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Dreams Will Be Made Of These	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3810 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or its characters. Blah, blah, blah-no money is made off of this either.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter 13: Traffic Blockade

Quick spurts of sharp breaths filled the silence of the car, the teenager latched onto the truck's handle with his human hand clutching onto Dante's outstretched arm. The chieftain reached across the kid's torso to brace for a (thankfully) missed impact; he didn't care to have the road skin him to death.

Nero felt a subtle jerk with the truck coming to an abrupt stop. The big rig had enough smarts or keen reflexes, or did Dante swerve, in time to avoid a frontal collision.

Both hunters stared wide-eyed out of the front window, taking a few moments to collect themselves. If he knew any better, Nero could have sworn his heart thumped outside his rib cage. Luckily it wasn't so. The veteran's broad forearm reached over his ribs to grab the door, Nero's beating ticker thumping against Dante's limb. Once Dante recovered from the initial shock, he decided to say the first theory simmering into his mind.

"Okay, who blew you so good you had to flail your limbs like a maniac?"

Cognitive reasoning skidded to a halt, still processing blanks because he believed his skin should make contact with the pavement. Adrenaline coursed in thick pumps in his veins, timid fingers grasping Dante's forearm to move. His brain short circuited, leaving his hand on top of the other's arm, muttering a thoughtful response.

"Huh?" Nero managed to say, eyes glazed over in confusion.

"Someone must've showed you a good time in your dream, right?"

"… Huh?" Nero's brain functioned, trying to return his logic to common sense, but alas the machinery jammed and it failed once more.

"Who sucked your dick into ecstasy, Nero."

That statement jump started his cerebral equipment, the electrical pulses shooting through the waves of his intellectual organ to conscious reasoning. The absurdity of the question wasn't what the man said but how he said it. Dante's panting breath, soft-spoken words and piercing periwinkles made Nero's sole being stand at full attention, if not for the sudden flow of alertness down south in his pants.

Nero straightened up in his seat a little, nodding once to signal his awake form. Dante left his palm there, taking in the rapid heartbeats slowing down from its speedy rush. He slid his hand all the way across the expanse of Nero's ribs, returning to grip the steering wheel.

Shit, at this rate he'll probably tell the two huntresses to take on whatever jobs for the next couple of days and keep the pay. He needed a break to recuperate from Nero nearly killing them both with his thrashing.

"You are trying to get rid of me," the young hunter said with a half-hearted laugh, looking down his chest, feeling his heart descend from inside his throat from panicking.

"The only way I'll get rid of you is if you get rid of you, by means of suicide, you... psycho.”

Nero slumped in his seat, exhausted. "What are you talking about?"

"This." Dante mimicked Nero's gestures, flailing his right appendage around randomly by the teen; flogging him every so often with elevated force. The partial-demon tried to catch Dante's wild arm to avoid a black eye but failed when he moved his limb at different angles.

"The hell are you doing?!"

"I'm copying you."

"When was I doing this?"

"While you slept." The elder ceased his erratic movements, but not before giving Nero a stern wallop to the back of his skull.

Obviously, the teen didn't appreciate the action; sticking the elder his version of a good measure by shifting to hit him in his shoulder with his right hand.

Dante moved Nero with a hard push. The opening allowed the kid to take hold of the veteran's palm and punch him on the side of his jaw; not as roughly as the shove but as a warning for the hybrid to quit. The chief never liked mixed messages, so he took that as a cue to continue their friendly game.

The half-human turned slightly in his seat, using his other hand to sock the brat anywhere he found a spot. Nero reached to grab his attacking appendage, but Dante feigned and slapped his face instead. Heated spikes pulsed in his devil bringer, Dante provoking his inner demon to come out and let the red one know that he wasn't in the mood.

The crimson hunter gave a harder-than-usual punch to his face as if he read his companion's thoughts, reeling Nero's skull to collide with the passenger window, Dante taking to flee out the truck.

A hoarse shout accompanied Nero's fumbling movements after him; so embedded with fury he could have gone out the passenger's door instead. Shaking rage overtook conscious deduction, his sole purpose aimed to give the dope another hole to breathe out of.

Legs pumped in fast strides, planning on using the scratchy pavement to bash his head into. It wasn't his fault he flailed his arms everywhere. He had to wake up from that nightmare-like bullshit.

