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• Dante Sparda x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is Dante post DMC3 - Pre DMC1. I'm just using the DMC2 image bc he is so fine in that game.

For like the first third of this fic Dante will be referred to as Tony Redgrave since quite frankly, I think it's kinda funny he used to willingly refer to himself as Tony. Nothing against the name, it's just such a Dante thing for him to do. Proof read but I might have missed some grammatical errors, please excuse those :P

What makes a person? Is it past experiences? The knowledge gathered through trial and error? Is it the people you know and who know you who tell you what you are?

Who are you now if you don't remember who you once were? If you ever were someone to begin with.

Just a being. Existing within the word, unsure of a history that should be clearest in your mind. The ones you love, who created you, taught you. Like sand that has long since passed through the hourglass, leaving only a thin dusting of proof of its presence. Not of sand, but dust.

You have yet to feel troubled by your forgotten past. If it were so important, you would have remembered it already. But no, you only focus on moving forward. That is who you are now, someone who doesn’t look back.

——————————————————

The wind is all that sweeps past your ears down the moderately crowded streets of Redgrave City. On your hip, is your common purse containing routine items; your house keys, lip balm, a compact mirror, pepper spray, a pen, notepad, and your wallet that has a wad up to 10k dollars held together with multicolored rubber bands, and that doesn't even include the various valuables hidden in there. Your hand is placed protectively over your bag, daring any half brained thief to try to swipe it from you.

People of all types pass you without as much as a second disinterested, lazy eyed glance. You’re not a unique sight to anyone, so no one speaks to you. Which, at that moment, you are grateful for. You quickly glance behind you, looking over at the walls around the corners of shops and down the alleyways you walk past, your eyes squint, focusing on the unidentifiable shadowed figure then they move on to continue forward.

Your feet stomp their way onto the concrete pushing your body forward with propelling urgency, knowing the way to go before your brain allows you to process right versus left, it isn’t until you make a sharp turn into a dead end road that you stop to stare up. In the narrow nook between various Victorian style rundown buildings, a path to one shop that is your destination. In flashing pink neon reads the words ‘Devil May Cry’.

You swallow thickly, soothing the dryness in your throat as you come to terms of what you’re about to do.

Chewing your bottom lip, you make one determined step in front of the other, only to stop again, finally making it to the front step. Easily mistaking it for unintentional hesitancy you jam your thumb into your outer thigh to snap yourself out of it, your jaw clenches with grinding teeth and you look up to take a closer peek at the sign, now it flickers with an audible buzzing as if bees were trapped in the glowing glass. Finally, you take a deep breath and reach out for the door handle. With unexpected suddenness it flies out from under your grasp, the door is open. A figure stands before you, and you, in all your demureness, let out a surprised yelp as you take a step back.

With wide eyes, you stare up, seeing a man, he is quite average, wearing a baseball cap and a familiar uniform. “Oh! Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to surprise you.” He laughs awkwardly in a friendly tone and walks out of the doorway. You squint your eyes and see he is a delivery man from the pizza place nearby. Closing your eyes to hide them rolling from the encounter. You wave off the stranger politely with a mumbling of ‘it’s fine.’ under your breath.

You're so jumpy now

You recompose yourself, glance over your shoulder at the particularly dark corner, it’s old, decrepit, with an unknown dark grime and some sort of green fungus growing over the brick walls. You shake your head of the thought and repeat the prior actions, taking a deep breath you take a step back up to the front door, shifting in your boots as though regaining your footing after a brief climb, turn the handle and walk in.

The door cracks open with a slight squeak, subtle, but compared to the silence it draws your attention. However, the first thing you truly notice is the smell, a pungent air of cheap cologne, not a horrible scent, just intense, followed closely by a warm whiff of fresh pizza crust and tomato sauce. And the space was anything but minimal, a busted red drum set to your left and a jukebox to your right, a couch, bookshelves, and a pool table also crowd the room, the walls were busy with decorations, from strange skulls to perverted posters to a dartboard and finally shelves with books, movies, and CDs mixed together, you also caught a glance at a dance dance revolution mat next to a pin-ball machine. It was an adolescent boy's dream room or a glorified man-cave. Though your eyes focus forward, a mid-sized desk sat in the middle of the shop scattered papers covered the top of it, as well as a steaming box of freshly delivered pizza. With his long black leather boots propped up on the desk’s surface, a man holds a slice of the triangular food over his mouth, letting the gooey cheese fall on his tongue before he officially takes a bite. He hums with satisfaction.

Your brows press together, wrinkling the bridge of your nose with confusion. This is the mercenary hidden by so much mystery, Really? You fish a small note from your pocket, reading the address to yourself. You read it over once, twice, three times.

Yep, this is the place.

Right there, in messy, heavy handed writing on it.

‘Ask for Tony Redgrave, Devil May Cry’ and an address scribbled down beneath it.

The location was given to you by a man you met at a bar you know is routinely visited solely by mercenaries. It seems you asked the right questions and offered enough drinks to the man that only describes himself as an “Old friend” of this Tony Redgrave guy. Is it obscure? Yes. But it’s the most solid lead you’ve got to solving your little ‘issue’.

With a shake of your head, you walk up to the desk, the man shifts his foot position over to rest on the corner of the desk, still slouched back on his spinny chair. He finishes his chew and sets the bitten pizza down, back into the box to snap his fingers through black leather gloves, not at you, but maybe just out of habit.

His index and thumb are pointed out in a finger gun “Welcome to Devil May Cry, got a job for me?” he asks directly.

The guy was interesting, to say the least, clearly gifted with a handsome face, unnaturally white hair with bangs brushing under his eyebrows and split between his blue warm eyes and a boyish smirk on his pinkish lips. He wears a long red leather coat, and grey zip up shirt with a popped collar, he is adorned with leather straps and silver buckles over his chest and around his shoulders.

“You’re Tony?” You ask, a poor attempt at concealing your disbelief. “...Redgrave?”

