Devil May Cry 1. Prologue

**Warnings:** Eventual Homosexual Pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DMC, and I make no money from this story.

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><p>The milky, white moon, a soft beacon in the distance, hung low in the sky amongst dark, ashen clouds. The usual navy or cold pitch the sky above would have taken on at this hour was absent, instead replaced by a deep, almost black violet. There was no breeze blowing through the air, yet, strangely enough, one could not even feel the air around them. The atmosphere was, oddly, dead, an eerie silence looming over the stillness of the castle town below.<p>

On one side of town was a grand cathedral, surround by a half stone, half wrought iron wall and blocked off by surrounding buildings and a gate smacked between. There once was a fountain that stood before the cathedral, water pouring rhythmically from its single tier above the wide basin below while blissfully surrounded by kempt grass and potted plants that cast their dainty leaves over the edge of their marbled pots. Now was left an empty circle where that font once joyously poured in praise of this glorious town and the god it worshiped, a dingy puddle in the midst of crumbled debris as if the shattered stone had wept a lake in memory of its former glory.

Atop the cathedral was a small, glass dome, centered above a wooden circle of floor and a baluster between two artfully carved pillars to cast a spotlight on the podium when the lights inside were dimmed. The skylight too, however, had been destroyed, shattered as if a piece of the sky itself had fallen through, scattering thick shards of glass upon the floor below. Now the weather that found entry through that busted glass had ruined the wood that had long since begun to rot. The smooth tile that once was flawless was eroded around the edges and grouted by green mold. The moonlight trickled freely through the open roof, seeming to sparkle with the particles of dust that floated through it and shining brightly to the floor as if finally able to reach in and touch it.

On the still-intact steps out front sat a figure not quite familiar with this entire town, but almost fused with this one area, he knew it so well. He had only one day in his memory that he was here and yet he felt he could remember every grain in the wood of the pews inside. The memory was so vivid in his mind because he had chosen to never forget it when he walked out of this town a whole year ago. It was not the cathedral that was the focal point of his memory, however, but the one he battled inside it. How could he possibly forget that white-haired wildfire that flew so gracefully through the air, navy coat flying behind as those long legs stretched out to wrap around his waist?

_Where is he?_

The single question echoed through Dante's mind as he sat on the steps of Fortuna's abandoned cathedral, propped on his elbows against the steps behind him and laid back so that he had a very clear view of the sky above the many rooftops and spires jutting up toward the stars. Quietly, he reminisced about the day he had first met Nero, staring off blankly through lowered, dark lashes that swept across his cheekbones and cast crescent shadows on his pale skin. It had only been a little over seven months since the devil hunter had last seen the younger man, yet it seemed like an eternity had crawled by at his feet.

From the very day they parted and Dante had walked so reluctantly away from Nero, he knew he would never truly be able to stay away from the only other living part-demon he knew. It was evident that some sort of connection had set itself up inside and bonded them together, for his heart had ached and yearned to return to this town since the day he walked out of it and boarded the ferry back to his own city on the mainland. His thoughts stayed brimming with images of Nero while he mournfully replayed the younger hunter's voice over and over in his mind. It sounded exactly as he remembered and yet Dante always feared that the Nero in his mind was nothing like the real man he was here to see today. Nothing would be sweeter than seeing that tangible, living face and hearing that biting, cocky voice as it playfully insulted him.

That day when this whole town was plagued by death and destruction, purposely overrun by demons, was the last day he had come here. Dante had never planned to return, but the pain that stabbed and twisted itself in his chest every time his mind drifted to the memory of Nero was enough to convince the devil hunter that he had to come back here. He had been sitting on these steps for over an hour now, waiting for Nero to show up. The funniest and possibly most pathetic thing about it, Dante thought, was that he had never made a plan with Nero to meet him here. Nero most likely didn't even know that Dante was anywhere near Fortuna. Yet, still, Dante expected Nero to find him. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Dante was almost entirely sure that Nero would feel that same pull on his own heartstrings, pulling the younger man to Dante, for even as the older man waited impatiently in such a forsaken place, his own were urging him off to the northeast of Fortuna, toward who else but Nero?

Perhaps, Nero would never find him. He may not even be alive or in Fortuna anymore. Maybe, Dante would never see him again, but the devil hunter seldom allowed the possibilities to sway him. He had always been one to wing it.


	2. Fate

Warnings: Eventual Homosexual Pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

Disclaimer: I do not own DMC, and I make no money from this story.

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><p>Green tendrils of ivy climbed a trellis on the side of an old apartment building in the west of Fortuna, nearly framing one window that was open despite the cool night temperatures and the unpredictable thunderstorms that had been assaulting the island for weeks. A group of men, a small fleet of Holy Knights, slowly marched by beneath the suspiciously opened window as they patrolled for those breaking the mandatory curfew, but seldom took notice. As they passed the flank of the apartment complex and were just turning a corner, a head of white hair cautiously peeked around the windowsill. Nero waited until the coast was clear before glowing, blue claws grasped the frame and balanced the part-devil as he placed the toes of his boots in the open diamonds of the trellis and gingerly climbed down, moving as slowly as possible despite his urgency so that the weight of the heavy bags on his left shoulder wouldn't drag him down.<p>

Once on the ground, he inhaled a deep breath, looked around and started slowly walking down the cobbled street with careful steps, hugging the sides of buildings so that the shadows would provide some coverage. He didn't care where he had to go, he was leaving tonight. Nero sighed quietly, blue eyes shifting to stare guiltily at the glint of gold on his left hand. Kyrie had been gone for three months now. Nero was proud of her, that the timid and paranoid woman would leave the island to work as a missionary for the church. Additionally, she was volunteering at a children's hospital. It probably helped that several other women and one knight had also gone. She wouldn't have the courage to leave by herself.

_But at least she left,_ Nero thought. Though it made him feel so low and dirty, he had been waiting to escape, to leave Fortuna since that fateful day last year that he watched Dante walk away. He hadn't realized it at first, but the longer he simply lived in Port Caerula after that, the more misplaced he felt. It was an anxious feeling, a tense one that he needed to be somewhere else. There was this tugging sensation that seemed to attempt to gravitate him toward the shore and overseas. Additionally, Nero noticed that he thought about Dantedespite that he was out of sight and supposed to be out of mindfar too much. Defensively, he had pushed it to the back of his mind, but now that Kyrie wasn't around, Nero had nothing to distract him.

After walking dangerously heedless to his surroundings for nearly ten minutes, Nero realized he was walking toward the old opera housethe one that had been destroyed when he and Dante had their first battle.

"What am I doing?" Nero quietly scolded himself. Pursing his lips into a tight line, he inhaled a deep breath through his nose, rolling his eyes before he sharply pushed the breath out. It was only when Nero was about to turn on his heel and head in the opposite direction that he noticed the scent he had inhaled during his melodramatic display. Whiffing the air again, Nero easily detected the direction of the source. It was indeed coming from the old cathedral and Nero was left wondering if it was simply a coincidence or something more. It must have been the latter for that pull that he had managed to ignore up until then kicked in tenfold and he let his legs carry him off without another thought.

Before he knew it, he was running. Nero seldom paid attention to everything around him. His focus was centered on the path directly in front of him, and the only thought that passed through his mind was that maybe this year had paid off after all. It had to be fate that the night he was leaving, he would smell that very scent he had only remembered and would be drawn, not to the docks of the ferry, but to the very place where his whole life's changing had begun. He thought he heard a voice, a man's, and then feet thundering down the road after him.

_The knights! Shit!_ Nero gritted his teeth and sprinted harder. If there was one thing he could do and do well, it was run. His legs were powerful from years of exercise and training. He could agilely sprint and evade like a swift gazelle being tailed by a lion. If he wanted, he could run nearly all the way up the side of a building and vault himself onto its roof. The knights would have no hope of catching him then. However, that wouldn't get him to the opera house any quicker. It was off to itself and leaping from rooftop-to-rooftop before his supply of buildings ended would only stall the knights for a very short time. So, he did what it seemed he did best: he persisted. The wildly undulating muscles of his legs burned with the harsh movements, but nothing was going to stop him. Not after he had waited this long.

Eventually, after taking a few little detours, Nero no longer heard footsteps following himand just in time, too. He neared the courtyard gates, but seldom slowed down. They were chained shut. No problemwith the velocity he had built up, Nero simply ran up one side of the stone arch that sheltered the wrought iron gates, locking onto the lip of the top with his claws and launching himself over into the courtyard. He landed with a heavy thud on the ground and jumped to the side to hide in the shadows, out of the lines of sight of the knights that ran by the gates shortly after. Once he was sure they were gone, if only for a little while, Nero turned his attention to the atrium that he hadn't visited since the day it was destroyed. Chunks of rubble and the remains of the old fountain were piled up in the center, small pools and streams of water trickling between the grout of the the cobblestone around them. The grass was wildly overgrown, and the plants that had once been in decorative pots on pedestals had rooted themselves into the ground and grown over the shards of ceramic. Despite a few things, it looked relatively the same as the last day he saw it.

What really caught his attention was the glint of silver that streaked across something in the distance when he turned his head. Nero's focus abruptly shifted to the figure sitting on the steps of the opera house, knowing fully well who it was before he had ever laid eyes on him. The man had his head tipped back slightly, the moonlight catching him in a rather striking light. That silver he had seen was his hair. His face was mostly relaxed though there seemed to be a slight tension to his brow that Nero had never seen before. He had to know that Nero was there; he had never missed anything before, as far as Nero knew. Still, Nero took a few very quiet, cautious steps forward, not wanting to alert the man. He just looked so concentrated and solitary within his own mind. Though Nero only barely knew him, it was an expression that the younger hunter never expected to see on the older male.

Unbeknownst to Nero, a smirk just slightly quirked the corners of his mouth. It was one of triumph and relief like one might have when their guess on a gameshow ended up being correct.

_Yes!_ Dante thought. He never had truly expected Nero to show up, but had he been hoping for it? Humbly, he allowed his mind to admit to himself that, yes, he had. He heard Nero take a few more steps closer, though he stopped to hesitate as if unsure of whether he should proceed or not.

"Long time, no see, eh, Kid?" The words flowed from his tongue like smoke from a warm candle, though slightly strained, flickering with the flurry of emotions that assaulted him at being finally close to the one he had been urged to find for over a year. He told himself he could boldly and smoothly talk to this young man again, after all this time, just as he had before. Curious questions assaulted his mind, however. How much will Nero have changed? Has his life been good or bad since they last spoke? Was he still on the man's good side or had that same pull assailed the younger part-devil and thus caused the younger man to finally resent him? He felt the oddest tinge of nervousness in his gut. Nero seemed a little too hesitant to speak at first, biting his tongue and quickly trying to think of what he should say.