A flash of red faded into the starless sky, the half-moon producing scarce light to see anything behind the Camaro, which somehow hitched onto the back of the truck. Nero didn't stop to confirm if he took the bike nor did he care at the moment. The need to expel this pent-up energy on someone maddened him into action.

And why did he run towards the darkness?

"Get ready, kid! Just one more thing I gotta get off my chest before we scram outta here."

"I'm getting ready all right! Getting ready to kick your ass!" Nero bellowed.

Demonic senses kicked in the further he moved away from the truck's headlights. He didn't have super nocturnal range as well as other demons or this certain half-breed, but it sufficed to see within six feet of his vicinity; plus his devil bringer doubled as a flashlight.

He reached into his holster and grabbed his double revolver, aiming into the darkened street to catch sight of the hybrid. At this point, he didn't care if he fired without looking because nobody would be witless enough to be near here; not if they wanted to serve as dinner for lechers anyway.

"Why are you playing, you asshole?" Nero gritted out, annoyed with Dante's immature bullshit.

"I swear on your grave if this is another one of your tricks, I'll slap you so hard you won't be able to see right for a week!" Nero twisted around, focused eyes narrowed for the slightest hint of red or a sliver of white hair.

Stomach muscles convulsed, his insides swishing and swirling in unhurried waves before it settled, demanding proper nourishment in the form of a meal.

"Dante, if you don't quit this shit, I will drive off in that damn truck, leave you, and call Lady to come out here and pick you up. Then you can give her all that money for wasting her time because you like to fuck around!" If the threat didn't send him running out of the shadows, he didn't know what would.

He lacked experience in driving, so that was a bad idea even if the pickup didn't carry the attached crap. It would be useless to crash the car and they're both stranded.

In the distance, a revving engine tickled his ears in the night's stillness. Judging the loud noise's range, he'd say a big rig headed their way. No car lights illuminated the road, the moon casting a dim brilliance and tall trees obscured most of the radiant light. Yet the accelerated motor veered closer, having the intention to do something harmful.

"Get ready to stop the truck monster, kid."

"What?!"

"Get ready to stretch your arm out and stop the truck." Dante's voice seemed near him but far at the same time. And what the hell did he mean by stopping the truck?

A movement of chrome and skidding tires flashed out the corner of his eye some 600 feet away; the wheels gliding along the road to kick up pavement to form a semi-dust cloud. The big rig carried a trailer on the back. Fully loaded trucks never liked to share the highway with others, seeing how this one sped in their direction with the lights turned off.

To what decree could he stop a vehicular beast going faster than their stagnant speed reposed a mystery to him. He knew his abilities allowed him to stop the truck, hopefully, but why is he doing so to begin with?

"This guy has a damn chip on his shoulder," Dante yelled to the side of him; irritation heard in his statement.

"What guy?"

"Back at that house. After he knocked you senseless, he fled like a pussy. I'm driving all nice and calm on the road until he ran me off of it. Me! Of all people! If you had been awake, I would've shoved him into a ditch. But circumstances presenting-"

"You talk a lot."

"Just get ready to stop the damn thing."

The truck's dark outline combed through cerulean eyes, pieces of steel reflecting the moon's silver rays. White-gray smoke puffed out if its cylindrical tube with its increased speed; the intention to damage apparent by the acceleration in which he progressed. This played something that looked right out of a horror movie, except there were two 'actors' who knew how to 'play' out this scene.

Well, one if you counted who took it seriously.

"Where'd the truck come from, Dante?"

"The hell if I know!"

His heartbeat quickened upon the death on wheels approaching about forty feet away; the driver blowing the horn to signal the annihilation of the roadies, but Nero had a trump card.

Dante watched in secrecy on the right side of the road, waiting to kill that fucker for good once he caught him off guard.

After he hitched his Camaro onto the pickup the monster trailer came out of no fucking where, speeding on the dirt trail to crash into Dante. But when he leapt into his rental, the convert turned off the headlights and took a route through the dense forest; presumably to intercept him at some point. The rural plains passed by too slowly, wishing to speed over 60 miles an hour but he didn't want to mess up his red car. The truck wasn't his, but his Camaro was.

Of the many hills and twists and turns he had to make, Dante felt semi-sure the big rig faltered some distance behind them, seeing how trucks going uphill could take a minute (or ten) to do so.

He didn't realize how dark the highway had become, due to lacking residences and pit stops adding to the sparse environment. The moon did little to aid him in driving, relying on the lights of his truck and his eyesight to get them out of there.