His eyes flash open for a second before the lids of his eyes relax as do his eye brows hidden by his reaction is subtle, but clearly he’s surprised to hear the name, but it’s quickly covered by a smirk.

“The one and only sweetheart.”

With all the mystery surrounding this guy, you expected him to be… less approachable. Intimidating, a guy you don't expect to be so nonchalant about his job, But you were shaking in your boots over nothing, which irked you slightly. Reaching for your hip you grab your purse, opening it and setting your wallet down on the desk, harder than you intend making the pizza box jump and his propped up feet sway.

“I have a stalker.”

For a beat, nothing. Just you and that annoying buzzing in the background, all the neon lights like white noise but instead of easing your nerves it only increased your irritation. You are tense. A second of no response is too long for you, can he understand this is serious!?

You reach back down pulling out the neatly held together stacks of bills and proceed to dump them all out, as well as a few more items: gold trinkets, chains, a ring, and two necklaces.

“This is all I have to offer.”

The man is silent for a moment, looks down at your up-front payment then back up at you. Then he leans back in his chair and folds his arms behind his head. “If it’s a stalker case just go to the cops, I'm sure they can handle it.”

You squint your eyes at the audacity of him.

Through your teeth, you explain. “I have… they just don’t do shit since in their eyes, I'm not in immediate danger.” but at this he shrugs, then he unfolds one of his arms to reach for another slice of pizza, but you act quicker and close the box before he can reach fully inside. He furrows his brow in your direction and, with a groan, kicks his feet off the desk to sit up properly.

“You know another mercenary could handle a random stalker for less…” Tony’s tone is seemingly disinterested, He stands up pushing the items back towards you. “Sorry, but I'm not your guy.”

There it is, yet another line cut, you call for help and everyone refuses to take your issue seriously. You stare down at your possessions, feeling another wave of defeat and pathetically start putting your items back into your purse. You bite your cheek masking your frustration. With your bag now closed you turn to leave the shop, you take one step, then two each growing heavier and heavier as you get closer to the door. You ball your fist.

No, you didn't come all this way to be rejected in less than 5 minutes.

“Fine… forget about the whole stalker thing.” You begin, speaking over your shoulder, then you spin all the way around to face Tony again. “How about protecting an object?”

He looks back up at you then shrugs again. “You're not giving me a whole lot to work with.”

“I have this… thing, a busted gold jewelry box, ancient from the look of it, I got it from an old antique shop I used to work in. The owner was old, kinda senile, and very paranoid. The shop closed down like a month after I was hired. The old man said he had to put his mind into other matters, whatever that means, I don't think to ask. What I didn't expect was to get a parting gift from him, my mystery box. He was odd… that whole place was odd but I've never been the type to question a good paycheck.” You groan and use your index finger and thumb to rub across your forehead. “That's when I got the feeling of being watched.”

This seems to pique his interest, now Tony sits leaning forward resting his elbow on the desk to gaze up at you, most would mistake it for boredom but his eyes were too intense, too focused on your every word to be anything else.

You continue.

“If I had half a brain I would have just thrown it off the nearest cliff. Well…I have done the equivalent of that, out the window of a moving car, into the trash on pick up day, but..for some reason the box keeps coming back to me. I can get rid of it in the morning and then by the end of the day it’s sitting right back on my kitchen counter, and in turn so did the feeling..”

“A few days ago. I was… approached, by a man. He was offering to pay for the box, a pretty penny too, way more than the old guy was charging for it in the shop. Admittedly, I was just gonna give it to him but…there was just something…unnatural about him.” You squint your eyes trailing off as the image of the man you saw re-enters your mind, your lips pursed then thin. “His eyes were so…dark…dark. Like one of those creepy dolls eyes, soulless. This feeling just shook me to my core and my gut told me to refuse the offer… so…that’s what I did…the guy didn’t even persist. He asked if I was sure and I said yes, then he left. and ever since, I’ve felt eyes on the back of my neck.” You sigh, falling into the small chair in front of Tony’s desk.

“I would see that guy occasionally and he would just… stare at me. Can you believe it? Before this I had never seen him before but now I see him everywhere…” disbelief riddles your voice. To anyone you'd sound out of your mind. You couldn't even believe the story you're spouting but it was a very real story, one you're living through right now.

“I just have this bad feeling, and I need the best… and word is you're the best.”

Tony seemed to think, his brief moment of contemplation sparked hope within you like a small match lasting only a few seconds before it burns out for good.

With a sigh he leans back in his chair propping his feet back up on the desk. “Alright. Where's the box?”

—

You fumble with your keys, fighting to correctly hold and unloop the teeth of the metal off the rings trapping it. You both walk closer to your small brick house with a rusty red exterior and visible hardened paste. It sits a little out of the city, but not far enough into the countryside to be considered a farm house. You awkwardly look behind you to glance at the mercenary who simply looks around the area boredom in his eyes, with his hands shoved in his pockets, your eyes quickly trail over the silver handle of the sword strapped on his back then over to his face again, it’s a good face, you have to say. Then you realize you have yet to have guests in your home or at least lack the memory of how to be a proper host.

You turn back to your front door and push it open leading him inside. He follows close on your heels. “Nice place.” He comments passing your little kitchen and spinning to look around your living room. It's not much, minimal green and brown decor with plenty of thrifted and hand me down items to fill out the space. Some of the styles clash and seem awkwardly placed around the house, such as a pile of green kitchen rags laid out over the countertop clean, flat and new. As well as the mismatched lamp shades casting an orange glow which battles the ceiling lights striking a yellow tone. The walls are a calm off-white though turns beige with the warmth of your lighting.

“Thanks, I rent from an elderly couple…kinda creepy at night. But I guess that comes with the territory.” As you speak your hands are busy pulling out a cabinet that holds your gold box, the cabinet is designated for loose objects like batteries, wax squares, pens, sticky notes, and other miscellaneous objects not worth organizing, in the sea of mess is the jewelry box. A 6 x 4 inch golden box that sparkles in the light. Though only parts of it seem polished and cared for.