"What dragged you here, Old Man? I figured that faulty hip of yours wouldn't 'ave taken you far." His cocky, competitive side would save his ass... sometimes.

Dante barked out that boisterous laughter of his, his head falling forward as frosty blue eyes finally opened. The sight of Nero standing before him was more pleasant than he ever thought it would be. That same hair, those eyes, those long legs that he remembered all too wellNero hadn't changed a bit.

"Same for yourself, Kid. Bet'cha 'bout broke your neck trying to climb out of your crib." Nero huffed a single chuckle, a wide smile that was so uncharacteristic of the younger hunter spreading across his face. A similar one spread across Dante's, and the older man realized he had waited far too long to come back here. He wondered if Nero felt the same.

"Good to see ya', Kid," he said lowly, fondly as the intense smile gradually faded from his face. Nero was still beaming as he spoke.

"Seriously," Nero said, taking a moment to look over his shoulder and listen closely to make sure no one was coming before he continued, "what are you doing here?"

Dante bit his tongue, wondering how to lie and make it sound convincing. The halfbreed didn't even truly know himself.

"Just thought I'd drop in for a visit."

"Don't you live really far away?" Nero asked with a quirked brow. Dante smoothly brushed that question off, hoping Nero wouldn't be too suspicious.

"What about you? Why're you out this late? Shouldn't you be home with that girl of yours? ...Karen?"

"Kyrie," Nero corrected, a bitter taste in his mouth. "She's... not here. She's on a missionary trip on the mainland."

_Of course,_ Dante thought. _Good girl._

"So, what'cha got all those bags for? You goin' to see her or something?" Nero made a tiny sound of distress in his throat, not wanting to talk about Kyrie. It was because of her that he had taken so long to build up the gall to leave this place. He didn't need any risk of regression.

"I'm leaving," he said simply.

"Leaving?" Dante repeated in question.

"Yeah," Nero confirmed, "I'm just tired of being here. I wanna get out and see something more... exciting." Lieshe was running from his problems.

"I can understand that," Dante said more to himself in reference of how utterly quiet and orderly Fortuna was. It was completely geometric; if Nero was anything like himself, he needed something more unorganized, wild, dirty and organic. Even so, Dante knew that wasn't the reason he was leaving. The kid wasn't a very good liar. Still, maybe it would give Dante the chance he inexplicably needed.

"Well, you're welcome to come with me," The devil hunter said, feigning nonchalance. No matteryears of training himself to be utterly calm and expressionless, when need be, would be enough to convince even the sharpest people, especially this young man, who could be rather dense at times.

"R-really?" Nero asked, wondering at first if he should respond at all. He decided halfway through to pull the word back and lock it away forever, but it slipped out without his permission. Half of him pretended he didn't care while the other half was silently hoping that the other man hadn't just offered up an invitation simply for the sake of Nero's good impression of him. Dante was honestly surprised that Nero took the bait so quickly. Maybe he really was eager to leave.

"Of course," Dante said, "we'd make a good team, don't'cha think, Kid?" Dante's grin was teasing.

"Are you bustin' my balls?"

Dante barked a laugh. "No, I'm serious. Come with me." This was too easy. Dante almost felt disappointed not to have had to work a little more for it. Now maybe all the confusing things he had felt over the past months would stop if their whole reason for existing was right by his side.

"Okay," Nero said, seeming to mull it over a moment longer before speaking a little with more certainty. "Hell—_sure_. It's not like I would've had anywhere to stay once I left."

"Cool. So, you wanna leave now? Think I hear the army comin'."

"Oh, shit." Nero said immediately. He heard it too. No, not heard, smelled. Apparently, all the knights in Port Caerula, not just the ones that had seen him, were now searching for him and were rapidly approaching his location.

"C'mon," Nero said urgently. "We've gotta get out of here now."

Dante obediently jumped to his feet to follow Nero, who took off as soon as the words left his lips. Both devils leaped the gate with ease, but Dante would admit he had a little trouble keeping up with Nero once they started running through the town. Though there wasn't much of a difference between the two, Nero was just enough smaller than himself to be more agile. He dodged through alleyways and bounded down streets like a jackrabbit on the run. A big burly wolf chasing a swift little rabbitthat was exactly what he felt like. Dante knew where they were headed though. They were running for the port, the same one that Dante himself had come in from earlier. It must have been the fact that people rarely ever visited or left Fortuna that prevented the knights from keeping a very close eye on it.

"Shit!" Dante heard Nero curse beneath his breath. The younger part-devil stopped so abruptly that Dante skidded to a halt just a foot short from smacking into his back. And no sooner than he had stopped did the younger man turn and take off to Dante's right. The older man restarted his legs and tried to catch up as best he could.

_That's what I forgot!_ Nero yelled disbelievingly in his head. The closer he grew to the port, the more he had thought about the ferry until the thought finally hit him that ferries required tolls, and he had forgotten to dig any money out to take with him. He sprinted for his apartment, glad to not hear or smell the knights anywhere nearby, though he knew that they would catch up if he didn't move fast enough. When he finally reached the same side of the building that he had climbed down from, Nero leaped up, grabbed the windowsill and pushed himself inside. Dante did the same shortly after, cursing the kid for running so fast and trying to get his breathing under control.

"Christ, Kid," Dante panted once he was inside. The wide window lead into a small den with an even smaller kitchen on the opposite side.

"Sorry... I forgot something."

"Like what?"

"Money."

"Money?" Dante barked disbelievingly. "Shit! I could pay your way, if that's what you're worried about."

"No point. I have plenty. Now just be quiet and keep yourself occupied while I go dig it out."

Dante watched Nero disappear into the hallway before he heard the younger man mutter "stupid, stupid" and a series of curses at himself. Dante just shook his head with a chuckle. _At least he's not a moocher._

While Nero searched for some green, Dante looked around his apartment. It was pretty nice, small and cozy. It looked just like the kind of warm and simple space a new couple would share together. But from what Dante gathered, they weren't a couple. Nero was too golden-hearted to just run off and leave some poor girl who loved him.

Scanning rather delightedly and a little wistfully at the various knick-knacks that littered the side and coffee tablesthey reminded him of some his mother used to work so adamantly to keep clean and not broken in a house with two rambunctious twin boysbright blue eyes located a small photo album. Curiosity piqued, Dante picked the little book up gently into one leather-clad hand. There was a silver frame on the cover that surrounded a space for one photo, but it appeared to have been, strangely, removed. Arching a curious brow, Dante opened the cover, flipping through a few pictures of Nero and that Kyrie girl together. One was of the two in front of the fountain that used to stand outside of the opera house. They both looked genuinely happy, and Dante stared knowingly at the sling and glove that hid Nero's arm. In the next, they were sitting at a table outside a small bistro. The red-headed girl still looked happy, but Nero looked as if just smiling was painful. It almost looked like a grimace, but the girl looked too starry-eyed to notice the difference.

After flipping through a few more pictures, Dante came upon one that truly shocked him a bit. It wasn't in a sleeve but appeared to have been hastily shoved between two pages, and Dante suspected it was the very one that once occupied the front cover. There the two stood, arm-in-arm, Kyrie in an all-white dress and thrown back veil, holding a bouquet of flowers while Nero was in a black tux. A gold band was on her left hand and she was positively beaming, her eyes seeming to sparkle. Nero, on the other hand, wore a very small smile that looked like the kind one might smile when fondly remembering someone who had died. Maybe Nero was mourning the death of his former life because he didn't look at all thrilled to be a newly wed.

_So he's leaving her,_ Dante pondered. He probably should have thought it dirty of Nero to just run off and leave this young woman who so obviously loved him by the way she smiled so hard it looked painful. However, he didn't. Maybe he had felt the same way Dante had and just took it a step too far in an attempt to get things to go back to normal. Dante recalled with a grimace the nights he had spent lying awake next to random women he hardly knew. No matter how much he had wanted to find someone else, his mind would always go back to this island and its wild hellfire of a young man with his magical arm that was strong enough to crush the face of a living, demonic statue that stood well over several thousand feet. Honestly, Dante probably would have sought the same escape.

Just as he closed the album and set it back in its place, Nero reappeared from the hall.

"Ready to go?" Dante asked as he turned to face the other man. The halfbreed saw the way Nero's eyes dropped to the photo album before slightly dulled guilt plagued his expression.

"Let's do this," he breathed lowly, and the two devils leapt from the windowsill, stealing off into the darkness and full-speed for the ferry at port.


	3. A Long Due Farewell

**Warnings:** Eventual Homosexual Pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DMC, and I make no money from this story.

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><p>Nero looked away from Dante, sighing quietly into the salty mist that stirred the white hairs upon his head. The ferry tore through the water at a rather high speed, or maybe it just seemed that way because of how violently its nose seemed to slice through the dark waves. The ride had been rather quiet. Nero just couldn't think of much to say to Dante, which was a bit absurd considering that the man had offered him a place to live in a distant city he had never seen before in his life. Nero hated to admit it, but his silence was the product of his sudden intimidation by Dante. The younger hunter usually found it so easy to be cocksure and confident around anyone, even a man as proud and smooth as Dante, but there was something he couldn't get off his mind.<p>

Like a bug buzzing in his ear that just wouldn't fly away, no matter how hard he swatted at it, the thought was bothering him. Nero just had this biting suspicion that Dante knew why he was leaving Fortuna. The young part-devil could have sworn he saw the man just putting that accursed scrapbook back in its place when he reentered the den before they left. He didn't want Dante to know why he was leaving—not while they hardly knew each other anyway. Dante probably thought him a dirty cheat or something. Maybe he did, actually, because the older hunter hadn't said a word to Nero since they boarded the ferry. Between the both of them was an awkwardness that was going to take some effort to overcome. How come it had been so easy to tease and insult this red-clad devil before?

Nero, twiddling his thumbs rather nervously, turned back to the older man. He didn't know what he expected—maybe Dante waiting with his hands on his hips like an angry woman, ready to nag him about his dishonesty and how unfair he was being to Kyrie—but Dante, too, was staring off in the opposite direction, seeming to also be thinking. Nero bit his lip, about to rethink talking to him altogether. Of course, that would be the point when Dante would turn around, possibly out of some strange extra sense or maybe just a cruel coincidence. The older male gave him a questioning but docile look, though it caught the younger hunter off-guard.

"U-um," he stuttered, blushing like an idiot for no good reason. He turned once again to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly. He wasn't watching Dante, but Nero could almost feel the humor twitching on his lips. Finally, Nero gathered the gall to turn back around. Honestly, he was so easy to embarrass that it was sad. Nero himself didn't even understand how he could be so confident out of battle. Take Red Queen out of his hands, and he fumbled around like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Uh, can I just… have a minute alone?" What a stupid question; it rolled awkwardly off the younger man's tongue like a ball of cool lead, thunking on the ferry floor. Nero wished he could pick it up and swallow it back down because Dante gave him an odd look.

