marmalade haze

Seawater tasted horrible when flavored with metal.

Dante cursed every god he knew as another demon rushed at him, jacket torn and skin stretched open, freely dyeing the scenery. It took him no more than a second to lift the needle gun and fire through the creature’s skull, a muted screech leaving it as its limp body slowly dissolved.

Whatever was in the ocean was stopping his skin from stitching up, and damn if it didn’t burn like hell. He bit his lip, despite knowing it would be useless to prevent any more water from flooding into his lungs. The world was swimming—a funny gift from the assholes in charge, he was sure—as he struggled to keep a grip on the gun, the weight slowly slipping from his hand.

Born in water, perish in soil. Of course, Dante had to throw off the order of the natural world, a specialty of his, he realized.

The water at his side parted, but he felt no malice as shadows crossed his face, trembling hands turning his head up.

“Dante!”

The kid practically looked like an angel—a bloodied and bruised one, but an angel nonetheless.

The corner of his mouth curved up, and he opened his mouth to greet Sora, but not even a moment passed before the feeling of salt scraping down his throat overwhelmed him.

For being known as a “fun and recreational” hobby, swimming was a larger pain in the ass than Dante realized.

That, or he had failed to read where “bleeding to death” was listed in the magazines.

Everything went dark, and Dante wondered if he had brought any spare yellow orbs.

“Dante!”

It burned. If Dante weren’t used to being swung around, he probably would have vomited as the scenery righted itself, shapes and colors no longer bleeding into one another. Something scraped against his lips, the grip on his head tight as air was forced into his lungs, the water slowly drawing out.

He opened his eyes, Sora pressing forward once more and breathing life into him.

(That’s right, the kid had that kind of magic touch.)

Slowly, he reached up and brushed Sora’s bangs back, offering a thumbs up and winking.

I’m okay.

Relief washed over Sora’s features. He smiled brightly, hands still trembling on Dante’s face, grip no longer forceful. Carefully, he let go, giving the man a once-over to make sure Dante wouldn’t collapse onto the rotted ship floor. He floated backward through the water, exhaustion clinging to his form and keyblade limp in his hand.

He’d have to treat the kid to some dinner afterward. A small thanks for being magical and saving his ass from a painful seizure session.

A creak sounded. Dante noticed that a board had fallen loose from the ceiling, no doubt disturbed by the struggle that had been going on moments before.

Well, as the saying went, if an exit didn’t exist, fuck the place up.

Before he could motion at Sora, a swift force threw him back against the wall, side burning as his open wound scraped against the needle gun. He gripped his head, trying to right his disorientation, when a garbled yell cut through the water.

Dante turned to see their new company sink its jaw into Sora’s shoulder, a cracking sounding through the water as teeth crushed the shoulder blade beneath. Sora’s eyes were impossibly wide, keyblade disappearing in his pain as he weakly tried to struggle against the demon.

Swirls of blood danced around the two, and Dante felt a terror in the pit of his stomach.

It was going to happen again.

No.

He was going to lose everyone again.

No, no.

He would be all alone again.

No!

A snarl left his lips, his body no longer caring about its wrecked state, lifting the gun and aiming right for the demon’s eyes. It turned to him, pulling back from Sora’s shoulder, licking its lips of blood—god, god, god! Sora was losing too much, his body getting limper by the second—and practically smiled, a piece of flesh hanging from the end of its fangs.

Dante wasn’t sure who roared first.

There was a sharp pain in his hand; the weight of the gun no longer present. He never remembered it falling to the ship floor, never remembered how he got so close to Sora and the demon.

(He did, however, remember shoving his hands into the demon’s jaws and ripping its head apart, the thing still attempting one last bite.

If asked, he probably could have named the feeling he felt when the tip of a fang dug into the open wound of his palm, an odd sort of humanity entering the demon’s eyes as it suddenly feared for its life.)

Swiftly, Dante scooped up Sora’s body and swam towards the exit, the demon’s shredded body slowly dissolving behind them.

