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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter 14:Unusual Help

“You need a hearing aide, kid." Dante laughed in sarcasm, picking at the salt shaker, sitting across from Nero at a diner's booth. His left hand rested on the table supporting his head, donning his red coat again; concealing his weapons in case this dive hid a few... trespassers.

"You should of packed them in yourself." Nero snorted.

"Why didn't you just place them in the back seat?"

"They didn't fit all the way, so I put them up at an angle-"

"It was enough room to stack them-"

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was."

"Says the person who didn't put them there originally."

"Doesn't matter. You don't know how to pack."

"Yes I do."

"They pushed against my seat."

"Oh cry over spilled milk, Dante. Just because it pushed against your seat a bit, you had to go and mess everything up."

"I remember your blond friend giving me that same 'cry me a river' speech-"

"-Don't change the subject. Go on and admit it. You were wrong and I-"

"-don't follow instructions."

The topic in question involved their coffin-suitcases.

There was minimal room to fit them nicely in the rear seat and the teen improvised, laying the second case at a diagonal where it pushed against Dante's chair. After the half-breed repositioned the motorcycle, refrigerator, and the ATV on the tail of the pickup, he climbed behind the steering wheel, eyebrows raising in the air, editing his comfortable sitting position.

A shouting match ensued, Dante attempting to yank the boxes out and Nero trying to keep them in place. In the scuffle, the latches unlocked, spilling the contents on the floor and under their seats. Some of them escaped outside to which the devil hunters played fetch, running after them like dogs.

Scaly fingers itched to punch him in the shoulder if it weren't for the old woman of the establishment calling out their order, well his since Dante didn't want to eat.

With Nero's incessant mantra of 'I'm hungry,' Dante lucked out in finding a shanty-looking burger stand, a run-down gas station, and a cheap motel. By this point, Nero didn't care if he ate a rat he damn near starved. Only when he realized the dive looked like an infestation of rats inhabited the place did he second-guess his wish. But underneath it all, his hunger spoke over everything.

Wobbly legs stood to get his food, careful to keep his devil bringer concealed. His jacket wasn't fit to don in a dingy place like this, regardless of its desertion. Getting his order might have been pleasant if the woman's eyeballs posted somewhere other than his right side, trying to sneak a peek at his blue branch.

Traveling without his sling waged to have the public use the 'freak' card when looking upon his arm, judging something they didn't understand. Dante preached about his freedom from that orderly confused city, encouraging the brat to express himself with his middle finger raised.

When the youth went places with Dante, the dope would make sure that a glove or an arm brace didn't reach his vision. He let the young man pull his coat sleeve down, but even that didn't settle well with him.

So here he stood in his sleeveless red sweater, demonic accessory shifting to hide from sight, and an old woman not lifting her eyes from his lower half. Regretfully, the hard skin scaled up his bicep, ending in root-like veins just under his shoulder but now her husband came from out the back, having a good view of his limb. Nero lowered his head to where his bangs obscured his face, hurrying to the counter to grab the snack and run towards the truck.

Discomfort flushed his cheeks when his right arm showed naked to the world. On the religious island, there always existed a chance that that one person would see his burgundy-red palm giving way to his blue-taloned fingers, and he didn't want to fall under the influence of blackmail.

The main reason he preferred his lonesome.

Looking out for his own interests gave him a sense of security. No stress over strangers discovering his altered arm and making judgments, pointing an accusing finger and screaming the words 'monster' or 'freak.' And yet Dante challenged him to remove the walls he set up to protect himself, taunting him to let it all go.

However, he wasn't as "normal" as Dante... appearance wise anyway.

The halfling can step out into the world in a shirt with some basketball shorts and people would stare and keep on moving. If the teen went out in the same garb, they would stop to gawk and that's where the problem flew in.

The old man fixated at the spectacle beside his wife, tensing with a worried look on his wrinkly, freckled expression. Under the counter, he reached for something, probably his concealed weapon. Nero stopped walking, reading the desolate language on the white-haired woman's face and the stern countenance on her husband's. Before he assumed the worst, a swoosh of air trailed next to him, a hard hand grasping his shoulder.

Dante stepped in front and to the side of the youth, ever so slightly to protect him; the one thing Nero knew how to do himself. Dante's quick movement swept his scent by the teen's nose, the elder's heavy musk bringing a comforting smell Nero liked being around.

"So... what's going on?" Dante spoke with a cool air added to his persona. Rarely did he have to exert such intimidation onto anyone because he succeeded the first time. The couple drew cautious curiosity about the kid's glowing appendix, but the chieftain made sure Nero didn't feel insecure or threatened by an individual's ignorant notions. Well, the being-scared-of-demons-thing floated around, but this was different.

The gray-haired man spoke first. "Now, you know the deal we got going on. You people get what you came here for and move along. We don't want no trouble."

The elderly woman explained, "Your boss said she would spare us if we keep quiet," she mumbled, her voice trembling from stress and fear.

"Boss?" Both slayers questioned in unison, exchanging confused glances. If they spoke about the Scorpion Queen, then their sorrows and fears would be no more.

"In case you hadn't noticed, our clothes are not fitting for this rural area." In actuality, their clothing should have told them from the get-go that they weren't from this part of the world.

"You mean-" Now the couple exchanged visages, faces lighting up with ease and hope. "-the both of you aren't with Ramona?"

"No, we are not. In fact, we are demon hunters who've been sent out here by that bit... ah, that lunatic lady. Quite a mess over there, I tell ya what." Dante reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white business card. The name 'Devil May Cry' in big, bold red letters and the words ' Odd Jobs Extraordinaire' written underneath in black subscript. He extended the thin rectangle to the male who hesitated to take it. "What's going on around here exactly?"