"You gotta piss or somethin'?"

Nero snorted, grinning and shaking his head. "No," he chuckled, "I just need to be by myself for a moment." Strangely enough, Dante's uncomfortably personal question helped chisel away some of the ice.

"Oh, well, you want me to go to the other side of the boat?"

Nero shook his head. "No, I'm just gonna walk to the back… Just don't follow me."

Dante held his hands up as if surrendering to the law. Nero did always think he looked like an outlaw. Maybe that had something to do with their rocky beginning, or maybe it was just the fact that he dressed like he had stepped out of the old west.

"No problem, kid. Take your time."

Nero nodded a silent thanks, rising and rather slowly walking to the back end of the ferry. The farther he got from the bench where he and Dante had sat, the heavier the weight that bore down on his shoulders. He grabbed the railing, cool and mottled with drops of seawater, to steady himself. His left hand lifted almost mechanically, and he was drawn to the ring on his hand. The little gold band seemed to weigh a ton on his finger, constrict like a boa around the bone. Nero hated it. Nero wanted it gone. It bound him to one of the biggest mistakes he had ever made in his life. It was full of regret, guilt, and lies. But at the same time, he wanted to hold onto it. Letting it go meant giving up all those years he had spent in Fortuna. It wasn't Fortuna that he cared to let go, however, but the red-headed songstress that lived there.

Thoughts of them playing as children came suddenly to his mind, and Nero couldn't prevent the stab of pain that went through him. He wasn't just losing a wife he never wanted. He was losing his best friend and the girl that had so easily accepted him into her family, when everyone else looked at him as if he was some flea-infested dog that should have been left for dead in the first place. But between finding a new life somewhere and rotting in Fortuna, Nero couldn't bring himself to choose the latter. He had tried to convince himself that Kyrie needed him there, but the painful truth was she _didn't_. She had friends, a high position in the church and a beautiful voice. The last thing Kyrie needed was Nero, and he had known that for a long time. That didn't mean he wanted to face it, but the truth was something that no one could run from. And knowing Kyrie, she would probably tell him to go for it and make himself happy either way. Too bad he hadn't the balls to discuss it with her.

Sighing shakily, Nero brushed away the single tear that dripped down his face. It was time to end this. Fingers damp with droplets of water latched firmly onto the gold band choking his finger. He wiggled it off hastily, realizing how oppressive the thing was when the angry red imprint it left was finally able to breathe. Holding it in his hand for a moment, Nero stared down at the little ring and slowly waved goodbye to all his memories of Fortuna and Kyrie. It was almost as if he was visiting his own grave, whispering a heartfelt wish that Kyrie would find someone to make her happy, someone that really loved her the way she wanted. He said good riddance to Fortuna and all the prejudice and reprimand he had been forced to face there over the years. One thing he never said goodbye to, however, was his best friend. He wanted to keep that part of his past with him. Maybe they would come to meet again someday, or maybe he would find a replacement in Dante. Either way, he thought it would be good to hold onto for a little while.

With his farewell said and done, Nero tossed the ring overboard without allowing himself to hesitate. He watched it twist through the air as time seemed to slow. With ease the young hunter followed the glint of gold through the air until it disappeared into the dark depths, and he could breathe again. Feeling slightly better, Nero took a minute to breathe. The air seemed more refreshing now.

After he calmed himself and cleared his head, Nero returned to Dante. He was a little reluctant, hoping the older man wouldn't ask any questions. Nero was actually a little paranoid for a moment that that was exactly what Dante would do. However, as he approached the bench, the younger hunter found that no such thing would be happening.

Dante had fallen asleep.


	4. Glaring Darkness

Deep blues took in the musky seaport. The edge of the city itself was concrete and cobble, green algae growing on the side exposed to the lapping waves. Wooden docks attached to the port gently rocked on top of the mild waters as two pairs of booted feet stepped off the ramp to the ferry and onto the creaky boards. The view of the remaining city beyond the outskirts was blocked by a line of two-storied brick buildings. The whole secluded area was rather vacant. Nero knew cities were notoriously busy places. He attributed the empty silence to the sun that hadn't yet begun to rise. It was early morning, bordering on 5 AM. Strangely, it always seemed darker than midnight just before the sun climbed over the horizon.

"Goddammit..."

Nero was drawn from taking in the scenery by Dante's mumbled cursing. The man had a growly look about him, scratching dried blood from beneath his nostrils.

"You didn't have to punch me, y'know?" Dante grumbled.

"Well, maybe you should have woken up sooner," Nero commented viciously. He wasn't a quickly and unwarrantedly harsh person, but he didn't mind using whatever methods he had to when faced with difficulty, no matter the severity.

"You should've shook me more or something."

"Please! I stood there for like five minutes. All you did was roll over and mumble something about friggin' pancakes!"

"Well, I'm hungry," Dante mumbled defeatedly. His lip pooched out in a pout, and Nero found himself unable to be too annoyed with the man for that look. Nero chorted in the brief silence between them before Dante stopped just after they stepped off the slippery, greened and softened wood of the docks. Nero stopped beside him, of course, because he had no idea where to go.

"So what now?" Nero asked dubiously, watching Dante expectantly.

"I'm not driving on an empty stomach," Dante grouched stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest like an unruly toddler.

"Well, let's go eat somewhere... I'll pay."

Dante stuck a finger into the air. "No, you _won't_," he declared matter-of-factly, "but we will go eat somewhere."

Nero rolled his eyes. "Alright... Lead the way, old man."

Dante nodded and promptly took off between two buildings into a narrow alley. Nero wondered if this was Dante's city because he seemed to know exactly where to go. Nero, on the other hand, was left to whirl around at every curious sight. He was almost worried about getting whiplash. Nero had heard of skyscrapers, but he couldn't see any at the moment. He wasn't sure if it was because two-storied buildings practically surrounded them and blocked out their view of the skyline or if cities having a ton of skyscrapers was just a rumor. Nero was too accustomed to the towering belfries and steeples of Fortuna.

Eventually, after a few twists and turns, Dante approached a shady little hobble dubbed the "Buzzard's Roost Tavern". The name didn't exactly spark appetizing images in Nero's mind, but he supposed he could give anything a try. Dante didn't seem dissuaded by the odd name.

Opening the old, wooden door, a bell was the harbinger of their entrance. Revealed was a room that oozed pure simplicity and ruggedness. The building seemed to be quite old. Not only was its architecture of another century as the entire bottom floor seemed to be brick, but there was also a musty scent in the air of dust. The place looked clean, though. All the tables sitting around were spotless, the wooden floors were clean. Being that it was an inn, there were a few obvious residents sitting in dark corners though very few. Not many people woke at 5 AM.

Nero followed Dante to the bar, assuming the man knew what he was doing. Nero had only been to one other place like this before—the Fortuna Inn—but he had only briefly glanced around, never ordered anything. As soon as they were seated at the bar, the bartender—a stocky man with a thick salt-and-pepper mustache and rather abundant hair for a man of his age—took notice. His stare was intimidatingly stony and indifferent, but not hostile. Not one to drive off business, of course. The man didn't welcome them with a warm greeting or ask for their order. He simply stared between them and grunted.

"You got some kinda meal special here or somethin'?" Dante asked. The man grunted with a jerky nod.

"Ethal," he barked in a tone that Nero could imagine being used by a drill sergeant. He certainly didn't look like the type to own an inn.

"What?" answered a raspy, sharp voice.

"Need two breakfasts out 'ere!"

"'Kay!" responded the presumably elderly woman. The man worked on polishing mugs out. He quietly scrutinized the devil hunters for a moment before speaking.

"You all ain't from 'round here, are ya'?" he asked curtly.

"Far from it," Dante responded in that affluent tone of his.

"Good—neither 'm I."

Dante chorted and smirked facetiously. Nero watched the man pull out a little yellow notepad and pen, scrawling something brief onto it.

"Where you from?"

"Who wants to know?" Dante responded.

The man discreetly slipped the little note to Dante. Nero read the word "Eva" written on it in messy script before Dante pushed it back in the man's direction with a smirk.

"Didn't think people knew me all the way down here," Dante mused idly.

The man nodded. "The people that need to know you have a way of findin' ya'," responded the man wisely.

Dante nodded in agreement. "So what d'you need, Mr...?"

"Buford," answered the burly man. His name was as tough as he looked. Nero wasn't sure if that was his last or first name, but he had a feeling the man didn't care if anyone knew either way.

"My buddy's in charge of managin' this ol' warehouse on the west side o' the city. I's for storin' crates bein' shipped in n' out. Lately, somethin's been destroyin' the cargo. We thought it was just thugs or kids or somethin' till people started turnin' up dead..."

"Humans kill everyday, Buford," Dante contradicted. "Sure you just don't have a gang on your hands?"

Buford nodded. "No man could do this," he responded with a hint of amazement in his stony voice. "The bodies were completely gutted, but there wasn' a scratch on the outside. Their veins were dry... It was like somethin' had just sucked the life right outta them... Literally."

Dante's interest seemed to pique at that. Nero knew his own had.

"How many bodies have been found?" Nero butted in. Dante didn't seem to mind, only focused on gathering information.

"Seventeen, so far. That's almost two whole crews o' men. Their runnin' outta workers," said Buford with a sad shake of his head. Nero felt a spark of anger go through him. One thing that could get him seriously pissed off was the death of innocent humans. How many families would all those men never come home to again? Looking at Dante, Nero could see the same flame flare up in him.

"Anyway, my friend—name's Floyd—was askin' around about you. Apparently, some man told him about the 'devil hunter up north'. There ain't very many of you, y'know?"

Dante smirked. "Well, Buford, there's only two that can do the job and get it done right." The older hunter threw an arm over Nero's shoulder, giving him a shake to clarify that he was the second of the two great devil hunters. Nero couldn't help but blush and grin nervously. He could normally accept compliments on his work with pride. It was Dante's inclusion of him in his boasting that made him all flustered.

The man gave a grunt of agreement. "Then it's a good thing you two came wonderin' in here. So you'll do it then?"

Dante nodded. "Consider your devil dead by this afternoon..." Dante stuck his finger up quickly before finishing, "Under one condition..."

"Wha's that?" the old man questioned with a squint of his eye.

"Me and my partner here need somewhere to stay tonight... Preferably free of charge."

Buford shifted his eyes back and forth between the two of them for a moment, chewing his lip as if weighing the request. "Deal."

After meeting with Floyd at Buford's bequest, Dante and Nero followed the directions scrawled on a wrinkly slip of paper to the aforementioned haunted warehouse. They had also received another interesting bit of information. Apparently, everyone who was killed always saw a black dog beforehand. Nero couldn't keep from wondering about that. Was it the dog killing them or was it simply a coincidence? He supposed they would find out soon.

