Chapter Text
“Everything alright, dear?” Cindy asks.
“I’m waiting on, Dante,” Patty mumbles, clinking the spoon inside her empty glass. The glass is cloudy, frothy from the aftermath of a strawberry sundae.
The glass leaves her view, Cindy having stacked it onto her metallic tray. The loss of the glass reveals the emptiness in front of her, the red leather of the booth having lost Dante’s silhouette.
“Dante,” Cindy smiles, “he sure is something.”
Cindy warmly smiles at Patty, an invitation to bother her if Patty needs anything before rolling away with the click clacks of her skates.
Patty leans further onto the now warm wood of the table, she smoothes against it, resting her head over crossed arms. The ruffles of her dress cascade around her like a frog on a lily pad, beneath the flowing thick silks a piece of paper hides. The paper is signed in twirling pink letters, the contents written on it, sensitive.
Patty stares at the circular condensation on the table, water drops prominent. Dante’s strawberry sundae had been there before he’d shoveled the sweet treat into his mouth, afterwards he’d hastily swung his guitar case behind his back and sprinted out the shop, chasing a man he’d been eyeing since they got there. He’d messed up her intricately styled hair before leaving, tangling it within his leather covered fingers. He may have pulled a few strands out, wincing before lamely apologizing to a Patty that was gearing up to smack him right side up.
Patty smoothes a hand over her head, the stray fine strands tickling her fingers.
Patty had arrived at Dante’s shop in the afternoon, her eyes twinkled and her small heart thundered in her chest. In her hands she had clutched the same paper she had hidden under her ruffles. She’d been unsure of herself since the beginning of its creation, the paper was born to be a hit or miss. The paper had been brought to life under the dim moonlight, hidden from the eyes of the other orphans sharing her quarters. Her colored pencils sprawled around her, she wrote what she could deem legible in the dark room. She jumped at the creaking of the beds around her, immediately shielding her note beneath her hands. When the paper was done, its corners were heavily decorated with colors, framing her fine delicate writing that would cause the other orphans to seize in confusion.
The night she wrote the paper, it had been June 14th. The day before Father’s Day, a day that to everyone in that room should have been obsolete. Accounted for as any other day.
Patty had felt like that in her toddlerhood, only recently had the word father started to mean something tangible. Her thoughts about a father, let alone a mother, had been abstract, its basis formed on what she needed in moments where she couldn't help herself. On both ends she expected protection, to shield her from any pain and warmth to chase away the chilling nightmares that woke her in the middle of the night.
She had barely stepped up the stone stairs when the tall doors had swung open, Dante heading out. Dante was tall, red leather coat dripping just shy of touching the floor, his silver hair obtrusive on his face. Patty had caught glimpses of Dante’s eyes, they were a piercing blue, and like the ocean, many wonders hid underneath his cool stare. Patty never pushed, she wasn’t the best at swimming and Dante never breached the shore.
In her hands she’d clutched the letter, a small square, having been folded until the paper protested. It’s small but heavy in her clammy hands, she’d shuffled toward Dante. It didn’t matter if Patty was made aware of Dante’s acknowledgment toward her, she already knew Dante had seen her.
“Dante!” Patty said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Dante looked at her, lax demeanor on display, Patty swore she’d seen his lips give an upward twitch.
“Patty,” Dante replied, “don’t you have better places to be?”
“I wouldn’t have to come by so often if you stopped being a slob,” Patty said. Her arms were sore from
lugging giant trash bags, she’d been cleaning by herself as she normally did while Dante was out.
Usually if the bags were too heavy Patty would pester Dante to throw them out, it was his filth after all. She’d continued to clean hoping to avoid the chore of throwing the heavy bags, but by the time nightfall crept through the windows, Dante still hadn’t come home. Patty, having known Dante wouldn’t throw it out had tugged her sleeves up and heaved the bags into the dumpsters behind Devil May Cry.
“Slob?” Dante mused, he scoffed a laugh and continued walking down the stairs wordlessly. His enormous guitar case slung over his back, he’d called himself a musician, and Patty had believed him. All too soon the illusions of Dante’s guitar had been shattered, replaced into a long silver blade that he used to protect Patty.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Patty asked, hands on her hips, she pressed down hard to keep the paper hidden. He’d promised her one of those 10 ice creams today.
