Fic: You Will Make It
Title: You Will Make It, You Will Make It Through
Notes: Island-verse, Dante/Teresa, follow-up to this.
Warnings: MORE AAAANGST. Why is it when I write these two, one of them ends up dead?
EDIT: have the fic's namesake while I'm here. ;w;
---
The entire island had lost its mind.
That was yesterday, though. Today, the madness, the paranoia, the hallucinations, all of the things that had kept Teresa holed up as far away from human contact as possible for the last three days is just... gone. The whole thing had been a sick island joke - sicker than most - but Teresa is grateful she had the good sense to get away. If she had stayed... well, she doesn't want to think about what she could have done. There's no time to think about that right now anyway, because she has someone she has to find.
Not that she doubts Dante's ability to take care of himself, but she's been looking for a long time now and she's starting to get worried.
Her first stop is the cave, but she only finds Nero there. He's sitting on the couch with his face buried in his hands, and can only manage to shake his head when she asks if he's seen Dante. The kid looks like he's seen better days, and she can only imagine what he's been through recently, but he's not her concern.
She moves on to the bar, but it's eerily empty. Then the inn, and while it's slightly less empty, there's no sign of Dante. She seeks out Sabrina and Emiri; the former says she hasn't seen him, the latter says she saw him the day before, but not recently, and both offer to help her look. The Claymore waves them off, telling them if they'd like to make their own efforts, they're welcome to. Teresa continues her search alone.
It takes her a while, but she finally finds them, and she doesn't need her sixth sense to tell her that Dante and Vergil are dead. It's an odd scene - both of them caked with blood, dried brown by the tropical heat, Dante's sword sticking out of Vergil's chest. It takes no great detective work to figure out how Dante died - most of the blood is his, and it's massed around his throat and down his chest.
In her place, most people would break down, or throw up, or some horrid combination of the two. Teresa just goes cold. Ice settles into her chest and she doesn't feel anything - she doesn't know what she would do if she allowed herself to show emotion, and she doesn't want to find out. She already has murder on her mind, and dicing Vergil to tiny bits while he's already dead would do her little good.
Carefully, oh so carefully, she pries the twins apart. She half-wonders if Vergil would heal himself when she tears Rebellion from his chest, but figures if he does... she'll kill him for his trouble. But no, the elder Sparda stays down; his life is in the island's hands now. Though, the thought gives her little solace when she realizes Dante's life is in those same hands. The hands of a sadistic landmass that caused them to kill each other in the first place.
She kicks Yamato into the brush - Vergil can find it later - gathers Dante and his weapons, and takes them back to the cave, leaving Vergil to the elements. Nero is still on the couch when she gets there, and he does a double take as she walks through, blue eyes wide with shock. He doesn't say anything, and whether he's silenced by the sight of Dante's body or the look on Teresa's face, Teresa doesn't know. Either way, he's wise to keep his mouth shut. She acknowledges Nero with only the barest of glances, steel gray and ice cold, and vanishes into Dante's room.
Teresa busies herself for as long as she can - cleaning Dante off, tending his weapons (well, the sword. The guns would have to fend for themselves), taking care of his coat (the days-old blood stubbornly clung to the leather, but she's glad for the distraction). It's all over and done too fast and, with nothing left to do, she sits beside him on the bed. Watching him lying there, motionless and oddly pale, is suddenly too much and her ice fortress finally crumbles. She cries. She cries and cries and cries until she doesn't have it in her to shed another tear. He would be back, she knew that. She'd seen it happen to other people, and they came back just fine. That knowledge doesn't lessen the pain, however.
Now there's nothing left to do but wait. She doesn't need sleep, she doesn't need food, and for the first time in a long, long time she's grateful for that.
When he comes back, she'll be there waiting.
Notes: Island-verse, Dante/Teresa, follow-up to this.
Warnings: MORE AAAANGST. Why is it when I write these two, one of them ends up dead?
EDIT: have the fic's namesake while I'm here. ;w;
---
The entire island had lost its mind.
That was yesterday, though. Today, the madness, the paranoia, the hallucinations, all of the things that had kept Teresa holed up as far away from human contact as possible for the last three days is just... gone. The whole thing had been a sick island joke - sicker than most - but Teresa is grateful she had the good sense to get away. If she had stayed... well, she doesn't want to think about what she could have done. There's no time to think about that right now anyway, because she has someone she has to find.
Not that she doubts Dante's ability to take care of himself, but she's been looking for a long time now and she's starting to get worried.
Her first stop is the cave, but she only finds Nero there. He's sitting on the couch with his face buried in his hands, and can only manage to shake his head when she asks if he's seen Dante. The kid looks like he's seen better days, and she can only imagine what he's been through recently, but he's not her concern.
She moves on to the bar, but it's eerily empty. Then the inn, and while it's slightly less empty, there's no sign of Dante. She seeks out Sabrina and Emiri; the former says she hasn't seen him, the latter says she saw him the day before, but not recently, and both offer to help her look. The Claymore waves them off, telling them if they'd like to make their own efforts, they're welcome to. Teresa continues her search alone.
It takes her a while, but she finally finds them, and she doesn't need her sixth sense to tell her that Dante and Vergil are dead. It's an odd scene - both of them caked with blood, dried brown by the tropical heat, Dante's sword sticking out of Vergil's chest. It takes no great detective work to figure out how Dante died - most of the blood is his, and it's massed around his throat and down his chest.
In her place, most people would break down, or throw up, or some horrid combination of the two. Teresa just goes cold. Ice settles into her chest and she doesn't feel anything - she doesn't know what she would do if she allowed herself to show emotion, and she doesn't want to find out. She already has murder on her mind, and dicing Vergil to tiny bits while he's already dead would do her little good.
Carefully, oh so carefully, she pries the twins apart. She half-wonders if Vergil would heal himself when she tears Rebellion from his chest, but figures if he does... she'll kill him for his trouble. But no, the elder Sparda stays down; his life is in the island's hands now. Though, the thought gives her little solace when she realizes Dante's life is in those same hands. The hands of a sadistic landmass that caused them to kill each other in the first place.
She kicks Yamato into the brush - Vergil can find it later - gathers Dante and his weapons, and takes them back to the cave, leaving Vergil to the elements. Nero is still on the couch when she gets there, and he does a double take as she walks through, blue eyes wide with shock. He doesn't say anything, and whether he's silenced by the sight of Dante's body or the look on Teresa's face, Teresa doesn't know. Either way, he's wise to keep his mouth shut. She acknowledges Nero with only the barest of glances, steel gray and ice cold, and vanishes into Dante's room.
Teresa busies herself for as long as she can - cleaning Dante off, tending his weapons (well, the sword. The guns would have to fend for themselves), taking care of his coat (the days-old blood stubbornly clung to the leather, but she's glad for the distraction). It's all over and done too fast and, with nothing left to do, she sits beside him on the bed. Watching him lying there, motionless and oddly pale, is suddenly too much and her ice fortress finally crumbles. She cries. She cries and cries and cries until she doesn't have it in her to shed another tear. He would be back, she knew that. She'd seen it happen to other people, and they came back just fine. That knowledge doesn't lessen the pain, however.
Now there's nothing left to do but wait. She doesn't need sleep, she doesn't need food, and for the first time in a long, long time she's grateful for that.
When he comes back, she'll be there waiting.