“A lot of old people seem to like giving you handouts.”

You casually pull out the box and set it on the counter in front of the man, pushing it with your finger tips.

“I guess I'm just….lucky.”

He looks at it and reaches over to the gold clasp, his finger hooks under it and pulls up, it doesn't budge. Tony tilts his head back and clicks his tongue. He places his other hand under the box and tries to force it open again.

“Hmm, Have you ever opened it?” He asked, placing his hand on his chin quizzically.

“Uh yeah once, It's empty.” You state grabbing the box and shaking it close to your ear then handing it to him again.

Tony flips it over then shakes it next to his own ear. “There is definitely something in there.” He slides it over to you. “You open it.”

Your brow quirks up, you sigh again. “Look, I don't know what you want me to tell you.” You loop your finger around the clasp. “The box is empty.” You state effortlessly flipping the top open. It falls back and smacks against the counter.

As you thought, empty.

But Tony didn't seem to be taken aback by this. Instead he turns it in his direction and flips it closed with his finger then tries to open it himself again. It doesn't. It’s weird, sure but maybe the way you’re opening it does the trick to satisfy the box’s demands.

Tony holds it up then tosses it to you. You fumble with it after being caught off guard. But it lands in your arms safely, the lid however flies open once it touches your panicking hands. You glare at Tony’s back, how rude, you could've dropped it, and you don't want to know what would happen if you break it. You're about to interrogate him for his odd behavior when a tapping on your kitchen window catches your attention and your head snaps in the noise's direction. You rush out of the kitchen and around the counter to Tony’s side in the living room.

Looking back at Tony his once disinterested expression turns firm and puzzled.

The tapping continues for a few seconds, sounding like small rocks making a light impact with your kitchen window. Then the tapping stops and is followed up by a frantic turning of your front door handle.

“Has he ever tried to get in before?” Tony asks, leaning his head back to look at you.

“No…” your voice is uneasy, trying to maintain calm.

Tony walks over to the door and casually opens it. He leans his elbow against the door frame and under his arm you can see the stalker forever smiling and staring past Tony straight at you…

“Listen man. The lady is clearly not interested, so just take the loss and move on.”

The stalker doesn't move or even acknowledge Tony’s words. He only cranes his neck up to meet with Tony’s eyes. An unsettling smile makes his cheeks ball and cracked lips stretch unnaturally thin.

You watch Tony’s other arm as it slowly reaches back to grab hold of the sword's handle. Your eyes widen as the tension in the air grows thick. Like a hand closing around your throat and fingernails digging into the skin.

The mysterious man simply raises his hand holding a white card between his index and thumb. You notice now that he's covered in dirt, fingers black and filthy, caked under his nails and staining his clothing. Tony takes the card now filled with dirty fingerprints and reads over it.

You take a step closer, still hiding behind Tony. The mystery man's head returns to your direction through Tony, as if the merc was nothing more than invisible.

Then he takes in a breath a long haunting breath, gurgling in his throat as his chest expands with air Tony backs up watching the man then he closes the door with a heavy slam. A loud growl like exhale is then heard then a dull tumble like a body going limp right on your porch.

Tony slowly opens the door again but sees no remnants of the man, only a soot-like shadow where his shoes once stood.

“Dang, he bit the dust and I didn't even need to interfere. Well looks like I fixed your stalker issue. And unless he's able to come back from this” he swipes his finger on the door and collects the strange rusty soot on the pad of it. “He won't be giving you any more problems.”

Tony smirks and turns to leave but you quickly rush back towards him.

“Wait…wait!”

You grab his arm and pull, he spins and turns to face you.

“What if…what if he's not the only one?” You stammer worriedly, his eyes squint.

“Look can you just…just…ugh! Can you just stay the night? Please? I'm really freaked out here man and…and I don't want to be alone.” Your shoulders are tense as you plead

Tony looks down at you brow raised then he rolls his eyes but doesn't pull his arm from within yours. “Look i-” he starts but seeing the hopeful look in your eyes he grits his teeth and groans. “Fine, fine.” He sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently pushing you back.

“It's not every day I can stay the night at a pretty girls place, don't get the wrong idea, I know I'm irresistible but this is a purely professional relationship.” He says face scrunched balling his fist over his heart dramatically as if the reminder were painful to utter.

Your brows furrow in confusion then a sound you haven't heard from your lungs in a while emerges.

You laugh.

—

You laid in bed softly snoring blankets and a comforter wrapped around yourself as you koala hugged extra pillows. Your body finally, finally, allowed itself to relax and catch up on some desperately needed sleep. Perhaps it is because of the new feeling of a ‘protector’ in your house or maybe it was the disappearance of that man that put you at ease. Whatever it was didn't last as long as you would've hoped.

Nightmares have become a common occurrence for you since reaching adulthood, they could range from flashing indistinct images to vivid scenarios that would loop until you force your eyes open. However, tonight was ever so slightly different, tonight you stand in an empty room still in your pj's. In previous dreams it was as though you were a spirit, floating around. You couldn't feel your feet or identify any limited space, just your consciousness in an empty vacuum of existence with no stars.

Your dream this time is eerily realistic, the pads of your feet feel the cool wood under you and you feel the soft fabric hugging your body. You flex your fingers and trail your eyes up your arms before darting forward again. The room you stand in is dark yet visible, you can make out four run down walls, blank but covered in a thick layer of soot and smelling of cigarettes and burnt wood. You look down at your feet, using every ounce of your strength to move forward.

You do.

You walk to one wall then around the room for what feels like minutes, circling the room and meeting each corner a multitude of times, hugging the wall with your side, unsure of why you are doing it. You let your hands brush over the dirty wall but your finger tips remain clean.

