Author's Notes: This story, Antidote, is the sequel to the DMC fanfic entitled Poison. The sequence of events is connected in a linear fashion; Antidote begins a few hours after the conclusion of Poison.

This is the abridged version of Antidote. In the same vein as the abridged Poison that is posted here on FF, the last few chapters have been cut to prevent innocent eyes from being seared blind by senseless, vengeful, obscenely violent smut. Again, like Poison, the full version is hosted on AFF under penname kidavi. Antidote contains references to the full version of Poison; if you haven't read all 8 chapters + the epilogue of Poison, you will not get some of these references.

WARNING: This abridged version of Antidote contains warnings for: extreme violence / guro, twincest (incest between twins), weapons bondage, and asphyxiation.

The full lemon version of Antidote contains extreme violence / guro, twincest (incest between twins), weapons bondage, asphyxiation, and hardcore yaoi.

Disclaimer: Characters are the sole property of Capcom's Devil May Cry franchise and are being used (and abused) in naughty ways without permission.

Story Context: This story takes place shortly after Devil May Cry 3 and requires you to be familiar with the characters, story, weapons, and conclusion. There are references in the story that you won't get unless you've played DMC3 in its entirety.

The story contains spoilers for DMC3, so if you plan on playing the game (or are playing but haven't finished), you may not want to read this fanfic just yet.

Final Note: Please comment / review, and I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter I

He was dying.

She had cleaned and dressed the wounds as best she could, but the bandages had been saturated scarlet within minutes. Add to that the shocking smears that stained the floor and desk, she knew he had lost too much blood— even for a demon.

And now he was dying.

She knew from the cold pallor of his cheeks, the icy stiffness of his fingers in her hand; had she done everything she could? The panic she had been fighting down for the last several hours had worn her thin and ragged; clutching Dante's cold hand in her own warm one, Lady tried to gather her fragmented thoughts together.

She felt no hesitation in attributing the situation to Vergil.

It was true that, when she had seen him leave, the elder twin had claimed he wasn't responsible for poisoning Dante, and she had believed him— she still believed him. But there was no doubt in her mind that her companion was now dying from wounds inflicted by Vergil's sword Yamato.

Was the twisted older Sparda twin just torturing them both? She remembered Vergil's words clearly:

He needs your help. He and I have a date to keep…

But Dante was going to die before that date. Right now, she couldn't see any way around that. She allowed herself to consider calling an ambulance for a few seconds, but the fleeting thought was ridiculous. What could mortal medicine possibly do for a poisoned half-demon?

She knew firsthand what Dante's demon blood was capable of. She had shot him in the head herself, fought with him… her hatred for devils in general wouldn't permit her to be envious of his healing ability, but it was usually a comforting thought to know that he wouldn't go down easily in a fight.

That had changed now though.

She wondered how he'd been poisoned in the first place; and she wondered why Vergil had attacked him while he was weak. Through her own experience and what little she could gather from Dante himself, she thought she knew just enough about the older twin to be confident in his honor.

She had thought. I was wrong, came the bitter realization, as she watched the shallow, uneven rise and fall of Dante's chest.

Her thoughts were becoming muddled now, and her nerves were shot. Her back was stiff and her knees hurt from kneeling for hours on the hard floor. Hopelessness was settling, cold and heavy, into her gut. Almost unconsciously, she let go of Dante's hand; it dropped heavily over the edge of the battered couch. Lady curled her legs up to her chest and leaned back against the stiff leather. She rested her forehead on her knees and felt a few tears squeeze themselves out from beneath her lashes.

She heaved a sigh that stuck in her throat and came out as a choked sob. Stay awake, she demanded of herself, though sleep was tugging insistently at her.

Stay awake…

o-o-o

"You know, if you just came over here to sleep, you could've crawled into bed with me," came a cocky voice from above her.

Her grogginess clearing in an instant, Lady's head snapped up; she stared, dumbfounded, at Dante, who was standing over her grinning.

Lady felt her jaw drop. He was still shirtless, but the bandages were gone— and there wasn't a mark on him. No trace of injury scarred his perfectly muscled torso… she quickly averted her eyes before (she hoped) he caught her gaping.

He crouched in front of her, and her gaze wandered back over his face. His expression was uncharacteristically tender; his usually piercing blue eyes glowed softly silver. "Thanks," he said simply. For once, his voice held none of its usual over-the-top swagger.

Lady felt her heart flutter somewhere in the region of her throat, the memory of a distant and well-kept promise tickling the back of her brainstem…

(…Now, because of you, I know what I have to do… Don't worry, I'll make things right for you— that's what my soul is telling me to do.)

She felt her cheeks grow warm under his gaze. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," she managed lamely.

"Thanks to you," he said, standing again.

"Not really," she protested. "I… couldn't really do much." It was painful to admit, but at least he seemed fine now.

"Nah, you cared." He turned and walked toward the blood-stained desk. "Turns out that was enough, I guess," he said; she noticed with a twinge of irritation that the typical maddening nonchalance had crept back into his demeanor.

Lady felt herself smile; she remained sitting on the hard floor, leaning against the couch (her legs were weak with relief; she doubted they'd support her if she tried to stand) as she watched Dante mill about the office.

He was scuffing his boot on the blood-stained floor, examining the dried gore on the desk in disgust.

"Sonuvabitch," Lady heard him mumble under his breath.

He was stalking over to the rack where she had hung his bloody jacket that morning (was it night again already?); he plucked it from its hook, examined it, and cursed softly again.

Lady's blood was starting to run colder now; a suppressed rage was slowly pervading the room as Dante stalked back and forth, collecting his scattered belongings: his holster harness, Ebony and Ivory. Every move seemed to grow angrier and more abrupt. By the time he practically ripped his sword off the wall, the demonic aura was palpable in the air.

He was opening the front door before Lady could summon the courage to ask:

"Dante… where are you going…?"

He paused but didn't look back at her. "For a drink," he growled… then slammed the door behind him so hard the windowpanes rattled and glass cracked.

In spite of herself, Lady sighed in relief as the heavy atmosphere melted away. She stood up stiffly and rolled her eyes— she should have known he would leave her to clean up this gory mess.

As her gaze traveled around the room taking in the damage, she noticed Rebellion was still hanging in its allotted place on the wall. The empty hook next to it… which sword had he taken?

Lady frowned to herself as Vergil's final comment from yesterday drifted back to her.

"He and I have a date to keep… and make sure to remind him to bring Father's sword to the party."

Of course, Lady hadn't had a chance to tell Dante of her exchange with his brother; all the same, it didn't seem to matter now.