“Nowhere a little girl like you should be, now scram.” Dante said, shooing her away while he continued his stroll.
Patty made a sound of discontent, her eyebrows furrowed. She stomped toward Dante, her ruffles bounced.
“And my ice cream?” Patty said, having easily matched her pace with Dante’s. She walked beside Dante, following his long strides, that were chipping at her stamina.
“What about it?” Dante said, looking to the side. Unknown to Patty, Dante had slowed down, his large steps cut in half after having heard Patty’s breath catch in her throat.
“You owe me one out of ten, that’s what!” Patty said. An incredulous look on her face, she knew Dante hadn’t forgotten after losing another game of cards last weekend. She’d made sure to rub it in for that exact reason, so Dante couldn’t forget.
Dante raised a brow at her, or that’s what Patty assumed after all Dante’s curtain of hair made it difficult to discern his expressions. Seriously, how could he see?
They’re leaving the corridor where Devil May Cry is hidden, their chatter bouncing off the empty street blends in with the other people of Capulet as they delve deeper into the city.
“I don’t need another Lady in my life, I’ve already got enough with one.” Dante said.
Patty, ready to shoot back, was interrupted by Dante.
“But since I’m going to Fredi’s, I suppose we can have a compromise.”
Patty gasped, beaming as she looked up at Dante. A small rock on the sidewalk blindsided her, the world blurs. A sharp tug on her back halted her descent onto the dirty concrete floor.
Embarrassment scorched her skin, the sun suddenly too hot. Sheepishly, Patty glanced at Dante who’d been holding her. There had been a funny look on his face that left as soon as she saw it. He tugs her back upright, only letting go once both of Patty’s feet are situated on the ground.
“Thanks,” Patty said. She grimaced at the fact she had almost face planted onto the floor.
She heard Dante sigh, a deep breath, like he’d bored all the weight of the world on him at that moment.
“Watch it, sweetheart,” Dante said. The nickname was nothing new, Dante’s relaxed nature making him speak coolly. Just now when he’d said it, Patty swore she’d heard the undertones of something mellow and tender beneath Dante’s typically bored tone.
Patty didn’t think twice about it, and Dante didn’t show any signs that he’d done anything differently. Thus Patty and Dante had ended up at Fredi’s dinner, devouring two strawberry sundaes. Beyond Patty’s teasing toward Dante’s obsession with strawberry sundaes, Patty had found it amusing how Dante would delicately spoon the sundae into his mouth, savoring it like ambrosia. While they ate Patty also couldn't help but notice that Dante had been glaring at a man sitting at the bar, his back facing them. Patty would have made a ridiculous remark that Dante was in love save for the fact that Dante’s eyes shone with a dangerous glint, it was the same look he got whenever he’d whip his sword out.
It had all clicked for Patty, Dante was here to work. So Patty was left waiting for Dante to return because he’d rather leave Patty alone to get kidnapped than take her on a high risk mission. There had been a few exceptions to that unspoken rule. How Dante decides when she can go, is a mystery.
The bell at Fredi’s dinner chimes, Patty sits up on her knees at the booth and turns back to see who it is. Not Dante. Rather an old man walks in. Patty sighs, and sits back down, reclining against the worn red plush of the booth seat, she likes to think she’s full of patience, having to deal with Dante’s filth and idiocy is the purest form of patience.
She takes the compact paper out beneath her poofy ruffles, unfolding the paper she reads what she's written again.
Cindy comes back then and glances over Patty’s shoulder. She’s a fast reader because a soft giggle escapes her promptly after Patty hides the paper.
“I never made Dante to be a girl dad, but it suits him,” Cindy says, the apples of her cheeks prominent as a fond smile overtakes her.
Patty shuffles in her seat, it was one thing to believe you had something akin to a father in your head. The term existing outside of your mind is another thing, making Patty believe Dante truly was as she wanted him to be.
“He’s okay,” Patty says, tilting her head to the side and smiling with faux distaste.