The sun had come up and the streets were steadily becoming more and more crowded as adults woke up for work and children for school. Nero had asked Dante if they were going to drive to their destination, but Dante had said they would make it there faster by walking. Nero was starting to understand why. Fortuna was never as crowded as this place, not even during rush-hour.

"This must be one big place," Nero mused aloud, glancing around the small section of city that the hunters now occupied.

Dante chuckled in response. "You ain't seen big, kid."

Nero gave Dante a curious look, head tilted to the side. "You live in a 'really big' city, then?" he asked cutely.

Dante chortled. "Capulet is one of the bigger ones... But we've got quite a few cities to pass through... Cities about _fifty_ times the size of Fortuna."

"Wow," Nero mouthed incredulously, wondering briefly how big said huge cities were. That was before his thoughts were drawn back to one particular word Dante had spoken before.

_Capulet,_ his soon-to-be home. _I wonder what it's like..._

The two men soon arrived outside a huge warehouse. It was an old brick building similar to the ones that had welcomed them after they stepped off the ferry. The windows, however, were encrusted by dust, who-knew-how old, and marred by thin scratches. Being as the warehouse—number 16—was just beside the shipping port, everything smelled of brine and moldy wood. Somewhere beneath that, however, was the smoldering reek of putrid death and abysmal darkness.

_Demons..._

"This is definitely our warehouse," Dante breathed as he drew his eyes away from the paper in his hand. Undoubtedly, he had picked up the same scent.

Nero drew Blue Rose. "Let's go inside then," he said determinedly, heading for the door. Dante promptly followed, unholstering his own guns. Nero dug his claws, still wrapped tightly in bandages, in the crack between the doors, prying open one panel. The metal door screeched in its tracks as it was rolled aside. A scent assaulted Nero's nostrils the moment the door was pulled aside. It was as if he had opened an ancient tomb. The smell of dust from before became more prevalent. It smelled cold, musty like an old book, and somewhat like a gas station. The demon inside hadn't yet revealed itself, but if it was trying to hide, it definitely wasn't working. It's odoriferous signature seeped into everything and was more powerful now that there was no door blocking its way. Possibly the most overpowering scent, however, was that of rot and dried blood.

On his guard, Nero stepped gingerly into the dim, followed by Dante. Both shades of blue darted around the open space, watching for the slightest bit of movement. Ears were alert for even the tiniest bit of noise. Everything was stillness and quiet and, yet, Nero could feel them: eyes. He felt them bore into his face, his stomach, his back—he felt eyes move all over him. The devil was moving around, but making not the smallest sound. _How cunning._

Suddenly, Nero noticed a peculiar noise—a perpetual snapping, like needly legs clicking on the pavement. His head whirled to the side. What he found wasn't quite a demon, but not any more pleasant. A corpse lay upon the cold cement floor, limbs splayed out in awkward positions. It looked rather normal on the outside, save for its abdomen that was severely sunken in as if whatever held the skin up was gone, and now it simply hung there. Based on the information they had received, that was most likely the case. Well, the body answered the question of where that rotten reek was coming from, but it didn't answer the question of what that clicking was he had heard.

A bark—both hunters whirled around to a dog standing in the doorway. Not just any dog, however, but a black dog. It stared intently at them both, spine hunched and bristly, coarse fur standing up on its back. Its eyes were an angry red and its maw frothy with foam as it barked and snarled at them, obviously not happy with the hunters being in its territory, standing over its kill. Nero glared the dog down, keeping his gun trained on the aggressive beast.

Dante laughed. "So the pooch came out to play, huh?" the man teased, hands on his knees before he clapped them together twice. "C'mon, puppy! Let's go," he taunted, making a come-hither motion with his hand. The devil dog didn't lunge as expected, however. It started circling, stalking around the two devils and toward the shadows. Standing tall, Dante pointed his black gun at the beast in both a threat and a challenge. It continued to slowly creep around before it reached the darkness. It sunk to the ground, melding into the shadows. It disappeared near completely, though its scent still hung heavy in the air. Nero kept his gun trained on the empty darkness, alert and ready. These situations were always too predictable, albeit this devil was acting a little strangely. Rather than taking a long moment to formally introduce itself before lunging headfirst for the attack, this demon seemed rather careful and calculated. It was no fool, clearly, not proud enough to sacrifice its safety.

Then, Nero heard it again—that clicking. Dante must have heard it, too, for their heads simultaneously whipped around to the source of the calamity. It was a very light noise at first. Nero's eyes caught something black scuttling along the floor then another and another. Bugs, _roaches_—they were crawling from the shadows toward the undisturbed cadaver. The clicking escalated from a slight ambience to an uproar. A swarm of insects poured from the shadows. The clicking suddenly became in likeness with what Nero imagined it would sound like to pour a thousand marbles onto the hard cement. The devil hunters could only stare in overwhelming curiosity as the insects disappeared somewhere around the head of the body. Correspondingly, the concave stomach of the corpse began to rise. Nero was suddenly struck by the disturbing wonder of what it would feel like to have all the little legs skittering inside of him, all those tiny pincers gnashing at his flesh. He felt a little nauseous.

"Disgusting," he breathed in comment to himself. Slowly but surely, the vast horde of roaches vanished completely. What happened next? Well, the dead rose again.

_Literally._


	5. The Consequence of Confidence

**Warnings:** Eventual Homosexual Pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

**Disclaimer:** I do not own DMC, and I make no money from this story.

* * *

><p>Nero was only slightly shocked by what he saw: a corpse—that had been very obviously past freshly dead a minute ago—standing before him. Being a demon hunter, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but he couldn't deny that the image was slightly disturbing, mainly because the body before him wasn't actually alive. It was a meaty puppet being controlled by thousands of little bugs. Whether the demons, or demon, possessed the body because they thought it might increase their chances or because they thought that two—not humans but—hybrids would have to have sympathy on the image was unknown. However, whatever the reasoning behind the action was, it did nothing to sway Nero's judgement. He had seen the dead body before and watched the black dog split into all those roaches; it wasn't difficult to put two-and-two together. If anything, it only furthered his exasperation. What an insult on his intelligence to suggest that he couldn't tell the difference between a living human being and a sack of skin and bones animated by writhing insects.<p>

"I gotta admit that was unexpected," Dante said suddenly. "I was startin' to think you guys didn't have any tricks left up your sleeves."

Tottering on wobbly legs, the corpse lurched forward, limping awkwardly as the demon tried to gain control of its new vessel.

"You look like your havin' trouble there... Maybe I should be the good guy and put you outta your misery," Dante taunted, pointing his gun at the cadaver's forehead, jerking his arm to imitate feedback and making a comical popping noise as if he had pulled the trigger. "Few shots and you can go right back where ya' came from. After all,it must be horrible—living in a completely different realm and all."

"You gonna talk it to death, old man, or you gonna shoot?" Nero teased.

Keeping his gun aimed at the demon, Dante looked back at Nero with a playful smirk. "I think'll let you do the honors, kid," he announced cheerfully.

Nero returned his smirk. "Will do."

Nero aimed Blue Rose at the forehead of the possessed body. With much practiced and adept precision, the younger man pulled the silver trigger. Two bullets, one behind the other, zoomed from the double barrels of the revolver, spiraling around each other as they sliced through the air. The first bullet hit its target dead-on, and the second slammed into the butt of the first, hammering it farther into the corpse's skull. No blood or brain matter splattered out of the wound as there simply was none left. According to what Buford said, the demon's victims were near completely hollow when found, simply lifeless frames with skin stretched over them. From what Nero had seen so far, the most likely suspect was the black dog, having morphed into the roaches that now filled the body, they had probably been the ones to force entrance in the first place to eat the poor man from the inside out.

_What an awful way to die,_ Nero thought, resisting a shiver.

After being shot, the corpse flew backwards, toppling to the ground with a thud. Seeing as their plan had failed, the roaches skittered out of the useless body as quickly as they could, seeking refuge in the darkness. They fused flawlessly with the looming shadows of the warehouse's many wooden crates and ceased to exist to the naked eye. Nero, however, could still feel eyes on him. He tried to pinpoint the source, but was finding it difficult to retain his focus. He would hear a noise to one side, have a heavy cloud of scent waft into his face from the other, and the eyes on him seemed to never cease in their movement.

"Of course," Dante broke in as he circled, also trying to keep his aim on the invisible demon, "they're either so proud that kicking their ass is easy or such cowards that you can't keep your eyes on 'em long enough to take 'em out."

"Oh, he'll reappear soon enough." Nero knew from experience. Demons only stayed hidden long enough to find a weak-spot. Predictably, they couldn't resist lunging out of their hiding spots to infiltrate it once they located it. "Just keep your eyes open," Nero advised Dante as if the man knew nothing of demons when he had, in fact, been in the business longer than Nero himself. The younger hunter just couldn't help but feel comfortable around his older comrade. Despite that they hardly knew each other, the one familiar territory where they could blend effortlessly was on the battlefield, whether fighting each other as they had when they first met or holding off a swarm of demons.

"Thanks, kid," Dante said appreciatively, not seeming to mind at all the way Nero talked to him as if he had never dealt with demons before. "You look out for yourself, too," he demanded back, chancing a glance over his shoulder at Nero. His expression was attentive and concentrated. He was obviously watching out for the younger hunter, who currently had his back to a dark corner while his gun pointed past Dante. He would certainly protect Nero from any threat should one rise behind him. Too bad that didn't help Dante keep an eye-out for himself.

"Dante!" Nero yelled, eyes suddenly wide. The older hunter, always so cocksure and confident, whirled around, sure that he could pull the trigger as he always did at the last second. However, he underestimated the speed of this mysterious demon for it sprung from the darkness in that same canine form as before, landing against Dante's chest and sinking its teeth into his throat.

Time seemed to slow to a stop as Nero watched his partner being knocked backward by the force of the demon's lunge. A simple bite to the neck wasn't going to do Dante in, however. The man, despite the position he was in, pointed the barrel of his gun at the demon's temple as he fell. He pulled the trigger, and a loud bang echoed off the walls of the warehouse. The bullet, however, had passed straight through the demon as if it was made of smoke, zooming off to lodge itself in a random crate. As Dante's back hit the floor, his skull hit the concrete hard enough to knock him out or at least make him too woozy to attempt to protect himself.