At first he presumed a flash glimmered in the distance, though it seemed hard to decipher because it was a speck at a great length. Yet no residential dwellings hovered near here, so he believed the big rig took a shortcut.

The freighter turned its brights on, veering into the center of the two lane highway to trap the hybrid and, so the veteran guessed, be ready to follow the halfling should he swerve left or right.

Dante grabbed Ebony, rolling down the window to get a good shot at the driver, but he holstered the gun with a growl.

Dante carried the maximum load and knew he couldn't do a fancy ploy to outdo the crazy driver, at least not this time anyway. Since he transported boxes full of weaponry, money and books, the motorcycle, the refrigerator and his Camaro, driving on two tires spelled out a bad idea.

Hey, his old fridge didn't keep his ice cubes frozen and his beer cold. To some extent, instead of buying a motor, why not upgrade to a newer one to ensure his pizza and malt liquor stayed chilled? It would likely clash with the drab kitchen decor, but it worked so he had no complaints.

Second, shooting the motorist dead permitted no beneficial outcome, seeing how the bastard would still be behind the wheel. The idiot might step on the gas or the brake, lean against the steering helm or let go of it, do one of those combinations, or all of them and Dante would be royally screwed.

Blasting the truck's wheels may have the neophyte regain control of the handling, after he attempted to slam into them. With the convert's current speed, shooting out his tires should make the big rig flip over on its side, something the red-clad demon did not need.

While pondering his choices, the teen thrashed like a maniac, as if something attacked him in his sleep. Dante ignored him until he received a hard slap to his face.

The youngster grunted with tight, closed eyes and sweating skin. By virtue, it persisted quite a bothersome task in keeping Nero's wild limbs at bay, his hands on the steering wheel and eyeing the oncoming truck.

He called his name multiple times, yet it only increased his twitches and jerks. When his hand sailed by his visage, Dante grabbed and twisted it hoping the twerp would wake up but to no avail. He made the mistake of telling Nero to hold still because his devil bringer showed up, swinging all over to hit him.

He let go of the steering wheel to deflect the unconscious limbs before he killed them both, the veteran’s left knee guiding the axis so he wouldn't veer off course prematurely. When the truck swerved a little to the left so did the killer, honking its horn to signal his impending demise.

Forced air huffed out his mouth, Dante biting into Nero's hand to snap him out of his nightmare so he could have enough time to dodge the automotive monster. Incoherent words rose, the punk tossing his head from side to side, thus making Dante say he had a blow job. Yet no matter how hot the person Nero banged, he needed to awaken.

A harsh tug, a muted curse, and a loud calling of the youth's name startled the youngster into opening his eyes at the last minute. The monster of a truck took a swerve to the left and nearly smashed into them if it wasn't for Dante braking a hard right into the shoulder of the road.

He reached over and acted as a seat belt, knowing the brat would connect his head to the dash board. Should have let him do it anyway, but Nero had a nasty wound under his bangs already from that earlier uppercut.

The convert didn't feel like giving up such tantalizing prey. He switched off the truck's headlights and vanished into the night. For a moment, Dante assumed they were out of trouble until he heard screeching in the distance, indicating he turned around for Plan B.

There wasn't time to warn Nero of the scheme to stop him once and for all, so this 'plan' (though horribly thought-up) would put an end to the neophyte and his tricks, waking Nero up fully before it started.

And what did Nero mean by his grave?

It would have been fucked up if Dante kept his mouth shut and let the twerp figure it out all on his own. Then he'll see who should lie in a grave... made of cement. Still, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him to shout out something as a heads up to lessen his insensitive actions.

Nimble knees bent into a defensive stance, shaking out his devil bringer twice before pulling his arm back, gathering the energy within before lurching it forward and grabbing the nose of the freighter.

Nero skidded backwards several feet, reacquainting himself with the arm's true power when it fought a larger opponent. Its wheels spun counter-clockwise from the abrupt stop, digging into the pavement to chuck up scattering debris.

The forceful stoppage lifted the rear four tires into the air, Nero having to adjust his grip so it wouldn't slip out of his grasp. Widened eyes and a gaping mouth graced his profile when the truck didn't cave in from the sudden halt, and felt elated to see the convert collide his ugly face into the front glass; thick blood splattering across the windshield's surface.

"WHOO! That's what I'm talking about!" An uplifting holler sounded from the shadows, followed by appreciative clapping he highly welcomed... more of a means of ammo to use in opposition to the chief for their bantering prides.