Everything is unfamiliar to you, the room, the flooring, the color painted on the walls that peek through the soot. It's silent, deafeningly so, which causes the sound of your heart beating to be many times more prominent. You take a choppy breath in, your mouth makes a smacking sound and you swallow. Slowly you turn and begin pacing the room, looking down at your feet, moving without purpose.

One, two, three, four, five.

It takes five big steps to go from corner to corner. You repeat.

One, two, three, four, five…six.

Your head shoots up looking at the soot covered wall again, six?

You look down, finding the corner with the back of your foot and you begin walking, again.

One, two, three, four, five, six… seven.

What?

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

You pace back and forth over and over obsessively counting your steps until you reach the conclusion that the room changes between 4 and 8 steps.

You continue to pace, better to pass the time by keeping your mind busy, the dream will end soon enough.

You count

One, two, three.

The room is smaller now. Your heart beats in your ear drums panic is setting in along with the claustrophobia and you close your eyes, shaking your head. Finally a noise breaks your attention away from yourself and a wave of urgency flows through you. Your head darts every which way trying to find the source of the sound. One wall blank, two, three, and four all empty.

You spin around dizzying your confused mind when finally the room changes again and a door appears, it is cracked ajar letting bright yellow light into the room it doesn't illuminate it, but you can see a way ahead. You run towards it, swinging the door open.

The new room is an exact replica of your kitchen only the walls, floors and counters are covered in the same soot as the room you just escaped from. You make your way to the counter top with slow cautious steps. It was cleared of all its usual clutter, utensils, towels, and appliances leaving the only thing sitting on it was the jewelry box, you stare at it with a concentrated glare. It was closed yet the yellow light shines between the cracks of the lid. Your hand trembles as it reaches for the latch and slowly you pull it open.

Suddenly, a bright orb flies out of the box freed of its small cage.

The ball of light hovers over you, a friendly warmth hugging you. Tilting your head you squint looking up at it. The light appears to be a large collection of particles like the backs of fireflies all flying together to make one large mass. You reach out but your hand passes through it as though it were nothing but air.

Playfully it circles you again and you attempt to touch it once more leading to the same outcome. A feeling of tenderness towards the orb overtakes your emotions. You want to protect this light, this warmth.

The light leads you through your own kitchen and you follow it without much care. You go from one end of the counter to the other then around to the kitchen island. The light would loom over one part of your counter and then suddenly the appliance from the ‘real world’ would also be there. It flies all around reconstructing everything back into its familiar place. Only with a generous coating of black soot.

A creek from the floorboards behind you grabs your attention and your eyes return to the ground, in the dust you see footprints one after another getting closer to you and the orb. Your eyes widen fearfully, the unfamiliar entity starts to get closer and your need to protect the light blinds your senses. You step back searching the counter top behind you blindly with your hands. You feel your plates and cabinets then finally your hand touches something wieldable.

Something cool and cylindrical.

The invisible figure only traceable by footprints then begins to take shape. It stands tall with fiery red eyes and devil horns but with a ghostly form to it. Like a mirage. Occasionally the demonic figure would flicker in and out of visibility.

You step back, closer to the little light, holding the cylindrical object with a white knuckle grip in front of you, still yet to be identified of what type of weapon it could be. Everything is so blurry, your peripheral vision warps and merges with all the surrounding soot so it only looks black and gritty. The red glowing eyes rush closer to you and its mouth opens, fire like sparks flies from within and a deep haunting groan echoes in your ears.

The light hovers over its golden box and you stand in front of it using yourself as a shield against the monstrous figure. Suddenly, the light disbursed into dozens of little bulbs. The specks fly round the demonic form's head causing it to roar wildly. It launches towards you at staggering speed you reach your arm out to try and keep it back but it grips your wrist in its bit black grasp. You jab the weapon into the demon's arm trying to get it to let you go, feeling its sharp claws scratching at your skin.

You scream for it to let go, desperate and out of breath.

The amount of AI porn ads I've seen is ridiculous.

I can't even open the app in public because next thing I an AI man is getting stabbed in the ass with a syringe, or a grotesque face full of injuries appears on the entire screen or a woman's full chest is just out.

@staff

• Dante Sparda x Fem!Reader

Pt2

Warning!: Mentions of self harm

Tony lounges back on your couch, red jacket covering his lap and his arm resting behind his head. Tony swings one leg off the side of the couch and the other over the armrest. Flipping the white card between his fingers then reading it over and over. The face of the card simply reads an address, with black print.

‘2301 Evercreek Temple, Redgrave City.’

Tony turns the card again, the back of the card with the same font reads. 

‘AS SHE WILLS, You are what you were before, and what you will be.’

His lips twist for a moment, his eyes watching, observing it for any anomaly that may appear but staring focused in the dark is starting to make his eyes hurt. Tony sighs and sets the card down on your coffee table spinning it with the tips of his fingers.

Tony's head darts up hearing your door creek open. He raises a brow when he sees you walk in, well he hears your bare feet first, sliding on the ground as you inch towards your kitchen counter in a zombie-ish manner. Shoulders slumped head bobbing, jaw relaxed and eyes half lid looking distantly. Tony sits up, now sitting properly on the couch. 

“Okay, a sleepwalker, could this woman get any weirder?” He asks himself, watching you walk in circles in your kitchen. Your hands hover over the golden box and flips it open with ease. A smirk appears on his lips noting your expression of wonder in the dark as if seeing something flying right in front of you. He watches your eyes of wonder as you chase an invisible flying object around your kitchen. 

His smirk vanishes; however, when your eyes widen as if awake but maintains that distant look. He picks up on the fear in your breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you spin around now facing Tony’s direction, your eyes land on him wide, almost bulging from their sockets. His expression tightens and he stands up approaching you slowly with his hands palm out in front of his chest as though approaching a wild beast. 