The good thing was that the kid was still breathing.

The bad? It was nothing more than a hollow whisper, Sora’s eyes heavy and body limp.

Dante readjusted his coat beneath Sora, holding his hand tightly, trying to keep some sort of warmth flowing through him. Sora smiled at him weakly, and Dante squeezed his hand.

It wouldn’t be like before.

(He wouldn’t let it.)

“Rough waters?” He asked, feeling through his pockets and pulling out various items. Holy water would do no good.

Sora’s eyelids fluttered closed, wet bangs plastered to his forehead, softly laughing. He flinched, grimacing through the pain, the raw meat of his shoulder exposed and bubbling, no doubt from a poison the bastard had in its system. The kid’s shoulder was practically blending in with his coat at this point.

Dante gathered the vitality star and yellow orbs in his hand, the combined weight agitating the healing flesh of his palm. He brushed back Sora’s bangs gently, “Kid, I need you to trust me real quick.”

Sora leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. “I already do.”

(If he weren’t currently shoving down every panicked thought at that moment, perhaps Dante would have tried to crack a joke and lighten the mood.

Despair never made for good wine.)

Gently, he laid Sora’s head back down, calling forth Ifrit and encasing his hand in the warm steel. With his other hand, he squeezed the items tightly till they cracked, the shattered pieces reopening his wound, liquid pooling in his palm.

Fire flared from his fist, dying down to a quiet simmer as he shoved the crushed items into his mouth.

Sora’s breathing was faint.

Ifrit made contact with Sora’s shoulder, and the boy screamed, body violently arching. Quickly, Dante grabbed Sora’s chin and mashed their lips together, forcing the crushed healing items and his blood into Sora’s mouth. Sora’s body tried to spit them out, unused to the foreign remedies, but Dante forced his tongue in and shoved the fragments down the boy’s throat, withholding a grimace as Sora’s teeth clamped down around his tongue. His muscle was thick enough to withstand the force; Sora’s teeth aiding the flow of blood entering his mouth.

The skin beneath Ifrit was beginning to stitch itself back together, and Dante silently thanked a higher power that Sora’s body was open to change.

(He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if there had been another corpse carved into his heart.)

Sora’s hands knotted themselves in the fabric of his shirt, blunt nails piercing through Dante’s skin as the boy tried to ride out the shock his body was undergoing. Gently, he licked the roof of Sora’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, prompting the kid to relax his jaw, teeth no longer holding him in a vice grip.

He moved his hand to cup Sora’s face, gently brushing his thumb over the cheek as the trembles and spasms lessened. Slowly, Dante lifted Ifrit, Sora whimpering against his lips as the hot metal peeled away from newly formed skin.

It would take a while before the healing took full effect, but for now, it seemed like the worst of the situation had passed.

Absentmindedly, Dante thumbed over the sensitive skin, pulling back, Sora gasping for air.

Bright but tired eyes stared up at him.

Dante smiled. “Hey.”

Sora returned the gesture. “Hey,” he leaned his head back against the coat, eyes drooping, “I’m tired.”

He wrapped the coat around Sora, gathering the boy in his arms, careful as he held him close, trying to warm his still cold and recovering body. “I bet.”

It took no longer than a second for Dante to feel Sora’s breathing slow, quiet and steady, as the boy fell asleep. He leaned against the cave wall, one hand on Sora’s wrist and one near his holster. The cave was calm, only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling, the water still around the boat.

Still, it never hurt to be prepared.

His wounds were already healing, skin reworking itself anew, a process that was almost as common as breathing to him. Dante snorted softly. Maybe he should thank his body once in a while.

Sora huddled closer to his chest, complexion still faint but slowly returning. Dante brushed his thumb over Sora’s wrist, relieved at the pulse that thrummed in response. He closed his eyes, holding Sora close, the weight of his amulet almost burning against his neck.

Third time’s the charm, it seemed.