Cindy hands her a kid’s menu with crayons, Patty entertains herself by doodling on it. Patty becomes enthralled in the task after pushing through its dull beginnings, she draws flowers and the likes of it. She’s particularly proud of a chrysanthemum she draws and decides to paint it, she notes that the crayons aren’t top quality, taking too long to saturate the paper. She furrows her brow pressing harder onto the paper.
A leather clad hand taps her shoulder, she startles and whips her head around. She meets Dante’s hidden face, sending him a tired look for taking longer than usual to send away whatever that man was. Dante soothes his hand over her shoulder, a silent confirmation that it’s time to leave. She hops out of the booth, abandoning her draw and note still hidden, now in her hands. She rubs her thumb over the small square, creasing it further.
Patty notes that Dante’s coat is off, which is strange outside of the office. Dante always wore his coat no matter the weather. At the moment he had it hanging over his left arm, covering it fully, the coat lightly bristled disturbed by Dante’s arm moving. Dante brings his arm closer to his chest, pressing it flat in a protective manner. The movement beneath the coat becomes clearer, Dante’s arm has a slight tremble.
Patty purses her lips, “you’re hurt.”
Dante looks at her, face neutral and hums, brushing off Patty’s comment, “let’s go.”
Patty knew Dante’s work involved the occasional bodily damage, she’d seen him after missions hobbling through the front doors of Devil May Cry. He’d then collapsed onto his office chair to nap, within the next hour he’d be back on his feet, no sign of injury. She’d figured Dante had some superhuman traits in order to casually decline a trip to the hospital.
For that reason Patty lets it go, if Dante isn’t worried about it then she’ll try her best to not worry. She doesn’t do a very good job, casting glances at Dante’s arm that remains firmly pressed against his chest the entire way back to the Devil May Cry. At some point Patty catches Dante using his other hand to run it down his lame arm and Patty watches Dante’s face harden, his lips flattening to a line, and his eyebrows furrow.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Patty asks. This time unable to keep the shake out of her voice.
Dante’s expression smoothes out, he clutches his arm impossibly closer to his chest.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Dante asks, rhetorically.
At the steps of Devil May Cry, Dante kicks the door open, a loud slam sounds out into the empty street.
The abrupt sound makes Patty flinch, the last thing Dante needed was more debt to repair the shop. Once Dante walks inside, Patty follows, admiring her handiwork from yesterday. At the moment the shop is clean, Dante’s desk shining, it was a wonder customers didn’t walk out the moment they saw the pigstein Dante lived in.
Dante beelines it to the coaches beneath the loft, shedding his guitar case onto the floor, and plops down on the sofa. He still has the red coat wrapped around his presumably injured arm, it’s difficult to discern the severity of the damage from where Patty stands at the entrance, the bloody red of the coat making it impossible. Dante lies back on the sofa, most likely to nap until another job comes to him.
The corner of the note still in her grasp pokes her palm, sharp, not letting her forget what she’s been planning to do since this morning. She squares her shoulders and marches toward Dante, crushing the paper inside her balled hands.
Dante cracks an eye open as Patty nears him, imperceptibly a spark of red flickers over Dante’s blue eye, making Patty falter before continuing her determined trek.
“You should go, Patty.” Dante sighs, turning on his side so his back is facing Patty.
Patty stops before Dante, inspecting him, a warmth apart from the atmosphere emanates from where Dante lies on the couch.
She clutches the note and promptly makes up her mind. She flings the square at Dante, the corner connects with Dante’s head. Dante flinches, shuffling to grab the paper before it gets wedged into the vastness of the couch cushions. Dante unfurls the paper, the crackling of the paper obnoxious in Patty’s ears. She thumps her foot against the wood floors, she wonders if this is how the girls at the park feel asking their dad for a new toy.
A deafening silence follows after Dante opens the letter. Patty brews in her thoughts, none good and all of them ending in Patty making a fool out of herself.
The silence breaks, Dante says, “I think you oughta try playing family with someone else.”
Patty’s brow aches, she’s frowning hard at Dante’s words.
“With who exactly?” Patty says, folding her arms against her chest and leaning toward Dante like a dagger ready to attack him.
Dante still hasn’t turned around to face her, if anything he seems to shrink in on himself from her. He tightly hugs himself, as though he’s hoping to seep into the cracks of the couch.