_Oh, shit,_ were the words that rang off in Nero's mind. He sprinted for the seemingly unconscious man as the devil dog began to jerk its head like a wolf at a kill, trying to rip a hunk of flesh loose. Nero was on it in a split-second, attempting to pistol-whip its skull. His human hand, however, simply sliced right through the black smokiness of the strange demon. He jerked his hand back, suddenly filled with fear that he would have no way to pry the demon off of Dante. How was he to fight something he couldn't touch? In horror, Nero noticed blood beginning to line the dog's gums, stain its teeth. The red essence trickled down Dante's neck to paint macabre pictures on the concrete, spurting from—Nero sobered to think—deep puncture wounds on his friend's neck.

Half reflexively and half praying it would work, Nero lashed forward with the claws of his demonic right arm. He curled the glowing blue fingers around the demon's neck and inwardly rejoiced when he felt something solid beneath. On contact, however, the glow of his hand turned red where it met the demon's form. His hand began to burn and blister as he hadn't thought possible before. Gritting his teeth, Nero flexed his fingers, his claws stabbing into the demon and the force crushing its throat, not to the point of being fatal but enough to force the dog to unlock its jaws from Dante's throat. Nero hissed in pain and promptly chucked it against the wall of the warehouse next the to door, the demon slamming into it with a pained whine. The moment it landed, the dog jumped to its paws and took off sprinting from the warehouse, disappearing quickly in the winding alleys of the city. Nero made no move to follow it, having more urgent matters lying unmoving on the floor beside him.

"Dante?" Nero exclaimed, worry prominent in his voice. He fell quickly to his knees at the injured hunter's side, scooping him up into his arms. Cradling Dante in his lap, Nero began to quickly assess the damage. In the time it had been on him, the dog had caused quite a bit of harm to Dante's neck, which, unfortunately, was a very vulnerable, vital part of the body. A wound on the side of his neck had obviously struck his jugular as blood spurted from the wound with every accelerated heartbeat. Deep holes stabbed into his trachea. The man wheezed with every breath he attempted to take, but Nero questioned how much air was actually reaching his lungs as his gasps became more frantic and he began to slightly convulse.

"Shit, shit, shit..." Nero constantly and rapidly muttered expletives as his panicked mind sought a way to save the man in his arms. Nero knew Dante had the same, if not better, healing abilities as himself, but he warily reminded himself that healing took time, even for a half-demon. Sparing no expense, Nero took hold the tail of his beloved coat, ripping off a long strip of the dark denim. He immediately lifted Dante's head, placing it beneath the hunter's throat and wrapping it up around the wounds. Not having enough left over to tie the strip of fabric, Nero clutched firmly at Dante's neck, arranging the applied pressure in a way he hoped would slow the bleeding and enable Dante to get some air into his lungs. The halfbreed's convulsing had become more violent as his aching lungs desperately sought a sufficient amount of oxygen.

A moment later, Dante's wheezing had ceased as Nero blocked off the holes in his windpipe. He gasped in a deep breath, but it was immediately rejected as blood filled his lungs. The man broke into a coughing fit, a mist of red spraying Nero's face, mottling his cheeks with freckles of sanguine. Nero suddenly felt nauseous, giving a light wretch. He had no problems with blood, having been covered in it many times before. Somehow, however, knowing it was his friend's blood made his stomach churn.

"Dante?" Nero repeated more softly but firmly. When the man didn't respond, the younger male began to lightly smack his cheek to rouse him from his daze. Gradually and to Nero's slight relief, the halfbreed began to stir. Nero watched as his eyeballs flitted beneath his eyelids before his lashes fluttered open. Batting dark lashes over frosty orbs of blue, Dante's brow furrowed as he couldn't seem to discern what or who it was that he was staring up at.

"You awake now, old man?" Nero said gently, subtly clarifying that it was he who cradled Dante in his arms and not some fantastical seraph from a nightmarish dream. Dante looked up into the deep blues of Nero's eyes, a smile faintly twitching on his lips before they fell slack again. Suddenly, he looked a bit confused.

"Who are you?" he rasped, voice squeaking on the end. Nero felt the color drain from his face as something icy and cold stabbed him in the stomach. The damage must have been a lot worse than he thought.

_What the Hell am I supposed to do now?_ Nero demanded to the empty corners of his mind.

Worry painted on his face, Nero opened his mouth to speak, syllables crackling in his throat, though he failed to articulate more than a brief sound before he realized he had nothing to say. What was there to say? He could tell Dante his name—Dante, the man laying in his lap, who was supposed to know exactly who he was speaking to—but somehow the word escaped him. It was as if speaking that one little word would confirm that Dante really had lost his memory and that Nero would be accepting it in introducing himself to the man as if they had just met. Nero simply refused to accept this awful turn of events, no matter how foolish it seemed. Caught off-guard he was, however, when a toothy grin of utter hilarity split Dante's sleepy features.

"Just kidding."

To prevent causing more trauma to his head, Nero opted to punch Dante in the shoulder rather than sock him in the jaw as he wanted. "Asshole..."

The man gave a grinning grimace as the armored knuckles of Nero's devil bringer roughly jabbed his shoulder blade, laughing at Nero's reaction, though it sounded more like coughing. The air rejected from his windpipe crackled wetly, and he soon coughed up more blood, flecking his lips with droplets of red. Nero pursed his own, still worried—though he wouldn't admit it—about his older comrade. Dante had obviously healed a lot in the past few moments. The wounds on the outer side of his throat had healed, only bleeding slightly as they closed up. His trachea was still punctured, but it was healing fast. That was how demonic healing worked. It healed the most dire wounds first before working its way up to restoring one to their prior physical wellbeing. Now that it had prevented Dante from bleeding out, it would repair his windpipe before moving on to whatever damage was surely done to his head. Until then, however, Dante would have to suffer exhaustion and weakness. Minor wounds could be healed relatively quickly, but more severe injuries and, also, one injury piled upon another could slow the process down. Nevertheless, they had to get back to the inn. Dante needed a place to rest.

Focusing on the fabric he still clutched around Dante's neck, Nero peeled the soaked denim from his partner's throat, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder to litter the already dirtied floor of the warehouse. He listened carefully to Dante's breathing once the fabric was removed and watched blood lightly trickle from the closing wounds in his throat. It seemed the man would be fine without anything on his neck now, but Nero couldn't keep himself from being, if only ever so slightly, concerned.

"Kid?" Dante whispered. Nero shook his head slightly, returning to reality as it seemed he had zoned out. He caught himself gently prodding and massaging Dante's neck. The man seemed indifferent, if not a little soothed by the gesture, but Nero quickly jerked his hand away as if he had been burned. It was simply strange to touch another man that way, even if said man was his injured partner. The last thing Nero needed was for Dante to get the wrong idea.

"Sorry," Nero apologized needlessly, clenching his eyes shut as if just waking from a daydream. To avoid any further awkwardness, Nero decided to move along to their next ordeal: getting back to the inn. Seeing as Dante was probably too woozy-headed to walk, Nero promptly scooped the man into his arms.

Dante sputtered and whined as Nero carried him bridal-style out of the warehouse and into the backstreets, which, luckily, weren't very crowded. Nero knew a man as macho as Dante wouldn't be pleased with being carried, nor being seen being carried. Nero wasn't too pleased about having to carry him himself. Blood still stained their clothes and skin, however. Maybe no one would question it.

"I can walk, y'know." Dante stated curtly.

"Please," Nero sighed, "I just watched you practically almost get eaten by a demon, and I saw your head bounce off the freakin' floor. You don't need to be standing up right now. I don't need you falling and breaking a hip, too." Nero briefly glanced down at Dante a silent moment later, noticing that the man was staring up at him and barely smiling.

"I guess being carried ain't so bad," he mused aloud a moment later. A smile quirked the corners of Nero's lips as he began his weave through shady alleyways to get them both back to the coziness of the tavern and off the cold city streets. The further he walked away from the warehouse, however, the more uneasy he felt. An odd sensation crept up his spine as he let out a chortle, sounding painfully stilted as the holes boring into his back and his sixth sense going haywire rendered him choked up and tense.

"Silly old man..."


	6. The Blooming of a Mystery

Nero's eyes slowly peeked open. A sliver of light penetrated the curtains. It was silvery, dim, early morning light. How long had he been out? Nero had no earthly idea what time he had gone to sleep, let alone what time it was at that moment. He couldn't hardly remember what happened last night. There were blurry little memories here and there, but nothing really pieced together. He was fairly sure he just got drunk with Dante, dicked around a little, and passed out. However, he did remember feeling as if something was in the room with him. It was gone now and, oddly enough, he was fine. Apparently, whatever it was had just snuck in to watch him sleep.

Nero repressed the chills creeping up his spine. There were more important things to worry about than something that may or may not have ever happened—the alcohol could have put deceptive memories in his head from dreams. Though he felt groggy and longed for more sleep, Nero knew he and Dante had things to do in a few hours. The sooner he got ready, the better. Nero sat quickly up in bed, but instantly regretted it. A nauseating headache flooded the straining recesses of his skull, and he collapsed bouncily back onto the mattress. His groan of pain couldn't properly portray the agony he was currently suffering.

_Why? Why do I do these things when I know what's going to happen to me?_

"Hangin' over, kid?" chirped Dante as he entered Nero's room. His voice made the pain far worse. Nero pressed his palms into his eyes, making black spots dance across his vision. It did little to quell his aching head. Dante tossed something mildly heavy onto the bed next to him, and Nero was forced to open his eyes and discover what.

"Here," demanded the hunter. The first thing Nero's squinted eyes found was Dante's outstretched hand, two ruddy pills resting in his palm. The object that had been tossed onto the bed beside him was a bottle of water.

"What's that?" Nero whispered breathily, clutching his head in one hand.

"Just pain pills. They'll help. So will that water if you drink it all."

Dante stood over the younger man, muscles bulging in the arms crossed over his bare chest. He acted as if he had to loom over Nero like a hawk to ensure he took the medication. Too ill to protest Dante treating him like a child, Nero obediently swallowed the pills. He forced down a few gulps of water, going on Dante's offered notion that it would help with his horrid hangover. His stomach was protesting all substances, but Nero had figured out that it was a "grin and bear it" situation.

"Why are you up so early?" grumbled Nero.

"Why do you ask?"

"I just didn't take you for the kinda guy to get up this early," replied the younger man with a hint of irritation. He knew he shouldn't be so impatient with Dante, but he felt absolutely terrible.

_I will never drink again._

"And you'd be correct," Dante replied before pursing his lips and giving a jerky nod, "but I couldn't sleep at all last night. I figured I may as well just give up."

Nero nodded to indicate he was paying attention. It hurt simply to move his head, but he didn't feel like talking. The sound of his own voice echoing in his ears wouldn't help his case.

"Well, we've gotta be outta here by ten. You've got three hours. I'm not tryin' to rush you, but if you get done before ten, we should probably just go ahead and leave. We have to find that demon before we can carry on home."