"Now just set it down so I can go and... fight... why... airborne..." Dante's stubbed words responded to Nero throwing the object away from him; the big rig executing a full flip in a half before it crashed up-side down. Iceberg blues watched in silent fascination, seeing the convert tumble like clothes in a dryer before landing crudely on his head.

The trailer landed on the pavement at a distance, detaching when the truck made its first rotation. Whatever objects inside the encased box scraped the interior with awful screeches, akin to someone running their fingernails across a chalkboard.

The blue hunter dusted his hands off after looking at his work, fingertips landing on his hips in a cocky stance. He felt positive he wouldn't have done anything remotely close to what he did in Fortuna. The tingles coursing through his body came as a much-needed reassurance that he wasn't a human-turned-weapon to Dante.

He still couldn't swallow his "usage" or the explanation. And he wanted to believe it as an accidental, spur-of-the-moment decision, assuming the bastard targeted him for the 'bitch' event and their later arguments.

He desired to forget about it all, wishing to stop somewhere and get enough food to last until breakfast. The fridge back at the office had mustard, ketchup, butter, beer, lettuce, hot sauce, and molded cheese. It didn't sound very appetizing to him. Yet a shrewish voice in the recesses of his mind told him to call for closure, despite the confession Dante gave earlier, which made sense. Somewhat.

Before they conversed without filters and disruptions from naked titty ladies or scorpion bites, he needed to rid of this unrelenting distraction.

"All you had to do was drop the truck on the ground," Dante's peeved voice spoke through the darkness a few moments later, stepping on the pavement with a glum visage.

"And what were you going to do? Try to scare me while I finished him?"

"No, that's already proven."

A sensation prickled deep inside Nero's skin, nestling at the core to rise up like magma threatening to blow the top off of a volcano. Coincidentally, the feeling described his aura at the moment; his impatience rose in effect to explode just from hearing the dope say that shit.

With learned experiences Dante has garnered over his life, he could pick up a person's darkened aura, adjusting to their mood to prepare against them lashing out. Turbulent baby blues misted over in contempt, lips pulling back into snarl, ready to lash out at him.

He meant to say that Nero would chicken out to finish the convert off to taunt him a little, just to rile him up. Withal the answer steered completely in the wrong direction. Diffusing the situation before it blew out of proportion provided an agreeable solution to an unnecessary problem.

"But I was going to say drop him on the ground so I can take him out from there, but since you're so eager to do so yourself, be my guest." Dante took a mock bow and gestured to the teen with his outstretched hand to go after the fiend, to which Nero stood motionless. The chieftain looked up into the sour face of the youth, straightening up to his full height to assess his physical state.

Once lily-white locks sported a dull shade thanks to the earth's surroundings tainting its color. Bags of fatigue appeared under Nero's eyes, darkening his already tired visage. Wide shoulders hunched up into his neck, the tenseness of the day resting peacefully on them while he carried on the dead weight. Dried mud and dirt spots botched his jeans and shoes with purple splotches. His stance slouched forward, straining despite his upright and tense posture. Maybe stopping the wheeled force took more out of him than he realized.

"You bitch-ass PUSSIES!"

Well, Mr. Blond Man wasn't ready to admit defeat yet (along with being an attention whore).

Jerky steps replaced his confident swagger, grabbing onto a probably fractured or broken shoulder. After he knocked the teen unconscious, Dante filled him with hot lead, the green skin of the convert turned gray, half-changing into this freaky-looking monster but fled when his injuries mounted. His deliberate and slow walk headed in their direction, keeping a steady pace unless he wanted to topple and kiss the concrete from the impact.

Maybe the squirt can take on the neophyte, seeing how he clung to his last moments of life. Then again, Dante remembered the artificial asshole said he had a bleach job...

Mind made up, the veteran stalked over to the injured rogue, grabbing a hold of Rebellion as he laid her over his shoulder; making a non-verbal statement to let the blond know he wasn't going to make it out of this one alive.

Gloved fingers reached down to the side of the highway and picked up a nice sized rock, tossing it up in the air once before he reared his limb back and threw the hardened piece of earth, hitting the convert dead on in the chest not thirty feet away. The wounded man flew a few meters, legs popping up into the sky from the force of the hit to land none too gently on the hard asphalt.