Dante sighs, it’s gruff and deep, “I don’t know. Maybe waltz around the park—someone would want a brat like you.”
Patty recoils, Dante could be callous not only physically but verbally. Rare if ever where the times Dante would polish a sharp jab toward her, and if he did he’d be quick to mostly apologize.
“Dante!” Patty shouts, she marches up to him and with all the force an 8 year old can concentrate smacks him on the back. A loud slap rings out, ringing her ears, echoing. The palm of her hand erupts in a sharp pain, she makes a silent sound wishing the needle-like pain away.
Dante doesn’t react, it’s like Patty had slapped a boulder.
“Leave.” Dante says, his voice holds a weird echo, warbling.
“Jerk,” Patty says, she turns to storm out the shop but before she does she decides to give Dante another piece of her mind.
This time Patty prepares to go for his head. Dante snaps his head toward the couch, effectively hiding, then again he tells her to leave. The faint echo in his voice is prominent now, reverberating throughout the room and rumbling through Patty’s rib cage. As Patty raises her arm, she notices that Dante’s shivering, it’s faint but there and the worry from earlier washes through her. She rests her arm beside her, she looks over Dante trying to find anything relevant to the situation at hand, no holes are present in Dante’s outfit.
Patty places her hand on Dante’s shoulder, and Dante flinches away from her touch, making no effort to acknowledge the action or her.
“Dante.” Patty says, her eyes sting, “you’re hurt. Let me see.”
A growl shakes the air, rumbling, the growl sounds like the demons Dante kills out of her sight. Dante always covered her eyes from the gruesome acts of violence, but never her ears, so she’d heard how demons responded to Dante’s sword.
“No,” Dante says.
Patty balls her hands into fists, her nails dig into her palms agitating the sting present in one. She darts her arm at Dante and tugs at his wrapped arm, not expecting the movement Dante unravels from his cocoon with a grunt.
Patty’s eyes widen, she immediately lets go of Dante and falls onto the floor.
His eyes are blazing red, his face is speckled in burning scales that appear to multiply by the second, Dante’s coat which hid the worst of it falls with a thud onto the floor. His entire forearm is covered in obsidian scales, ripples of red spread out the center of his forearm like roots and the tips of his fingers are elongated with ferocious black talons.
Dante sits up in a blur, Patty scoots back struggling to get a grip on the wooden floors so that she can stand back up. She can’t stop staring, ice runs down her spine, her bottom lip quivers and the corners of her eyes sting.
For a moment, the atmosphere around her burns. Where Dante stands a sphere of glowing red explodes. Sigils fly toward Patty, she uses her arms to shield her face. The air pressure around her is suffocating, it’s difficult to breathe, her lungs constrict to withhold that last pocket of fresh air.
The clacking of something landing on the ground prompts her to slowly remove her arms. Where Dante had stood, now towered a demon, it’s dressed in red and black scales, a set of wings curl around its front, black spikes protrude out of its arms and jaw. Stubby horns poke out its armored head and a blazing star of light carves the center of its chest.
The demon stares at Patty, unmoving, it grumbles something to itself before stepping toward Patty. Its steps, mere increments toward Patty who remained frozen in place, her legs were weights, she was unable to get up, her breathing quickened as the demon continued its slow pace. Patty glanced around the room for what? She didn’t know. Dante’s arms had been on his person so grabbing those were out of the question as Dante had seemingly been replaced.
It reminded her of when that demon had worn her mother’s skin at the opera stage. She thought she’d recognize the signs were something like that to come again. More so, she’d thought the signs would be more obvious were something like this to happen to Dante, seeing as she’d been spending the last couple of months with him, getting to learn him beyond his icy exterior.
Finally, the demon stands before her, it crouches down in front of her, the floorboards creaking. The wings attached to the demon’s chest flutter, its fiery eyes pierce through Patty. She brings her limbs close, as far away from the demon as she can. It smells like smoke, the area around her hotter than it should be.
The demon opens its maw, rows of razor teeth make her turn away.
“Patty,” the demon says, voice warped, “it's me.”