With that, Dante left the room, courteously closing the door behind him. Nero was guiltily thankful, for any kind of noise made him feel far worse. He was very tempted to lay in bed until the last minute, but he figured Dante wouldn't mention checking out early if he didn't want to. Nero took a breath and chugged the remaining water in the crumpled plastic bottle. It made him feel like vomiting, but he forced anything trying to come back up to stay in his gut. His need to piss was far more prevalent anyway.

Nero balanced himself with a hand on each wall of the narrow hallway as he wobbled to the bathroom. He didn't feel like putting very much energy into walking. In fact, he needed to conserve it because he felt that he had very little to spare.

After pissing like a damned racehorse, Nero set to gathering what he needed for a shower. He had only one change of clothes, so he borrowed some cologne from Dante to freshen them up. In addition, he borrowed some shower gel because they were in a tavern, not a hotel. There were no complimentary shampoos and such. After locking the door between their rooms and laying his clothes out on the bed, Nero escorted Dante's bath products to the shower.

Stripping down to his bare skin, Nero stepped into the shower. He recalled the bandage on his Devil Bringer and began unraveling it, curious as to whether the burn had healed at all or not. To all the delight Nero could bare to muster, the wound had vanished. He had feared that the wound might take a long time to heal or wouldn't heal at all.

Satisfied, Nero twisted the tap as far as it could go. Cold water came spewing from the showerhead, making Nero wretch out a horrid gasp, goosebumps prickling his skin. Then the water grew smoldering hot. Nero hissed at the initial burn before the temperature became soothing. He was just realizing how much he had missed showering since the last one he took the day prior. His pleasure seldom lasted long, however. The young devil soon felt a stinging pain as if the water was running over raw flesh. Sucking in a sibilant breath, Nero jerked his right arm up to his face. Twisting and turning his arm, he searched for the source of his pain.

"Huh?" he blurted upon finding the wound. "When did that happen?"

On his forearm was a raw, sore wound where a scale used to be. It was one of the longer ones, so the crater it left was quite deep. Nero didn't recall losing the scale when he had tore that demon off of Dante, but he hadn't any other opportunities to have lost it.

_No, I couldn't have lost it then... I would've noticed._

So when had he lost it? It was simply a single missing scale as if someone had selected it like a plump, ripe berry and plucked it off the bush. But what sort of creature had the power to wrench a scale from his Devil Bringer? Nero had been fairly sure it was indestructible before he was burnt by that shadow demon, but it was the only creature he had seen thus far with the ability to damage his arm. Nero could only assume that whatever had plucked the scale from his arm was also one of those demons. Was this city overrun with them?

"That would explain that presence I felt last night," Nero mumbled, brow furrowed as he examined the wound. That thought made a shiver of unease flow into him. For what reason would a demon simply steal a scale from him but leave him totally unharmed? The only thing Nero knew was that it definitely wasn't to do any kind of good.

Finishing his shower quickly, Nero was eager to question Dante in the hopes that the older hunter might know what was going on. Nero's hangover argued that he wasn't in the condition to face anymore living beings today, but he had to do what he had to do.

Nero dressed, fidgetted with his hair, and brushed his teeth with his finger. Then, he was off to Dante's room, knocking politely rather than bursting in. Dante called his permission to Nero, and the younger man proceeded to step inside. His face turned a nuclear red at what he first saw.

"Oh, God!" he barked, slapping a hand over his eyes.

"You called?" Dante joked, though Nero wouldn't be surprised if the cocky hunter really did think himself a god.

"You jackass," Nero grumbled. "Why didn't you say you were naked?"

" 'S not like I have anything you haven't seen before... Unless you really are a woman."

"Fuck you," growled Nero. "No one wants to see that... _thing_."

"I'll take your blatant disgust as a compliment."

"Just get dressed. I have to talk to you about something."

"Too _hard_ to talk to me when I'm naked, right? I don't blame you. I'd have a _hard_ time concentrating, too."

Nero felt his cheeks heat up even more despite his inner protests of Dante's accusation. He turned more in an attempt to keep his face hidden from the devil hunter, thinking of how to reply.

"Just shut your big mouth and get dressed," he finally sighed in defeat. He heard Dante's deep, warm chuckle, but the man said nothing more, so Nero assumed he was finally putting some clothes on.

"You can open your eyes now, princess."

Nero warily opened his eyes and was relieved to find Dante shirtless—the man seemed to have a vendetta against shirts—but still wearing pants.

"So what did you need to talk about?"

"Well," Nero started, unsure where to start, "something weird happened to me last night."

" 'Weird'? Like how?" Dante's brow furrowed in curiosity.

"I can't remember much other than when that one demon came in last night, but I do remember feeling like something was watching me."

"You didn't see anything?" For some odd reason, Dante looked relieved. Nero wasn't sure what to make of that.

"No, and it's definitely gone now... But it took something from me."

"Yamato?" Dante asked with poorly masked urgency.

"No," Nero answered quickly, calming the hunter, "a scale."

"Scale?" Dante repeated, perplexed. Nero lifted his arm into the devil hunter's line of sight, and Dante's eyes widened when he saw the raw wound. He gave a grunt of puzzlement, barely raising another scale up to get a better look. Nero winced and grunted as the action irritated the sore, but Dante seemed too intent to find some sort of clue to stop.

"Do you have any idea why something would have wanted it?" Nero asked with a tight jaw.

"No idea," Dante replied, shaking his head. "I know someone who might though. After we're done here, we'll make the drive home and ask her, okay?"

Nero nodded. "Alright. Let's get going then."

* * *

><p>"Dammit," cursed Nero. "We've found absolutely nothing. It's like the demon was never even here in the first place."<p>

Dante nodded in agreement as he watched Nero stare off frustratedly, hands akimbo. Despite how groggy both of them felt, Nero had been searching adamantly for their demon all morning. He seemed vengeful despite that the demon had attacked Dante, not him, and the passion he put into the task was sort of endearing. Dante wished there were more people like Nero in the world. All the honesty, effort, and tenacity that was his trademark was strongly reflected in his work. He didn't halfass anything even if he wasn't being paid for it.

"It does kinda seem like it just disappeared," replied the hunter thoughtfully. They had searched every dark crevasse and alley in the city for the demon dog, but not a single trace of it had been found. There was no scent left of it anywhere. The only plausible explanation Dante could think of was that it had simply moved to a new town after having its ass handed to it by Nero.

"So what are we going to do now?" asked Nero as he turned back around to Dante.

"We can keep an eye out for it in the towns we drive through on our way back. Right now, it's more urgent that we get home than go hopping from city to city looking for one demon."

Nero seemed hesitant to agree at first, but nodded his acceptance. Dante took to the younger hunter's side, throwing an arm over his shoulder. Nero looked at him in surprised confusion, one brow quirked, and Dante only smiled in return.

"First thing's first—let's get so something to eat. I'm starving to death here!"

Nero rolled his eyes, smiling in amusement. Dante took that as an agreement, and they set out to find a restaurant.

Finally, Dante found a quaint little bistro where they could eat. It didn't serve pizza—this city seemed short on pizza places—but it was good enough. Both hunters were in a hurry to leave anyway. After ordering a sandwich each, Nero dove in while Dante watched him with mild amusement. The younger man would chomp off huge bites of food, looking like a chipmunk with each mouthful. After chewing up the brick of food, he swallowed loudly then stopped to pick little bits of something from the sandwich before resuming his eating. _So finicky,_ Dante thought sullenly, just like Vergil had been when they were kids.

Nero tore his eyes from whatever he was staring at across the street. He must have noticed Dante's somber expression and his eyes, grayed by distant thoughts, staring holes through his eye sockets.

"What?" Nero questioned around a cheekful of bolus. It made the cloudiness clear from Dante's eyes and that usual tint of mirth refill his expression.

"Nothin'," grunted the man over-casually. Nero's eyes lingered on his face a brief moment longer before flickering to his barely eaten sandwich.

"You gonna eat that?" asked Nero immediately after swallowing his moutful. Dante laughed.

_Someone's feeling better..._

"Why—you want it?" he joked with laughter heavy in his voice. Nero grinned slyly.

"Well, you know, if you're not gonna eat it, I'd be happy to take it off your hands."

"You're not gettin' my sandwich too, fat kid," Dante said mock insultedly.

"Oh, so I'm fat now?" Nero chuckled. "First, I was a kid. Then, I was a woman, and now, I'm a fat kid?"

"Don't forget princess," Dante added, acting as if he was being so helpful.

Nero threw his gloved hand into the air and rolled his eyes skyward. "Of course, how could I possibly forget? Thanks so much for reminding me!"

Dante just laughed and shook his head, finally picking his sandwich up from his plate.

"Punk..."

After finishing their meal, they started their drive to Devil May Cry. About three hours in, Dante noticed Nero staring boredly out the passenger's side window, his right boot on the dashboard and his posture slouched in misery.

"Bored?"

Nero let out an explosive sigh. "Yeah..."

"You can listen to some music if ya' want. I think I have some CDs in here somewhere," Dante mumbled in thought, quickly glancing around for said discs.

"Eh, I just... wish something would happen. These roads are so dull."

A sudden and violent fit of shaking rocked the vehicle roughly. Nero's head bashed loudly against his window, and the tires shrieked as Dante saved them from driving over the hill at the very last minute. Rapid thunking came from the roof of the car as if something was turning around on it.

"What the fuck? !" Dante exclaimed. Nero was rubbing the knot on his temple as his eyes darted around the scenery. With a guttural roar akin to something of a demonic warthog, a circle of fog spread over Nero's side of the windshield from the gaping maw of an ugly beast, the likes of which neither hunter had seen before. Everything happened so quickly that neither had time to react. A bony hand twice as large as a human skull burst through the passenger's side window, taking hold of Nero's throat. Nero gagged as his oxygen supply was cut off, and Dante drove off the road in his distraction. The collision that followed with a stout oak tree had his head bashing into the steering wheel. A curse of his luck was all the thought that Dante could muster before blackness flooded his vision, and Nero's gagging slowly faded from his ears.


	7. Home Sweet Home

**Warnings:** Eventual homosexual pairing(D/N/D), Violence, Blood/Gore, Strong Language

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DMC and make no money from this.

* * *

><p>"D... D... nt..."<p>

_What... happened?_

Dante tried to wake himself up, but the blackness in his head was heavy. He felt as if he were floating in the thick, oily darkness, the slow motion trying to lull him back to sleep. His lungs were barely moving as if they too yearned for a heavy slumber. He couldn't open his eyes or whiff the air or move any of his limbs, but he could hear someone calling. Their voice flickered in and out like a staticky radio as he gained and lost conciousness.

"Dan... W... ke up!"

Every time he heard the voice he also heard roaring and hard impact. It was a familiar sound. But where had he heard it before?