“Hey- Are you awake?” He asks in a hushed tone, taking a step closer, then another, but stops when your eyes dart down to his footsteps still a fair distance away from the counter. You tremble and back away quickly, putting the counter between yourself and Tony. 

“Hey, hey… it's alright. Just gotta wake you up.” 

Before he can get closer to possibly wake you, you reveal a knife held in your hands, knuckles white and tense with the tightness of your grasp. He is unsure of when you even picked it up, his attention focused primarily on your glazed eyes.

“Oh crap-” 

Tony rushes to take it from you before you can injure yourself but even with impressive speed you manage to repeatedly stab your arm screaming for something to stop. 

Tony grabs your cut arm and pulls it away from the knife in your other hand, he rips the weapon out of your grasp and throws it aside, it makes a loud clanking noise as it hits the kitchen floor. Tony's free hand grabs your shoulder and shakes you awake. 

Like a splash of ice cold water thrown on you, you’re forced awake. A breathless gasp fills your body with air and your eyes immediately blink away sleep. First is panic, confusion, your veins rush with staggering pumps of adrenaline. Your eyes fly around the room looking everywhere. Your living room walls, clean of soot, the entire room is still dim but not like in your dream, it is warm. Your chest rises and falls with hyperventilation, your heart is held in a fist getting squeezed tighter and tighter. You feel the sick welling, clawing up your throat, you choke with panic and through rapid blinking, you stare in front of you, finding the eyes of the man holding your shoulder. A firm squeeze, your anchor. 

Blue, soft blue eyes opened wide. 

You shoved your fist against Tony's chest to push him off of you, but with your shift in movement you let out a hiccup feeling the harsh sting in your arm. You wince attempting to tear your forearm away from Tony, that is until you turn your head to the side to look at your own limb, outstretched beside you. 

His grip slid up from your forearms to your wrists seeing the gashes littering your skin. He tried to protect your eyes from the severity of the wounds but realized the effort was fruitless. You stare in horror as blood escapes where his palm presses over the wound, it leaves behind a deep red path down to the point of your elbow and a thick drop falls into the jewelry box resting on the counter next to both of you. 

Tony slowly lowers your arm back to your side, his eyes, however are aimed straight at the box. You follow his gaze and look within it as well, seeing the blood drop that fell from your wrist pool and spread over the edges of the box before sizzling into the gold bottom until no proof of the red liquid is to be seen. You stare silent for a moment then turn your gaze lower. Looking at Tony’s hands, large hands that feel softer than they should, especially from the work he does. He keeps the pressure over your wrist for a moment then pulls his hands away. 

You see your own crimson spread over his palms like paint. And he quickly reaches over and grabs a kitchen towel placing it firmly over your wrists. He holds your arm close to his side and leads you over to your island stool. Not a word is uttered between you, there is a possibility he has said something but you're too in shock to process any noise such as words at that time. You suck in a breath trying to calm yourself, however no matter how much air you force into your lungs you are still gasping. Your eyes and brain try to fixate on what is real and what is fake. The pain is real, the blood is real. 

You glance up at the man in front of you and for the first time Tony actually looks serious, no smart quips, no jokes, and no sarcastic comments. Him leaving doesn't register in until he returns.

You don't realize at what time he left you alone to scour in your bathroom for a first aid kit. If the situation were lighter you would feel proud of yourself for buying the plastic box on a whim just a few weeks ago after years of telling yourself you need one. Tony pulls a second stool up and places it across from where you sit, he sets himself on it and peels the kitchen rag from your wrist to observe the severity of your self inflicted injury. 

You glance up at Tony again, his eyes focused down on the self-inflicted injuries you had no control of causing. You stare distantly at him, his silver hair dances past his brows, in curtains over his concentrated eyes. He probably thinks you're some crazy lady that needs to be admitted. He probably regrets entertaining your delusion that someone is after you. You notice Tony is still just staring at your wrist, and in order to ease your curiosity you look down as well. 

The cuts littering your arm looks the same, deep red lines all over the skin only slightly cleaner than when you last focused on it. Then slowly the wounds became thinner, until they were just subtle red lines then pinkish faded scratches…then nothing, nothing at all. Your skin is uncut, clear, and smooth, it healed in a matter of seconds. Your eyes widen in shock at the impossible occurrence, you snatch your arm from his grasp, jump off the stool and you pull up your short sleeve to examine your entire right arm. 

“What…what the hell!?” You exclaim. 

You rub your arms over each other then hug yourself rubbing your upper arms then shoulders, you glance back at Tony then the rag that sat on the counter, the light green fabric still covered in deep red as well as smeared all over Tony’s palms. You grip your head tightly then fall on the ground. Your knees press against your chin and you hug your legs, rocking back and forth 

“I’m going insane, I knew it, I knew it, I'm going crazy.” You whisper burying your face into your knees. “I'm going crazy…” 

You can practically feel Tony’s eyes on you. You can feel the judgement in his expression and the unwillingness to approach without some sort of barrier between you and himself. At least if you were in his shoes, that's how you'd feel. 

But instead, Tony taps your shoulder. Your head whips back, your lip pushed out in a trembling pout. You're fighting back tears, It's humiliating. Tony simply pulls you back so you unravel from your fetal position to face him. 

“Hey, How's about we head over and get us a bite to eat?” 

Your eyes squint looking at him like he's got three heads. 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I remembered there's a diner on the way here, it's a nice place. We should go ahead and grab something.” 

“You want to eat? I sliced my own arm in my sleep and it somehow healed in two minutes and you want food!!?” You exclaim.

Tony only puts his hands up and shrugs. “Yeah.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest but you only return to sulking and rocking yourself back and forth, in an attempt to self-sooth. “...I'm not hungry” you mumble into your arms.

You hear the mercenary let out a long heavy sigh behind you then two hands sneak under your armpits and pull you up to your feet. “Alrightly, enough with the crying. Up you go.” He laughs adjusting your stance by your shoulders. Baffled, you go to say something but he's already gone over to the front door, he tosses your sweater on your face blinding you like a trapped cat. You pull it off your head and hold it under your arm.

