrateful baby? Truly?"

"Only when you feel the need to be a gigantic prick." Which equalled all the time, but Dante left that unsaid. Vergil was a smart boy. "So you brought me a folder. That's nice. What's in it."

There was another pause, as Vergil went about straightening the sleeves of his jacket, and tugging at the hem. "Well." It was said in that tone that meant Vergil was going to act like he was upon his high horse, and had stuck his neck out doing something Dante hadn't asked him to. It was lovely, really, because that was exactly the kind of bullshit Dante wanted to deal with. "A little birdy told me one Dante Redgrave was probing into things he ought leave alone." That said Vergil was keeping tabs on him, and Dante honestly wasn't all that surprised. His brother was a stalker. "And that he kept hitting brick walls, you see, because there's a plan to keep the true details of what he seeks quiet."

"Yeah, and?" Sometimes Dante just wished Vergil would get to the damn point and leave it at that, instead of acting like Dante owed him something for sticking his nose in without being asked. It would make dealing with him much easier than it was. But then, he had to take into consideration that his brother was batshit insane, and doing things the normal way would just never compute with him.

"Either spill or get the fuck out, Vergil. Really. I am so not in the mood for your shit right now."

Vergil sighed and released the sleeve of his jacket, before pushing the folder forward. "Stop being a goddamn wibbler. I know good and well what you were looking for and I simply felt generous enough to procure it for you. Case file, autopsy reports...Everything detailing what I know good and well you're poking around in."

"Well. That's very sweet of you." Sarcasm dripped from the words. "But unfortunately for you, brother o' mine, I know better than to believe you did it outta the kindness of your shrivelled black heart. What do you want." Dante wasn't gullible enough to think he'd get something for nothing in that situation, after all. Vergil never, ever did anything of that nature without expecting something in return. And, honestly, Dante was more than a little leery to find out what that 'something' would be.

Vergil clucked his tongue at that, but Dante could just tell he was gearing up to order Dante to do something. And it was proven, when Vergil chose to acknowledge it verbally. "I have a job for you." It would be messy, Dante guaranteed it. "I'll even pay you, though by all rights, as my loving little brother, my attention should be payment enough." Dante swore he could pop Vergil's head like a balloon, it was so full of hot air.

"Uh huh. And that would be?" Dante knew better than to just accept without knowing the details, especially when it came from Vergil. "You know good and damn well I have two rules about work." He held up a hand, ticking off on his fingers. "One: If it doesn't deal with the paranormal, I won't take the job. And two-"

"Never do business with lovers and family. Yes, Dante, I'm well aware of your stupid little rules." Vergil waved off Dante's glare flippantly. "However, you'd be a fool to turn this down."

"Says the lunatic." It was said with a roll of Dante's eyes, and he leaned back further in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Alright. I'll bite; out of sheer curiosity, mind. This isn't a yes or no." Deep down, however, Dante knew he'd probably end up doing it anyway, just because Vergil would never stop nagging if he didn't. Besides, he had gotten him what he needed, without being asked (even if it was by stalking Dante).

"Attention to this, first." The fingers of one hand were tapped on the folder, before Vergil folded his arms behind his back once more. "The rest, second. It all ties together, anyway."

"You know." It was said as Dante dropped his feet from the desk and set the chair on all four legs, reaching to pull the folder to him. "You're not helping yourself here. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were up to your eyeballs in this shit." It wouldn't be unlike Vergil, after all, to display his handiwork like a proud kitty. When he glanced up, he was rewarded by a small twitch of Vergil's mouth, though that didn't confirm anything. Didn't deny it, either. "Fine. Since you're being so generous and all. And bought me new doors. That you kicked in."

"Hm." And that was likely to be the only answer Dante would receive. It was confirmed as such when Vergil turned on his heel and started for the door, obviously not intending to say anything else at all. And for some reason, that pissed Dante off. It figured his brother would traipse down there when he wanted something, and then skip off into the unknown when he got it. He honestly wondered which of them was truly the ungrateful bastard.

"Well, don't stay too long on my account." It was snapped, as Dante slapped the folder shut, intending on reading it when he stopped fuming at Vergil.

"Of course not, don't be silly." It was said as the front door was swung open, before Vergil glanced back. "I have a business luncheon, after all, and you have work to do. Chop, chop, little brother." And with that, he left, letting the door swing shut behind him, and the shop returned to the silence it had gotten accustomed to, after Vergil had just up and left. Without the two of them arguing until all hours, and the occasional slapfight, Dante had to admit the place seemed pretty dismal. Would he say that outloud? Of course not. Vergil would accuse him of wibbling.

And he wasn't. Much.

But that was fine, because for once Vergil had been right. He did have work to do, even if it wasn't for Vergil's benefit that he did it. He wanted the fucker dead that was terrorizing the city's lower-end. That was his business, after all. More importantly, that was his internal, secret vow. He had a lot to atone for.

The phone rang, and startled him from his thoughts, before he reached over and lifted the receiver - a surprise, considering he was usually lazy enough to kick the desk to send it his way - and put it to his ear; once it was secured between his ear and shoulder, he flipped open the file, giving a bored-sounding, "Yeah," as an answer.

"Stop wibbling." He really should have known. Dante rolled his eyes, ignoring the creepiness factor of his brother calling him minutes after he'd left to say something so damn stupid.

"Stop stalking me." He replaced the receiver in its cradle, before going back to scanning the front page of the file. He hated the damn things, but if he could piece together what, exactly, was happening, it would be a good sign he could find the fucker and take him out. And if the police, and who knew who else, were covering things up...Well.

It did determine one thing, however. He was going to have to physically get in touch with his contacts, and lay down serious asskickings for going to his brother. There was no more of a sure fire way to get his temper to flare than to do that. He didn't need to be babied, he didn't need to be coddled, and he for damn sure didn't need to be babysat in his goddamn job.

Tags: 30 somethings, dante, devil may cry, devil may cry 3, dmc, dmc3, thrillers: 002 blood, vergil
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