For declaring their identity the demon sounds almost unsure of itself, leading Patty to believe that this is the kind of demon that masquerades as people’s loved ones. What had happened to Dante? Was that the reason why he’d taken so long earlier?
The demon rumbles a deep sound in its chest, its jagged arm reaches out. Its claws pierce the air, slicing it away in order to reach Patty. Patty’s adrenal glands finally kick in and she screams, she jolts up, slapping the hand away.
“Get away from me!” A sting runs through her fingers. She watches something red drip onto the floor, splattering between them.
Something akin to pain strikes the demon’s features, it becomes fixated on Patty’s injury, its wings unfold shrouding Patty in the shadow it casts over her.
Patty assumes her blood agitates the demon, potentially stirring up its appetite. Pinpricks of icy dread send Patty sprinting to the front door. She thinks she hears the splintering of wood behind her, she pants, shoving the front doors open with her entire body and flees the shop.
Her shoes clop over the ground, her dress billowing behind her, she’s halfway out the surrounding buildings when she chances at glance back. The doors remain shut, there’s no demon hounding her. She feels inclined to slow down, but thinks better of it.
Patty smacks against someone, she yelps, dread flooding her system. The cause of impact grunts as well, they both slightly stumble back, before the figure in front of Patty steadies her by her shoulders. The hands are covered in leather, not piercing into Patty’s flesh.
“Patty?” The voice asks, clearly concerned.
Patty freezes to take in who it is, she looks up, black short hair and heterochromatic eyes filled with worry meet her. They flit over Patty searching for the cause of distress, eyebrows furrowing when she can’t find anything. It’s Lady. Patty scrabbles to hug Lady, she places her head against her stomach, body shaking. Lady tenses then hesitantly pulls her close, her arms over Patty’s back, she rubs her hand in a circular motion over Patty, the press is firm, warm and familiar. Patty sniffles, Lady’s floral perfume wafts into her nose, it fills her thoughts, coaxing them to slow down.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Lady asks, gently pushing Patty away to get a good look at her.
Patty’s face is pale, her eyes blinking fast to keep the tears at bay.
“It’s Dante,” Patty says, she sniffles, “something happened to him.”
Lady’s expression narrows, “what happened?”
Images of volcanic scales and jagged spikes flit through Patty’s mind. Worst of all she thinks about Dante earlier in the day leaving to fulfill his job, he’d left to be—killed. Patty pouts, hot tears blurring her vision.
“Stay with me Patty,” Lady says firmly,” what happened?”
Swallowing Patty manages to shakily explain, “a demon got him. It’s in the office.”
Lady frowns, her face sharp, she coaxes Patty away from her in order to bring out Kalinna Ann which had been strapped to her back. The bayonet glints under the sun as Lady adjusts it, she looks behind Patty, glaring at the shop.
“Stay put. I’ll be back,” Lady says, freeing one hand to ruffle Patty’s already disheveled hair.
Patty brings her arms to her chest, she squeezes her hand, watching Lady make her way toward the shop. Lady was powerful, Patty only hoped it would be enough to squash the demon that had taken Dante.
The tears collecting in Patty’s eyes finally burst, a heavy sob breaks free. Her chest heaves, her vision blurs. She futilely rubs her eyes raw to stop the everflowing tears that rain down her face, pain grips her heart crushing it. Dante was gone. The thought heaves another sob out of Patty; it echoes within the empty street.
Her mind cruelly replays different scenarios of what happened to Dante. Snot trails down her nose, Patty smears it on the sleeve of her soaked dress. In particular, the idea of Dante being run through with his blade makes the sobs wrack her body.
Patty thinks she’ll run out of tears at this rate. Patty flattens her hands against her head, at the prospect of something happening to Lady. If that demon had been capable of downing Dante then surely Lady would be next and it would be her fault.
Minutes pass, Patty never hears Kalinna Ann’s thunderous blast, her doubts fester. The demon must’ve already hurt Lady. Shakily Patty, steps toward the shop, every step is another warning for her to turn back. Lady had told her to wait where she’d been.
Still she proceeds toward the shop’s daunting doors. Heartbeat snapping in her ears Patty pulls through, she makes it to the shop’s stairs.