“The diner down near my shop is open 24 hours Sundays so we can at least grab a burger from there. Then we gotta finish up the job at this address.” 

He reveals the card from his pocket flipping the thick paper between his two fingers with a crisp sound. He hands it to you and you accept it. Taking the card in your hands to read the small text. An  address, as he stated before, but one you don't recognize. It must be farther out of the city. 

“We? I hired you to do it.” 

“Right, but we need that.” His finger points to the counter right at the gold jewelry box.

You sniffle furrowing your brows at him then glance up without moving your head to look at the jewelry box. “...why?” 

“Wherever you go, it goes and wherever it goes it comes right back to you. This box is the key to figuring out what's wrong with you.” He states picking up the box and stuffing it into your purse but not before dumping everything else inside except your wallet and keys. 

You're quicker to catch the purse thrown your way, the hard metal pushes against your side once you situate it on your hip. You sniffle again, pathetically. It's always embarrassing to lose control of your own emotions in front of another person. You would like to say you have had a good grasp of yourself for your entire life, but then again you have never been in a situation quite like this. At least you don't think that you have.

The ride to the diner passed in seconds from your starting point at home to several miles away nearly returning to his shop. Tony refused to let you drive your car and opted to travel by motorcycle. The ride plays back in short flashes that you have to think back to remember. The visions consist mostly of deep leather red and silver hair whipping back in the speeding winds. Lamp posts fly past you both, and there was so much air at your disposal that you nearly suffocated on it. 

Fortunately, before you actually stopped breathing Tony’s bike stopped to a swift halt and made your body fly forward and make impact to his back. 

You shake your head back to reality and see the smooth white surface of the diner table reflecting pure white lights. You look beside your right side and see the dark silhouette of your reflection on the window and the mirror image of the countertop, if you squint you can see Tony’s bike parked just outside in the dark.

“Okay, two cheese burgers, with salted fries and a strawberry milkshake.” A sweet voice repeats, setting down a heavy white plate in front of you. Your head turns up to watch her do the same for Tony, she also places down a pink creamy milkshake topped with whipped cream and a cherry. 

You watch the woman slide a napkin over to him and you can vaguely see a number written down on it in blue pen. The man accompanying you thanks the waitress with his usual casual and relaxed influx, She winks his way before walking away with a finger wiggle wave. 

You close your eyes to feel the warm steam from the food and the tasty, savory, and salty scent. 

“So, what's up with you anyhow?” Tony asks, taking a fry and wagging it at you. 

“..huh?” 

“I mean, what? You don't have a boyfriend or something to help you with the stalker thing? I mean, what made you turn straight to hiring a mercenary?” His tone is humorous. 

You sight. “I told you, The cops said they couldn't help me, I didn't want to leave anything to chance, especially not my life. So I turned a few stones until I was directed to a merc for hire. Which turned out to be you.” 

“Sooo, no boyfriend?” 

You roll your eyes, “No, I don't have a boyfriend. Or friends at all.” you utter with a scoff then cross your arms. 

“Fine, fine,” he laughs, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “then a brother, or dad? Couldn't one of them have helped you?” 

To this you put your head down and furrow your brows. 

Tony’s eyes follow your face and he tilts his head “Thinking of a way to insult me for asking a stupid question?” He asks with a smile in his voice. 

“No…I'm- I— am trying to remember, if I have a brother…or a dad.” 

He stares at you, now it's his turn to be confused.

“You don't know? What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean, I don't know, I don't know if I even have parents or a family at all.” 

“So you're an orphan?” 

“No. It's—” you sigh and click your tongue trying to find words to describe your predicament. “It's not that I have no knowledge of my family because they weren't in my life. It's that…I don't know my life.” 

Tony doesn’t move, only stares at you. His fists rests palm side down on the table and one of his silver brows is raised. 

“I don't remember much about my childhood or early teen years. The furthest my memory goes is when I was sixteen— or seventeen…but other than that it's all blank… blank.” to fill the silence you indulge into the meal sitting in front of you, you take a single fry you chew on it to keep from talking. Tony sits back and pulls his milkshake to his lips and takes several long sips while his eyes wander the table, there's thought behind his eyes. After a few more fries you wipe your hands together then rub the grease off on your pants. 

“It's not like I woke up one day and just forgot who I am completely. I know what city I live in and where I used to live. I know my full name and have forms of identification that I know for a fact is true…” 

“…I forgot certain things. I don't know where I went to school. I don't know if I am an only child or not and I don't remember my parents. Any aspect of them, their faces, their names, what they do, where they live.” You groan pushing your burger away. He pushes it back towards you but takes a fry from your plate despite having plenty of his own. 

“Like a faded memory, such important things that should be at the front of my mind are just…gone. I tried and tried so hard to remember, but I can't.” 

You stare down at the food for a few seconds then your head whips up when the loud slurping of Tony’s milkshake echoes in your ears. It's nearly empty; the cold pink liquid clings to the sides of the cup slowly trickles down to the bottom. Tony's lips are pursed around the straw and he, for one, looks delighted. 

You stare blankly at him for a few minutes, ‘THIS is who I hired to protect me from all the freaky shit I've been experiencing!?’

You shake your head with a groan placing your palm on your forehead, then look at your forearm again, the skin as clear of cuts as it always has been. 

“Just what happened to me? Why did…why did my arm..heal so fast, how is that even possible?” 

With a few more seconds of slurping Tony plucks the straw from his lips they spread into a grin and the man lets out a refreshed ‘Ahh’. “Well, it's about time we get going.” He states, ignoring your question entirely and instead slides the cup away from himself to the center of the table. The heavy glass smoothly glides until coming to a stop when it clinks against the plate in front of you. He reaches over and takes the burger off your plate before standing up, he shimmies out of the booth and heads towards the door. 