The veteran strolled in steady gaits towards his opponent, seeing no need to rush to him; he took a hard hit to his breastbone and writhed in pain on the ground. Wheezing breaths told of the aches originating from his sternum, branching out to travel over his torso. His legs, speaking more so his feet, twitched to get movement in them, desperate to claim a lost battle.

In his ascended days of demon hood, he had never witnessed a power, or appendage, like the one that brat possessed. As long as a proper soul can match it, any object could hold a damned spirit. Be it chairs, trees, birds, cars, bikes, statues, weapons, and in this case, certain parts on a human.

He didn't know what to expect when he saw the runt in the midst of his oncoming assault. At first he deduced the knock-off Dante wanted to know where the screeching tires came from. But when a big, blue hand unexpectedly reached out and stopped the truck's momentum, he recognized the little fucker had his own powers.

Thus the case of his current position.

The irony of it though made him produce a broken, internal laugh. He focused on crushing them into the pavement, and yet here he was; his body molding into the pebbly road.

The hybrid approached the injured man, face expressionless looking down upon the pitiful creature. He originally thought humans were innocent bystanders in the war against the damned, but a rude wake-up call changed that. He received reminders every so often of the depravity these mortals committed without pondering the consequences.

Something must've fucked the blond up real bad to stoop this low only to get fucked in the end. Dante took a moment to wonder if he wounded his heart because this guy didn't move. Sometimes he really forgot his own strength.

The veteran asked, "Why did you do this?" He gestured with his hand to signal his question about converting.

"What's it to you?" The bloodied man wheezed, coughing up blood as it drooled down his lips. Dante confirmed he ruptured something inside from the force of the rock thrown. He continued, "You ruined the only thing that gave me a purpose in this shit you call life."

"You took that away when you gave up your humanity."

The convert produced a bitter laugh, knowing life meant nothing because his own kind stole his way long before he discovered a chance to sell his soul.

"You got a loved one on ya, seed of Sparda?"

"Nope."

"And why is that?"

Dante had a strong feeling where this conversation headed because he pondered it himself. He heard of many reasons of one turning to demon hood to solve their problems when it only made things much worse for them in the long run.

Besides, the risks hovered too high to have a lover when all of hell knew his heritage, family, scent, and the scoundrels he exterminated in trying to exterminate him. So, saving the convert from telling his sob story, and to refrain from putting a damper on his mood, he readied to deliver the final blow.

"No matter what happened to you in your life, you pick yourself up, keep on livin', and pray-"

"-To Him?" The altered believer snarled out those words, spitting in mockery to what the hybrid would mention.

"-and pray that you never see those bastards who fucked up your world."

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?... A counselor? A walking fucking proverb?!"

Dante snorted before continuing, "Well since you know who I am, I'm pretty sure you heard of the story about what happened-"

"My life wasn't fucked up by demons." By now, the convert closed his eyes, taking small, shallow breaths to lessen the pain. His injuries posed too great an action to finish morphing into his altered state, so he sensed that this would be his final end.

"It still doesn't excuse you from stooping down to their level. You've proven to be no better than the ones who put you in this spot."

"You're degrading yourself."

"I don't think of myself in that kind of light." Dante gave himself a quick once over, starting from his long legs, then to look at his torso prior to skimming over each muscular branch, finally blowing air from his mouth upward into his hair. "I've gotten over-"

"Cry me a river, Lady Gaga."

Dante's face broke into a cocky grin. "Yeah, that chick has some serious ass muscles going on."

The neophyte shot Dante a disapproving glare before looking away, somewhat wishing he hurried up and finished him already; he didn't need to hear a lecture about life and he tired of him talking regarding shit he didn't care to listen to.

Luckily, Dante got the point and readied to relinquish another non-factor in his daily routine. He heard Nero's footsteps sidle up to his side, now harboring the time to high-tail out it of here.

The half-breed twirled Rebellion around once before pointing her into the ground, leaning slightly against her, looking over at Nero's form. The youngster stood to the right of him, sans jacket, with a weird, orange-like glow emanating from his devil bringer.

"Any last requests, chump?" Dante asked the convert while gazing at Nero, who had Blue Rose drawn on his left side.

"Yeah, kill me now and go fuck yourself. Or better yet, go fuck your whore next to you."

Dante's eyes, still fixed on the teen automatically replied, "Can do. Though I thought you would-"

BANG! BANG!