"Dan... Dante!"

Who was that? Damn it all—he recognized that voice. He knew it so well, yet he couldn't place where he had heard it before.

"Dante, wake up! Wake the fuck up!"

Dante finally regained full conciousness only to find Nero was holding him by his shoulders and shaking him like a ragdoll. When Nero saw that his eyes were open, albeit a bit disoriented, he patted the older man's cheek.

"You awake now?" he asked with urgency in his voice.

Dante was a bit slow to respond as his senses were occupied with taking in his surroundings. His car was totaled. The tree had snubbed its nose up and crinkled the hood like a sheet of meer paper. The windshield was cracked like a spider web and looked like it could fall apart with the gentlest touch. The same couldn't be said for the passenger's side window which had a gaping hole busted into it. Dante felt movement and his eyes flickered back to Nero. Supporting Dante with his left arm, Nero grabbed something with his right and tossed it across the vast field. The next thing Dante knew, Nero was smacking his cheek again.

"Hey, you with me?" Nero asked as he shook the man again.

Shaking his head, Dante finally came out of his daze. "Yeah, what happened?"

Nero pointed down the highway and Dante's eyes followed his finger. What he saw was an ugly creature. It's skin looked leathery and ashen. It's body was short while its limbs were long and lanky, it's legs about twice the size of its torso. It's fingers were longer than its head and so thin and bony they looked fragile. There was no way of telling where its chest ended and head began, and where there should have been a face was a gaping hole filled with teeth like the unzipped opening of a coin purse.

"Vagina face over there ran us off the road!" Nero exclaimed angrily. "You bashed your head into the wheel and knocked yourself out, and that dumbass thing nearly choked me to death!"

Dante looked at Nero's neck and, sure enough, his skin was striped with vivid bruises. As bony as that demon was, it must have been awfully strong to hurt Nero like that.

"You gonna get up and help kill this thing, or do I have to do all the work?" Nero looked over his shoulder and Dante saw that the demon was running back toward them. It moved very awkwardly, having very long legs but taking small, jerky steps.

"Let's get this over with," Dante growled, angered by the destruction of his car. He was out for blood to avenge it's death and make all the money he would have to shell out to have it repaired worth it.

The demon snarled and came running for Nero, but the younger hunter was ready. He grabbed the demon in the phantom projection of his demonic arm and slammed it into the ground, bouncing it like a basketball. Dante had Rebellion readied, and, after Nero removed his hand, the devil hunter threw the demon into the air with an upward swipe of his sword. Stomach gaping open, the demon gave a weak groan of pain that resembled the sound of a train grinding on its tracks. Normally, the two hunters would have utterly obliterated it within seconds in a flurry of slashes. However, the sight of a black, smoky substance billowing out of the gaping hole in its stomach made them pause and stare in cautious curiosity.

"What the Hell?" Nero breathed, tilting his head at the cloud of black that kept leaking from the demon's body despite how it was constantly disintegrating in the open air. "What is that?"

When the devil staggered toward Nero, the young man took a few steps back. In light of recent experiences, he wasn't too keen on coming in contact with any mysterious, smoky, shadowy substances.

"What is that stuff?"

Dante stared with squinted eyes for a very quiet, tense moment, scrutinizing the demon lumbering around aimlessly as if disoriented. Then, the answer suddenly came to him, and he replied simply, "Oblivion."

"What?" blurted Nero, his head turning to the older man.

"Oblivion," Dante repeated. "I'm pretty sure that's what that dog was made of, too."

"Well... what does it do?" asked Nero with an arched brow.

"It's like a black hole," replied the older hunter, finally turning his own head to meet Nero's eyes. "It eats everything."

"If it eats everything, how come it only hurts my arm?"

Dante shrugged, turning his eyes back on the demon. "I really don't know. I've never seen anything like this before. All I know is we're gonna have to kill it without letting too much of it out. It's like a gas—get enough of it in open air, and it'll start to expand."

"Fuck," Nero muttered. Clean killing wasn't his style, but he didn't fancy being swallowed up by a ravenous black cloud. He watched Dante replace Rebellion with his guns and drew his own. The devil hunters then opened fire on the demon's skull. It was still wobbling around, howling in agony and confusion. The bullets did nothing to slow it down, however. They simply lodged in its fleshy head, popping out a moment later with a sickening squelch. Long claws lashed out at Nero, but the younger man managed to backstep in time to dodge the swipe.

"I don't think it's working," Nero mused. Dante snarled in frustration, impatient. Nero had to agree; he simply wanted to be done with the demon, so they could proceed to Dante's shop. Normally, hunting devils was all about the action, the thrill of the hunt. However, they were both exhausted considering the relative sleeplessness of the past two nights and the simple fact that they were traveling. Dante needed to return to familiar surroundings, and Nero needed to settle into his new residence.

Dante switched to firing at the demon's abdomen instead, which was far more effective. The demon roared with each shot, whirling around with opened arms and readied claws. The devil hunters had no trouble dodging it, however. It wasn't even trying to hit them; if it had eyes, they would have been shut. Nero had to reload, however, which seemed to give it just the window it needed to regain composure. It dug its feet into the ground, shaking its stump of a head. Dante was still shooting, of course, but the majority of his bullets simply bounced off and fell to the ground. Some punctured the dry, leathery hide, leaving holes that leaked that same gaseous black.

What happened next was so unexpected that Nero seldom even realized it happened until it was over. The demon's wide palm came rushing toward him and smacked him with such force that it sent him flying at least half a football field's length away, Blue Rose and her new cartridge clattering to the ground where he stood before. All his mind registered was Dante yelling for him and, then, the harsh impact of the ground breaking his fall. His human arm hit the ground first and caused him to punch himself in the face when his jaw collided with his fist a millisecond later. The remainder of his body flopped onto the ground like a fish, jerking at his tensed muscles and causing him to groan in pain. It took him several moments to remember that he could open his eyes, and, when he did, the young devil simply stared up at the sky, trying to discern what had just happened while his brain tuned everything else out.

"Kid!" Dante bellowed, trying to gain the younger man's attention but to no avail. He sprinted after the demon, whom had abandoned him completely in favor of bounding across the field like some quadrupedal ape to finish Nero off. It managed to swipe its claws down Nero's back before the flat of Dante's sword batted it away. The younger hunter cried out softly, arching his back and tightening up his limbs before he curled forward into a loose ball. Dante felt a twinge of guilt for leaving him, but slaying to demon first was in the interests of them both.

"Hold on, kid!" he called over his shoulder before he sent a barrage of bullets raining down on the devil. It roared angrily, rolling around in the mud. It was about to push itself back up before two bullets lodged directly into its spinal cord. It released a nasally, gurgling growl, arching its knotted spine much like Nero had a moment ago. Taking notice, the hunter aimed deliberately between the vertebrae. It didn't take many shots for the demon to become unresponsive, and, soon, it's body began to dissolve.

"Bastard," Dante muttered as he reholstered Ebony and Ivory. He returned hastily to Nero's side to find the younger man propped on one elbow, gritting his teeth and clenching one eye. His breaths were short and quick as if breathing agitated his wounds. Four deep gashes trailed down his back, pouring hot blood. Dante hooked an arm around his Devil Bringer and pulled the younger man to his feet.

"Fuck," he breathed, limping back to the car on account of his hip being sore from the impact. Both hunters glanced back where the demon's corpse had lain. It had disappeared completely. All that remained was a wisp of black smoke that quickly rose and faded away. When they reached the car, Dante nudged Nero toward the hood, and the younger man was happy to plop down onto it. After removing every item of clothing covering his torso, he waited as the halfbreed retrieved the first-aid supplies from his bag inside the car. He returned with a pad of gauze and antiseptic. There was no need to bandage the wounds as they had healed nearly completely, but Nero saw that Dante had brought a roll of bandages regardless.

"If you don't stop gettin' hurt, we're never gonna make it back," Dante sighed as he placed the pad of gauze over the rim of the bottle of antiseptic before tipping it upside down. He then began to gently wipe down each long gash as if afraid of hurting him. It stung a little, but it was more of a nuisance than actual pain.

"Heh, yeah," Nero said with a roll of his eyes. "As if you haven't gotten hurt, too."

He heard Dante sniff in humor, but no more words were said until the devil hunter finished tending his wounds. The odd thing about the whole ritual was that it was entirely unnecessary. Only in the worst of cases would either of them need to be bandaged, and it was very rare that they contracted an infection. Both hunter's knew this, Nero was certain, but, yet, he never stopped the older man and Dante never asked him why.

"There," sighed Dante as he tore off the roll of bandages and tucked the end beneath the others wrapped tightly around Nero's abdomen. The younger hunter slipped his undershirt and vest back on, sighing at the rips in the fabric. He would have to have his coat and vest repaired. As for his undershirt, it was a simple wife-beater that was easily replaced. The bandages were rather uncomfortable; Nero felt like he was wearing a corset. However, they were beneath his clothes, and Nero knew he could remove them at a stop along the way without Dante ever knowing.

Nero pushed himself off the hood of the car, turning to find Dante with his arms folded across his chest, gazing forlornly at his formerly undamaged vehicle. He shook his head and mumbled something like, "Every time." Nero felt awkward, so he simply pursed his lips and stared at the car, too. Eventually, Dante dropped his arms to his sides and made his way for the driver's seat by crawling over the passenger's seat and the gearshift. Nero followed suit, but he had to scrape shards of glass out of the passenger's seat before he could maneuver into it. Nero managed to engineer a makeshift wind barrier by hooking his coat on the little hook and handle above the window and the plastic covering over the top of the seatbelt. He didn't want the wind to freeze him to death on the way. His day had been hard enough already.

Dante sighed and drove the car away from the tree it was wedged against. There was no need to crank it as he had never turned it off before getting out. The wheels spun in the mud as they drove up the steep incline to get back on the highway, slinging wet clumps of dirt behind them. Luckily, they managed to get back onto the road without getting stranded, and both hunter's breathed a sigh of relief as they resumed their journey home.

Nero was relieved when Dante said they were almost there. The remainder of the drive, for him, had consisted of smacking his coat out of his face when the wind managed to catch in it. Also, his right shoulder was frozen throughout the entire trip on account of the four claw marks left in his jacket; they allowed wind to leak through. At the very least, however, he was able to slip into the bathroom at a gas station and remove those itching, chafing bandages without Dante noticing.

"How much longer?" groaned Nero from the passenger's seat.

"About fifteen minutes," replied the elder hunter. He glanced at Nero briefly while the younger man stared ahead of the car, passively examining the scenery, which was flat nothingness save for a few houses. Dante's arm bent behind his seat, fingers clutching his trench coat. He had removed it sometime during their drive and tossed it into the back when sitting on the coattails became too sweaty ans uncomfortable. Dante dropped the coat into a heavy heap on Nero's lap, startling the younger hunter. He turned his questioning stare on Dante.