“Hey! The bill?” You exclaim, standing up as well. 

Tony spins on his heel to face your direction. He hisses through his teeth, digging into his pocket and pulling them out to reveal nothing. “Oops, sorry, You’ll cover this one for me, right? Thanks.” He gives you a thumbs-up and a wink, walking backwards, and leaving the diner.

You grumble under your breath, falling back into your seat. 

—-

Your fists grip the back of Tony’s leather coat as he speeds down the streets, the buildings the pair of you past start familiar then turn into brief remembrance then insignificant to you , the seat of his motorcycle bounces you both along the smooth road, the night air blows your hair out of your face as you squint past the harsh cold air. It's the middle of the night, and the roads are empty giving the man driving the freedom to be as careless as he wants, much to your dismay. Tony turns the corner sharply and you huddle closer to him, his back protects your face from the wind and this allows you to comfortably close your eyes, and settle your forehead against the hard planes of his back, at the center between his shoulder blades. You should be feeling cautious, traveling all alone with a strange man who now took you out of the city without any other way to get back home, you shouldn’t be so close but you are tired. From the emotional exertion you've been through in such a short time, from the fear that overtook your mind only hours ago, you would say you’re down right petrified that even you have become a mystery to yourself and your body has betrayed itself at its most vulnerable. Even sleep feels like walking on the edge, another dangerous path with more pain and fear at the end of it.

Tony's bike feels bumpier now, you open your eyes and see that you both have left Redgrave City, and made it to the countryside with massive open fields and unclaimed land. You breathe in the smell of nature that cleanses the smokey air of your city. You smell fresh cut grass and wheat, the cool scent But even so, this is not your destination, not yet. 

You watch with silence as the grass rushing past you both slowly shortens closer and closer to the dirt. The once vibrant healthy green grass that shines with the moonlight and sparkles from water droplets becomes dull and dry, the grass becomes hay-like and patchy until it reaches a dead empty field with nothing at all, just rocky and muddy open land, uncared for and unwanted, just…forgotten. 

The ride lasts longer than expected, if you could count the miles that fly past you you would just to know how far from home you really are, you would. Tony’s bike slides to a halt, your face makes impact with his back, once again caught off guard by the quickness of his pause. You peel yourself off his leather and slowly stare up, at the back of his head. your eye half lid, exhausted. It’s quiet, for the first time in hours your ears aren’t vibrating with the rumbling of his motorbike. Your head still buzzes from the lasting effects of such a noise but eases to a state of tranquility. The faint whispered song of crickets and wind blowing rocks and sand make for a peaceful lullaby of white noise. Your eyes close again, peace. 

“You can stop squeezing me now.” You hear Tony say, his tone doesn’t interrupt the peace, only reminds you of your present state before you can be swept off your feet by the breeze. You blink down at your arms to see they’ve traveled from the middle of his back around his midriff and were squeezing his sides. Slowly you release your grip on his shirt and jacket and lean back so you can rest your hands on his back properly. “Sorry,” You mutter, keeping your head low, too tired to feel embarrassed. 

Without another word, Tony kicks his bike back up and resumes the ride. 

The rest of the ride is quiet. Your eyes follow the passing gravel on the road but a slight nudge against your head by Tony’s shoulder alerts your attention. Your head raises to meet the back of his head but within your peripheral vision is the image of a building. Hard to make out with only moonlight but the silhouette tower and of a stone’s glittery surface still provides workable information.  

The tower grows taller and taller as the two of you travel closer. You watch as it grows peaks and its true shape is revealed to you. Then Tony decides that you are close enough, at least while on the bike, he turns sharply stopping the bike, your head turns to continue watching the tower. 

“A castle?” You mutter softly. 

Tony doesn't wait for you, he's up and off the bike in a matter of seconds leaving you scrambling off to rush after him. As you walk in you crane your head up to admire the exterior, in all its grand gothic glory, stony exterior with stained rocks. Moss and moldy stains cover the bottom; the green infectious plant climbs up all sides and in between the cracks made due to time. You stare into the tinted glass windows. It's unclear what the imagery is meant to be, but the reflection of purples, greens, and yellows shine and are made cold in the moonlight. The doors however aren't as ornate as you would've expected. Two simple wooden doors with chipped cracks and a discolored bottom from years worth of rain and mud. Still they tower above you but Tony opens them with ease.

You stand behind Tony as he enters the building, given no time to hesitate or even ask him. Come to discover the tower is actually a church. Two rows of long pews fill the room. You look up, the ceiling is high with a grand chandelier holding dozens of candles. The front holds a simple wooden altar and layers and layers of deep velvet curtains hide the back of the room. The rich fabric is torn and eaten but still beautiful. The moon seems to have aligned with one of the stained windows, a perfect round spotlight shines into the room casting a blue light over the center of the room. Your shoes tap on the wooden floor as you walk deeper and deeper in, your hand reaches out and your palm slides over the backrest of one of the pews, its smooth polished and cool under your hand. Your eyes search for something within your mind…a hint of familiarity. 

Suddenly all the candles in the room light at once causing a hot gust of air to warm your chilled bodies and like that the nave is lit bright orange and yellow. You jump and latch onto Tony’s arm walking side by side with him as he delves deeper. You gaze up at him with a confused look. “How are you so calm?” You whisper, but Tony does not answer. He simply looks around turning his head to listen from each corner, listening for what?

Tony’s arm then escapes yours and instead wraps themselves around your waist, he jumps back with you in his hold and you watch as a large blade penetrates from under the floor where you both once stood. The large blade wiggles and pulls out from the ground. A translucent figure immerges from under ground up. Your breath grows tight and you cover your mouth with your hand to keep from screaming. Your eyes bulge wide watching the figure become more and more visible. Its sunken humanoid face was bony and thin, almost skeletal, like a decaying corpse. The mouth was full of grey teeth and black gums, straight like stone. Your heart pounds with fear and you grip your shirt in your fist. Your attention is unable to tear away from it for if you do it would be upon you in a mere moment. It wore a black cape with a hood that covered the rest of its body, between the curtain of its cape a long curved blade was revealed reflecting the candlelight. It was sharp, that was apparent but its underside was jagged, chipped in little hooks that would tear into skin and not allow it to be freed without damage. 