Four bullets entered the forearm responsible for knocking him unconscious; the blasted pellets encased in the same orange-like glow enveloping Nero's demonic branch. The discharge of the fired shots engulfed the ammunition in a spitball of fire entering his limb with a vicious splatter upon entry, the blond falling silent.

The teenager looked over to the chieftain before taking a few steps back, setting Blue Rose in her slot, crossing his arms in a haughty manner.

"You know Dante, you talk way too much. The man said go fuck yourself and kill him. And secondly, those things have a nasty knack for exploding." He didn't need to say the second part of the neophyte's request because he already voiced what he needed to the first time.

As if on cue, the blond's body exploded, sending chunks of blood and skeletal fragments all over Dante's shocked form, some even sloshed on his face. Most of the gore splattered onto his black chaps but the glossy liquid made it appear... comical. The blast surprised the youth too. He aimed to shoot off the blond's arm only. Oh well

Nero damn near got ape-shit dirty from flipping and rolling and blasting away across fields of dirt just to get a lick in at some rogues. And to see the red ass in some mucky-looking goo satisfied him greatly.

Dante however, failed to catch on to the joke.

Though Nero couldn't see him clearly, he knew Dante was furious. And it made him happy.

The opening came to make fun of the veteran instead of him being the butt of the jokes. It would have been better if the convert gushed out blood like a geyser and it shot straight up into Dante's expression, but him getting grossed out seemed good enough for the time being.

Vapors arose from the blond's melting form, cerulean hues sliding to Dante's aghast countenance. A satisfied grin split Nero's face in two, turning around to the truck, though his body shifted left, jerking into a muscular headlock.

"What do you call yourself doing?" Dante jeered with a slight hint of irritation lacing his voice. He didn't appreciate the punk's smug attitude, vowing to get him back for it. He lucked out to have snagged Nero on his left side. If it had been on his right, a puncture wound might injure his stomach from Nero's glow stick punching him.

The younger hunter replied, "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm doing your job for you."

"I'm talking about your night light."

"Dammit, let me go."

"Not until you answer my question."

"There's nothing to answer, you idiot!" Nero strived to dislodge his neck from the inside of the man's bicep yet he wasn't budging; his legs moving this way and that to get away but the veteran stayed on him. His resistance curled him harder in the crook of his elbow. He used his right appendage to grab the hand sealing the hold over him. Only before he successfully did the deed, Dante licked his trigger finger and dug it into his ear.

A half-masculine, full feminine scream tore from his throat, pulling from the sick dork with a hard thud to the ground. Wide-eyes stared at the smirking dope, whose hands rested on his hips in a proud manner.

Turnabout was fair play, and Nero's happy mood vanished. Whether Dante got back at him for flipping the truck over, the whereabouts of the charged up bullets, or for the messy kill thereafter left him dubious, but damn he played dirty.

The red devil moved over to the trailer, knowing the interior of the cargo contained a bunch of beautiful vehicles with scratches and marks from the tumble. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to take a peek at the cars he didn't have the fortune to own.

Dante withdrew his special lady and carved two vertical slashes about five feet away from each other, completing the square by making two horizontal swipes of about equal length; he could make it bigger but he just wanted to glance inside.

And what his nocturnal sight laid on nearly broke his heart... figuratively speaking of course.

Lamborghinis, convertibles, Jaguars, Torinos and all-terrain vehicles sported unsightly dents, horrible deep scratches, broken parts and deflated tires. He assumed their sales prices would plummet to half their value if they underwent repairs, somewhere near 10 million lost in their little tumble.

Scanning periwinkles landed on one of the ATV's. Thinking about his modes of transportation, he argued with himself of its additional benefit to make it easier for Nero to traverse the city. He could take an ATV, but there wasn't any more room on the truck... or was it?

Nero's heart thudded, sitting shell-shocked on the ground, simmering in heavy surprise to Dante putting saliva on his finger and plunking it in his ear. Of all the disgusting, irrational deeds he could have done, why did he do that particular one? By the gloat on the red one's face, he knew he had gotten him back good.

Nero used the tip of his sweater to dry his ear out. If he saw the event coming beforehand, he would supply Dante a hard knee to the balls and another for kicks. Then again, he should be grateful he wasn't groped or defiled in any way. If that happened, he'd have to leave from embarrassment.

He barely noticed when the veteran dragged this four-wheeled motorcycle to the already loaded pickup. As long as he kept himself busy with adding more junk to take home, he could occupy himself by all means.