Unmoving, she contemplates what exactly she’d do in the event that Lady was hurt. Patty didn’t know anything about first aid, at most she could do was apply an anti microbial and bandaid. That wouldn’t help Lady were she bleeding out on the floor. At most Patty could call for help. Not before the demon came down on her.
She hiccups, the remnants of her crying bleeding through her shaky valor. What prompts Patty to move is the sound of muffled voices, she hears the warbling echoes of the demon and Lady, who seems to be scolding the demon inside.
Patty grasps the brass door handle of the shop with the hand that isn’t crusted in her blood. The handle feels like lead, she struggles to turn it. Patty pushes the door open, she sneaks into the shop intent on blending into the background.
“She’s out there crying, Dante!”
Lady has Kalinna Ann back on her back, she’s jabbing a finger at the demon, her other hand on her hip. The demon doesn’t seem put off by Lady’s behavior, it stands there arms crossed, blazing eyes narrowed at Lady.
“I told her to leave—.” The demon cuts himself off. Its head snaps toward Patty, a clicking resonates within the room, bouncing off the walls.
In an instant the demon jumps toward her, Patty screams. The demon roughly lands in front of her, it flits its eyes over her like Lady had done, it zeros in on Patty’s tear streaked face and the hand she’s been subconsciously holding. Patty’s breathing quickens, she tries to look at Lady who hasn’t made any signs to dispatch the demon.
The demon itself crowds her, its wings flare behind it. The demon snags Patty’s injured hand, its claws rest over Patty’s arm, poised to break the skin, except it doesn’t. The demon forces Patty’s hand to open, revealing the laceration crossing over her fingers. It rubs a clawed thumb over the injury, baring its razor teeth at it.
The demon looks over its shoulder, presumably at Lady. While it’s distracted Patty attempts to free her hand, it’s futile, the demon’s grip is unrelenting.
“Lady, open the drawers in my table, I should have something for this,” The demon commands.
Patty hears Lady’s shoes clack against the floorboards, then the shuffling of paper.
“Really? It's clutter. You should do better, Dante,” Lady grumbles.
There it is again, Lady referring to the demon as Dante. Something akin to hurt fills Patty, that Lady would refer to this creature as Dante.
He hears the demon growl at Lady, before it turns back to Patty. The growl peters off into something deeper that rumbles within the demon. Patty flinches as the demon brings its other clawed hand to Patty’s face, Patty’s hair is undone, wild strands of hair fleeing everywhere including her face. With its claw the demon swipes a lock of hair behind Patty’s ear, adjusting it so it doesn’t slip out.
“It’s me, Patty,” the demon says again, searching Patty’s face.
“You killed Dante!” Patty shouts, effortlessly pulling the demon’s hand away from her face.
“Patty—“ Lady chimes in.
The demon barks out a laugh. Patty’s blood runs cold, again she tugs her hand that’s still in the demon’s grip.
“I don’t know if I should be honored or offended that you think I’d be able to beat myself,” The demon grins.
She hears footsteps approaching, Lady comes into view with a box of bandaids and a small tube of an anti-microbial. She stops beside the demon glancing between the two of them, refusing to concern herself with the demon beside her.
“Lady!” Patty cries.
The demon ceases its mirth, it kneels down in front of Patty, its warmth comes in waves.
“Patty it’s me, Dante.” The demon says, more sure of itself.
Patty ceases her struggle to digest the demon’s words, it's got something akin to hope within its volcanic eyes.
Patty shakes her head, she’s not going to fall for that trick again, “No, you’re not!”
“Patty, it is,” Lady says.
Patty scowls at her and back at the demon, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t both confused and terrified. The demon’s claws press against Patty’s arm, Patty jerks, it could easily tear her arm open.
“No it’s not! And it won’t be until it can prove otherwise,” Patty says. It’s a miracle she still has tears in her burning eyes, prior to this she thought she’d wept all she had.
Through her obscured vision Patty catches the demon’s other hand twitch toward her before it’s forced to placate itself.
“Patty, I know you ate the strawberry pancakes I got last week,” the demon says, distaste adorning its face.
Patty’s bottom lip wobbles, “Dante!”