Red glowing angry eyes pulse and follow your every movement despite having no irises or pupils to track. They bulge out from the sockets, full of blood and rage. 

Tony’s arms let you go and push you back behind him, you stumble backwards unsure what to do and paralyzed with fear. “T-Tony…wh…what?” 

“Get back! Go!”

You take step after step back, your eyes focused obsessively on the monstrous figure. Its arms raised out from under the cape holding the long sword. It swung the sword in Tony’s direction, and Tony jumped back avoiding the blade by a hair’s length. Tony reaches back and releases his own sword, he holds it at his side as though it were weightless. He puts a hand at his hip and lightly chuckles.

“You know, for such a big blade you got some terrible aim, overcompensating much?”

The monstrous figure grinds its teeth; you swear bits of the grey enamel fall out of its mouth in pebbles. It floats up expanding its arms so the cape flies open once again. Black surrounds you and Tony the candles all go out with one quick swoop of its cape, leaving you both in pitch darkness once again. Only darker now, not even the light of the moon is enough to make three steps ahead of you visible. 

You walk backwards until your fingertips feel out the surface of the church walls. You press your back to it. 

Glowing red, once a pair of two now multiply to three, and in a whispered dry, crackling, voice you hear it speak. 

I will admit that the scene made me uncomfortable because a relationship like that is, at the end of the day, inappropriate. He's a doctor who worked on her late husband, and this could cause issues for his career in the future.

But calling Amy an evil, manipulative bitch who "trapped" Dennis is out of hand. He is a fully grown man who makes his own decisions. He works on the farm because he misses home. He works on the farm because it helps Amy, a recently widowed woman, and he helps with the baby because Amy is a newly single mother. (I don't even think he's taking care of the kid, just the farm work.)

She says nothing. She doesn't hug him or even touch him if I'm recalling correctly. Dennis is a comfort. She is most likely still grieving her husband, and Dennis offered to help. If anything, Amy is more vulnerable than he is, but it's not a competition.

He is a kind man. He likes to help people, and to him, Amy is a person in need. I truly don't think Whitaker is the type to take advantage of a situation like that. She's busy with her baby, it's not an easy task.

In conclusion, yes, the relationship is inappropriate and not in his best interest to continue, but it's not some scheme that Amy created to make him do "free labor" Or be a "replacement" for her dead husband.

(I didn't want to get into the shipping aspect of this, but I think this is another case of shippers villainizing a woman because she "gets in the way" that's just an entire different issue that I have with fanbases.)

Doesn't he know men have to kill women in order to actually face punishment? Silly man.

Other men have gone into detail about how they want to abuse women, many even do. And what do you know? They haven't had their lives ruined.

Thoughts on Ogilve. From this most recent episode, my thoughts on evil Whitaker has begun to shift. He hasn't earned back my graces, but I think i might be starting to understand him and his character more. After his conversation with the English teacher patient, I believe his parents, or at least father, held up a certain standard of intellectualism throughout Ogilvie's upbringing. This is why he thinks that if a person is smart enough, they have the innate ability to overcome problems such as addiction. It's strange since drug addiction is as much a physical condition as it is a mental one the same way Howard struggled with weight gain.

For as smart as he is, Ogilve is ignorant and still just a student trying to learn. Learning leads to imperfections, and Ogilve doesn't know how to cope with making mistakes that's why when he pulled out that piece of glass from an artery or forgot to check a patient in depth, he freezes. He doesn't do the intubation because he's paralyzed by his failure.

Ogilve wasn't given room for mistakes, and his fear of making them led to him being unempathetic to the complex situations of other people, the same way Javadi is held up to a standard by her mother and is given no room to breathe. Though, in Ogilvie's case, he decided to pursue a career that differs his father's, which is why their relationship is implied to be so strained.

--————

To be honest, I was nervous about how they would handle the ICE subplot. But in my opinion, they did a decent job showing the tension people have around deportation agents. And I like that Robby acknowledged that it's the two "agents" that cause people to be afraid and doesn't blame the citizen status of anyone. However, him going off on one of the agents is exactly what caused the fight afterwards.

These men are dangerous because they have a need to feel superior. The agent that Robby yelled at was quick to dismiss the care of his detainee and quick to make demands. Because Robby humiliated him so he needed to replenish his ego by making people afraid. That is exactly the type of people working for ICE men with superiority complexes that don't like to be told off.

I also found it interesting that both agents (if I'm remembering correctly) have Hispanic sounding surnames and are not white. This is to me, as a hispanic woman, to show the divide within our culture of immigrants or descendents of immigrants. (It might be a stretch, but whatever.)

------

Javadi's mom is pissing me off. She had no right to accuse her daughter of making a mistake just because she made one a few hours earlier. And even if she wasn't her mother, to point the finger and single out a student is never the way to go in such a critical moment.

She was basically telling her that she's beginning to doubt her capabilities in the medical field. Javadi might not admit it, but she's under a ton of pressure to be the best, to be the smartest, the quickest, and the youngest doctor. That is why she butted heads with Ogilve because he is competition and a challenge to prove herself.

————

No notes Dr. Whitaker you're perfect <3

————

No, but seriously, I think he's trying to reach out to Santos, but she's pushing him away. Living with her allowed him to see and get comfortable with her sarcasm, shitty nicknames, and, at times, her cruelty.

He noticed an issue with her composure and reached out only to be met with a wall.

Honestly, we didn't get to see much of him this latest episode, but we'll see.

————

NOOO, NOT EMMA PLEASE!!

——————

That man is broke

Surviving on a set salary

Not being paid

Or unemployed