Except the chieftain wanted him to help out. And by helping out meaning he would venture closer to him.

"Nero, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can go home and bicker like a married couple." The red-clad devil hopped onto the truck's bed, picking up the irregular shaped boxes when he looked up to see the kid rooted on the ground.

"Aww, don't look at me that way," Dante said, taking in the partial-demon's flushed face. He continued, "There's hundreds of things I could've done worse to you, you know. Compared to the stuff I usually do, that was child's play. Now get your ass over here and help me."

Crave his demands.

"In your wildest dreams, asshole."

"What was that?" Dante stopped working to glare over at the sitting duck who should be arranging the trunk for more space.

"Nothing." The teenager took his time standing up, shaky legs wobbling to find their balance. An impatient growl rumbled in his stomach, voicing its vexation of helping out with laborious work.

When the youth edged closer to the truck, he could see why they didn't have enough room for space. At first, Nero assumed his mind tricked him, although viewing the unexpected became commonplace concerning the red one.

"… Why... did you take the fridge?" Nero looked on, mouth hanging open at the sight before him.

"Well, it wasn't like they needed it anymore."

"Yeah but... you took their fridge."

"So... your point is?" Dante looked on natural and unbothered. People stole petty values for much less than what he did. And he didn't think of it as stealing. It leaned more towards a 'donation' rather than the five-fingered discount.

"And that blue thing you wheeled over here?"

"Same thing."

"Did it have the key?"

"They were in a box in the rig's glove compartment."

Shaking his head with a tone of acceptance, he uttered, "You amaze me, Dante."

"Why does that seem more of an insult than a praise?"

"I... the shit you do... I'm just amazed."

"Like... good or bad amazed?"

In retrospect, he still had things to learn about the elder. His love of pizza, alcohol, women and strawberry sundaes was a given, but hunting devils topped them all. Spending time in his presence, Nero picked up Dante's other habits, like his habit for sleeping, heavy metal and submitting to Lady.

The shit she said to him would not fly with the youth, period, all though Dante seemed to let her words slip in one ear and out the other. So far, Nero didn't have any conflict with her and he would like to keep it that way. Within the first few weeks of living with the dope he learned these facts, feeling as if he discovered the iceberg's tip of his personality. He wondered how much Dante knew about him.

"Are you imagining about the stuff I do to amaze you?"

"No, I'm thinking about how amazing it would be to get something to eat."

"What about the free buffet at the fun house?"

"I'm lucky I ate the tamales, the rest spoiled over...."

Speaking of food, the junk in the fridge will rot and stink on the journey home. What is the point of having a new refrigerator when someone had to wipe it out? Figures, that slob refused to throw away the junk inside.

The chieftain noticed the doubtful look on his face, asking of his ordeal.

"Why would we carry a refrigerator chock full of stuff and didn't empty it?"

"Whoa, wait a minute kid. First of all, I did all the lifting and carrying. Secondly, I dumped everything out on the floor before I loaded it up. Give me some credit here."

"Whatever. What do you want me to do?"

"Take the cases and mash them in the back seat so we could call it a day."

Dante placed both boxes on the ground along with the refrigerator and rope. How he aimed to fit that crap on the truck reached beyond his comprehension. The fridge had a long length and the ATV the widest. Yet if Dante said he needed it...

Nero wondered what excuse he would say to any law enforcement that pulled them over and questioned their heavy load. And why wasn't he hitching anything to his Camaro?

"Hey, why can't these boxes go in your car?"

Dante stopped his work and looked at the kid stupefied, wondering why he would ask such a foolish question. Isn't that what trucks are for? To carry large amounts of heavy loads? He wasn't even sure if the rope secured his ride, so nothing hitched a joyride back there.

A staring contest ensued from both hunters, Nero expecting an answer and Dante thinking the brat should know the obvious. Finally giving up with an irritating huff, the teen presumed stacking the ill-fitting boxes in the pickup, Nero never seeing the big grin plastered on Dante's face.

A/N: What happens when Dante gets his hands on some new stuff? Simple, it gets ruined. Chances are he's going to ruin his newly "brought" stuff so we'll see how long it lasts (though I'll say not very long).

Did you guys hear that they're in the works to produce a Devil May Cry movie!? (Awesome)...by the same company that produces the Resident Evil movies (Oh no). And there are rumors that the Dante they're using will be the 'new' Dante in the movie(Le gasp!)
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Dreams Will Be Made Of These