The demon, Dante’s shoulders sag. Patty’s taut arm goes lax in Dante’s hold. A chitter exits Dante, he’s quick to slap a hand over his mouth. Patty tilts her head curious to what that sound is, it kind of reminds her of a cat. A demonic cat.
He clears his throat, “Lady give me the stuff.”
Lady crosses her arms, “don’t get so cocky just because you’re a lizard now.”
Lady hands Dante the cream and box of pink bandaids. He plops down on the floor, gently tugging Patty toward him. Patty tenses, tempted to plant her feet on the ground. Ultimately she goes with Dante, she stands before him close enough to discern every single scale on his face. His body feels like a hot summer day, not unbearable but not completely comfortable either, and he smells like a campfire, faintly smoky.
Dante’s other hand reaches toward Patty’s face, hesitating before he swipes his thumb over her wet face. Patty involuntarily squints, his claw terribly close to her eye. The fat glob of water beneath her lash line evaporates from Dante’s tepid touch. He concentrates, continuing the motion until Patty’s cheeks are dry.
Dante’s focus shifts to Patty’s hand, he rubs at the raised skin affected by the scratch she’d gotten from smacking Dante’s hand.
Patty jerks her hand, Dante’s featherlight touch agitating the simmer of pain into a burn. Dante’s hand recoils and he grabs the tube of antimicrobial. He uncaps it and squeezes the bottle over Patty’s benign wounds, a mountain of cream coats her fingers.
She makes a face, it’s too much. Lady who’s been on the sidelines for now beats her to the punch. Dante merely states the obvious, she’s injured.
Dante smoothes the cream into the scratch, it seeps into the inflamed skin, stamping out the sting beneath. Patty breathes out a sigh, the sensation silencing her brain’s attempts at telling her to not ignore her injury.
Patty observes Dante while he seals the wound, he moves with the utmost precision.
When he’s done, he soothes his thumb over the skin again and looks at Patty, his lips are downturned. It reminds Patty of the fathers she sees in front of the fountain outside the orphanage, the way they’ll fuss over the scrape on their daughter’s knee acting like it’s a life or death situation.
Realizing he expects a reaction from her, Patty gives him a weak smile.
“Thanks Dante,” she says, wiggling her fingers to quiet whatever is wreaking havoc in Dante’s mind.
The ridges on Dante’s face deepen.
“Patty,” Dante starts, but clamps his mouth shut to look around the room. He exhales deeply, and grabs the box of bandaids.
He slices the box open, clearly having never been used until now and grabs 5 bandaids. He unwraps each one, wrapping all of Patty’s fingers in bandaids. Patty thinks it’s a waste of paper, glancing at Dante she notices that the creases on his face are slowly vanishing. She keeps quiet, letting Dante work through his turmoil that’s quelled from tending to Patty’s non grievous wounds.
Dante drops the bandaids onto the floor, starting his mess anew. He rubs his hand over Patty’s fingers one last time before releasing her hand. Patty’s hand feels uncomfortably slimy, that was way too much cream.
“Bring me some tissues,” Dante says.
Patty hears footsteps, Lady retreating to Dante’s desk to retrieve a box of tissues.
She feels a gentle prod beneath her nose and yelps. Dante thumbs at the crusted boogers on Patty’s upper lip. She slaps Dante’s hand away which immediately returns.
“That’s nasty, Dante.”
Dante chuckles, “I know.”
He makes no effort to drop his hand.
Lady chucks the box of tissues to Dante who catches it without looking away.
“Let’s clean you up,” Dante says. He plucks a tissue out.
Soft paper dabs at Patty’s face, shedding away the crusting of her sadness. He cleans the area beneath Patty’s nose, pressing down and smoothing over all the grime. Placing the tissue beneath her red nose he tells her to blow. She does, her ears ring from a sudden shyness, it was gross. Patty empties her nose, Dante staying still.
Patty resists telling Dante to not throw the nasty tissues onto the floor.
He throws the tissues on the floor, Patty thinks she’s going to faint.
“That’s better,” Dante says. He examines Patty’s face for leftover blemishes, causing Patty to feel subconscious, she rubs at her face.
“So are you going to tell us what happened?” Lady asks, moving to stand beside Patty.