"You look cold," the elder hunter offered. Once Nero realized the purpose of the gesture, he blushed a little and turned away.

"S'not really necessary now," he mumbled even as he spread the coat over his front and wrapped it around his shoulders, tucking his chin into the collar to shield it from the wind.

The remainder of the drive passed in silence. Dante figured Nero would throw a bunch of curious questions at him during the last few minutes, but the young devil became too enchanted by the city to fathom words to speak. The towering buildings and colorful, flashing lights were unlike anything he had ever seen before. The sight of people out so close to sunset seemed to perplex him, and his eyes flickered through the crowd of colorfully dressed inhabitants parading down the sidewalk. Their voices leaked through the broken side window, their voices melding into one collective murmur of casual conversation. Most of the people out at that time of evening were walking to clubs or bars or wherever they planned to spend what little nightlife Capulet had. It certainly wasn't the "city that never sleeps", but, to Nero, it must have been the equivalent.

When Dante pulled up to the curb outside his business, he had to snap Nero out of his daze of amazement before the part-devil even noticed they had stopped.

"Home sweet home," Dante singsonged, gesturing to the brick building standing beside them. Nero's eyes flickered quickly to the doors illuminated in pink from the gaudy sign above. Then, he followed Dante out of the car, both men gathering their things. Nero stood on the sidewalk, waiting for Dante to unlock the doors until the halfbreed told him to go inside. Curious, he pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the wide array of weapons displayed on the back wall. Then, he noticed how horrendously cluttered and dirty the place was. It was a sight that made Fortunians cringe, himself included, unfortunately.

"Are you sure this isn't a strip club?" he asked Dante as the older hunter let his luggage and things fall to the dusty floor. He then captured Nero in a headlock faster than the younger male could conceive what was happening.

"You don't even know what a strip club is, kid," he mocked, grinding his knuckles into Nero's scalp.

"_Quit it_," the part-devil growled into the crook of Dante's arm. He obediently released the younger man, who immediately shook his head to settle his hair. He then punched Dante in the arm, luckily, with his human hand.

"Ow," the halfbreed groaned, rubbing at his shoulder while Nero looked around the room. "You're welcome, kid. I'd never turn away a friend in need," Dante drawled sarcastically. Nero flipped him a glowing, scaly bird.

"Where can I put my stuff?" Nero asked, turning back to Dante.

"Anywhere," replied the older hunter after a moment's hesitation, scratching his head as if he just remembered something. "I would offer you the guest room, but it's occupied at the moment. So I guess you'll have to sleep on the couch for a night or two."

"You can have the guest room, sweetie," said a motherly voice from above. Nero jerked his head in the direction of the voice to find a tall and slender blond, her long hair draping over her shoulders and framing her ample bosom. He turned a curious look on Dante.

"Not a strip club," muttered the halfbreed to which Nero narrowed his eyes. He had been hoping for a formal introduction, but Dante obviously wasn't the type to care for or think of those things.

"Leavin', babe?" asked Dante, abandoning Nero's side to take his usual place behind his desk. It made Nero feel naked. He was always nervous in the presence of strangers—or "cool" strangers like Dante's friends, not the pricks in Fortuna. His eyes shifted from Dante to the blond until he noticed that she was staring curiously at him. Then, he pretended to glance around the floor as if it was just so interesting.

"I took a job while you were gone. It's out of town," replied the woman. She stopped a few feet before Nero, folding her arms over her chest and tilting her head as she scrutinized him. For some reason, Nero decided to be bold and wave at her, but he felt like an idiot immediately afterward. What kind of socially inept recluse waved at someone standing right in front of them? He wanted to slap his palm over his face to hide his shame. The woman clearly didn't mind, however. A friendly smile quirked her lips. It was the sort of fond, appreciative smile an adult might give a child who was doing something particularly adorable, which made Nero _feel_like a stupid kid, but he would take what he could get.

"Seriously, Trish? You took one o' _my_ jobs? You know I'm in a hole from having to pay Lady off every week," sighed Dante while Nero stood there awkwardly, waiting for someone to notice him. Trish glanced back at Dante.

"You wouldn't take it this soon after getting back anyway. Besides, she takes money from me, too," she mumbled. Nero briefly wondered who this "Lady" character was before the attention finally shifted to him.

"Who's this?"

"That's the kid," answered Dante, garnering a scowl from Nero.

"Does he have a name?"

"Nero," he finally said. "My name's Nero." _Not "kid"._

"Nice to meet you, Nero," said Trish, offering her hand for a shake. Nero extended his right hand without thinking, but, before he could retract it, Trish grabbed it and gave it a good shake. Nero was surprised. He had never stuck his hand out without having someone recoil in fear or stare in wonder. Trish acted as if she had seen it before.

"Wait," Nero said as their arms returned to their sides, narrowing one eye and furrowing his brow. "Do I know you from somewhere?" He couldn't help the feeling that she was somehow familiar.

Trish chuckled warmly. "I was wondering when you would notice." Nero quirked a brow. "When we first met, I wasn't quite the same person."

Nero was still confused until Dante said, "She's Gloria." Realization transformed Nero's expression into one of surprise. Then, he started to blush as he remembered Gloria and her extremely scant outfit. It was a strange sensation to meet someone new—or sort of new—and have nearly complete knowledge of what they looked like under their clothes.

"Oh, uh..." Nero struggled to find the right words before he finally spoke, but what he blurted out certainly wasn't what he had wanted to say. "Where's the guest room?" he asked, rudely excusing himself from the conversation. Trish smiled humorously but understandingly at his behavior, which Nero wasn't sure was bad or good.

"Upstairs, fourth door on the left," Trish replied. Nero nodded and flashed a smile of gratitude. He was about to pass the blond and make his way upstairs to hide until she left.

"Wait," Dante commanded, and Nero could have leaped over the desk and strangled him. "Nero has something to show you."

Trish raised a brow at him while Nero stared confusedly at Dante. The older man just stared back, waiting for him to remember. When Nero glanced back and forth and back to Dante, eyes wide, in a gesture of complete befuddlement, Dante nodded his head and fixed his eyes toward Nero's Devil Bringer.

"Oh," Nero interjected as the realization hit him. He was embarrassed as Trish had just watched the whole exchange, but he pushed beyond it to show her the arm in question. He turned and held it up to the level of her face so that she could see the spot where the missing scale once was.

"Something stole a scale from me last night while I was asleep," he informed.

"I thought your arm was indestructible," Trish said.

"Me, too," replied Nero. "But do you have any idea why anyone would want it?"

Trish examined the healing wound, leaning closer and tilting her head from side to side. She leaned away a minute later and began to hum thoughtfully, tapping a slender fingertip on her chin.

"Well," she began, "there's no certain answer. Someone could have wanted a piece of the material to create some sort of weapon or relic since it's so resilient. Or..."

"Or...?"

"Someone may be trying to cast a spell on you. They would need a piece of you, like hair or a fingernail."

"But why bother prying a scale off when they could just pluck out a hair?"

Trish shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that one."

"Hm," Nero hummed thoughtfully. "Well... thanks, anyway."

Nero again attempted to go to the guest room, but Dante stopped him yet again. "Aren't you gonna stay down here n' chat, kid?"

_Dante, you bastard..._

Nero paused on the bottom step, turning his eyes on the older man. "I'm gonna go put my stuff away."

Dante seemed slightly disappointed, but he nodded understandingly. When he found the guest room, Nero was relieved to finally be alone. He propped Red Queen beside the door and threw his bag on the bed before falling upon it himself. The metal frame whined with his weight. Surprisingly, unlike everything else in the shop, the bed was clean. Nero was certain that was due to Trish staying in it and not Dante's cleanliness—or lack thereof. It still had her scent on it.

Sighing in relief, Nero folded his arms behind his head and laid on the bed with his legs hanging over the side. He hadn't done much all day other than travel, but it always had a way of exhausting him. Not that he had traveled very much in his lifetime. He had only been to the mainland twice, once with Credo for a missionary assignment on behalf of the church. The Holy Knights went on such trips often, but Nero had been quite young the first time he went. The next opportunity arose during his late teens, and, by then, he had abandoned the church, only dropping by to watch Kyrie's recitals. He begged Credo several times just to let him go and hang out in the city by himself, but his older brother refused to allow it.

Nero wasn't sure what he would have done all by himself, though. After seeing all the new places and people in Capulet, however, he was eager to sample some of the local hangouts. The only such establishment he had ever been to was the bar in Fortuna. He had been going there since he was sixteen. The bartender never asked for proof of age; he knew Nero wasn't old enough to drink, but no one questioned him as they were all generally fearful of him. Even before his arm was infected, his unusual hair color and antisocial attitude had made him an outcast. That was one advantage of being a pariah—underage drinking. He never drank heavily. A couple beers or some rum was enough before he snuck back home. He couldn't let loose and get drunk like he did with Dante the previous night. If he had, someone would have seen him and informed Credo, or Credo would have found out himself. Credo's wrath was not worth getting drunk.

Now that he _was_ of age, however, he could go anywhere he wanted without repercussions. He wanted to explore Capulet's dive bars. Maybe he would even visit a club, though he heard such places were noisy, crowded, and smelly. He wasn't really a very social person either. A bunch of people pestering him all night with conversation would ruin his good time. He was more worried about his arm, however. He was fairly sure he was out of bandages to rewrap it, and he certainly wasn't comfortable with leaving it totally exposed.

Nero rolled his head toward the door when he heard two knocks on the frame. He found Dante leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. The two stared at one another for a moment before Nero broke the silence.

"This place is a dump," he declared. Dante snorted.

"Maybe," he agreed breathily, "but it's my dump."

Nero wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Gross." Dante laughed.

"You gonna go to bed?" asked the older hunter.

"It's a bit early for that," Nero said with a hint of incredulousness. It hadn't even gotten completely dark yet.

"Yep," Dante sighed, glancing toward the window as if to confirm Nero's words. "So what are you gonna do?"

Nero shrugged. "Just hang around, I guess."

Dante stared blankly at the wall for a moment, tapping his foot quietly, obviously mulling something over. Finally, he said, "Why don't we go out? Have some fun?"

Nero sat up quickly, propping himself on his hands. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"Where would we go?" asked Nero curiously. He was anxious to know, wondering if they would end up somewhere fun or somewhere that was going to torture him all night.

"Oh, don't worry 'bout that, kid," Dante replied with a smirk. "I've got the perfect place."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I'm sorry this and my other updates have taken so long. This chapter is pretty lengthy, so I hope everyone will enjoy it. The first half of it isn't that great. But feedback is appreciated. Thank you all for reading.


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