The woman spoke. "This community is dead, killed and slaughtered by Ramona and her thugs. The only reason they kept us, our son and our daughter alive was to keep people from gaining suspicion to everyone's disappearance. Obviously a very dumb explanation, but I was too shocked to speak." She finished the sentence with a noticeable break in her voice, her husband putting a comforting arm around her. "If you are who you say you are, we could have used this about four months back."

Dante's eyebrows narrowed to mask his full aggravation. The gang presumed this increased demonic activity went on for a few weeks, but their beliefs proved false. This Ramona girl put in some work, making sure the operation progressed without hiccups. He briefly wondered if that blond guy phoned her and told her what happened.

"How many people survived after the attacks?"

"Four. Out of a quiet little town of about 600. Four."

"Damn." The devil hunter looked away, eyes clouding over to what the teenager interpreted as anger. He roved deep in speculation, searching for his next words. If the convert's organization prevailed as a strong union, then the hunters needed to put in work too.

A low growling timbre filled the place, sending the woman to hide behind her husband and for him to pull out a 12-gauge shotgun. Nero alerted to the noise... but for an entirely different account. His widened eyes and apple-tinted cheeks said it all.

"Ha ha! That's one monster that's gonna have to be put down tonight," Dante lifted a supporting arm around the shoulder of an abashed Nero, who wanted to bury his head inside a hole and stay there yet the sound echoed again, making his stomach tremble from within...

"That yunggin' there looks as if he could use some grub." The old timer looked eased, fear and relief mixing on his face.

"That he can sir, that he can," teased the veteran.

"Well, don't let the food go to waste, eat up!" The elder man reassured his wife as he put his shotgun away, flashing a warm smile to the boy to tell him he meant him no harm. She went to the back of the store somewhere to calm her frazzled nerves.

The red hunter gave the kid an assuring squeeze before nudging him towards the plate. The quick-change attitude of the elderly set stayed fresh in Nero's mind. He guessed the recruits of Ramona or the she-bitch must've harassed and threatened the couple to veer on edge ever since all of this started.

Also not lost on Nero exhibited their belief in the chieftain's words. What if he was one of her followers and he came to test them? They had been far too trusting too quickly. Yet Nero surmised they hung onto their last thread of hope. Why didn't they just up and leave?

With timid steps, he trudged forward and grabbed his meal, gripping the plate in his human hand. He held his worries about showing his devil bringer as it is. Though he couldn't grab his drink still...

"I will go on a limb and say that's not a fancy glove, and that baby can pack a punch." The old timer jested to make the youngster a bit more comfortable, seeing how tensed and embarrassed he is.

Nero glanced into the eyes of the man to take in his appearance. Gray irises, a dented nose, visible laugh lines, puffy cheeks, an age-appropriate beard, and a hefty mustache gave off the image of a friendly person... or someone who terrified small children.

Withal, looks can be very deceiving.

In a move to appear nice and calm, he grabbed the drink with his right hand and offered the guy a nod and a half smirk, retreating to his table, averting the red one's gaze. He set the plate down and reached into the bag with the salted onion rings and shoved a few in his mouth. Half of the onions planted themselves in his stomach when he glanced over to the veteran, who smirked at the floor before moving closer to resume talking to the duo.

Okay, so he may have chomped down on his food in an excessive manner, but who cares? He was hungry. His rear kissed the seat, digging in to grab his chili-cheese bacon burger to munch on that, in a slow fashion this time, while the chief talked away.

"Why haven't you guys left?"

"They trapped us here so we have to stay. They took all of our I. D's and social security numbers, credit cards, bank cards, and money. If we leave, they'll track us down."

"Do you know who stole them or who forced you to give them up?"

"Ramona."

That word must be popular around here. He didn't hear a repeated name too often and when he did, it meant the person infamously became a celebrity... until they got a load of him.

"This Ramona you speak of... tell me more about her."

"Before her parents mysteriously died, her nickname was 'Caramel Caroline' around here."

"Caramel Caroline, huh? Why, because she was sticky?"

A noticeable snort listened in across the room, followed by a short but sarcastic titter originating from the area where the twerp ate. Who gave a damn that the joke classified as awful. He made an effort trying to lighten the mood.

Soundless boots tip-toed to a nearby table and grabbed a ketchup packet before launching it right at the back of Nero's skull. Luckily for the punk, the contents didn't open and splatter on him. Dante turned so the youth couldn't retaliate.

The old timer chuckled at the display and continued, "No, that was the color of her skin and it lit up every time she stepped in the sun, right along with her sweet smile." He disappeared to the back and reappeared moments later, with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two shot glasses to accompany his storytelling.

"Her pops and I used to go down to the lake each Saturday and fish the day away. Good times, I tell ya." The man took the glasses and filled them up with the burning content, pushing one towards Dante as he swallowed the other.

The half-devil wasn't exactly a 'whiskey' man if you will. He mastered the art of drinking beer and substituted it as a thirst quencher without feeling the side effects, too much. But once he got his hands on some liquor... things eventually went downhill from there.

Shrugging off the sordid memories after he regained control from his alcohol-induced state, he tossed back the drink. Cool, acidic liquid scorched his throat on its way to his insides, scrunching his face in the absence of drinking bourbon.

"After our last fishing bout, I hadn't seen or heard from him for at least two weeks. I assumed something happened 'cause Peter just doesn't disappear without calling. When I got in the car to go up there-" The man's hands visibly shook, refilling the glasses as he struggled to describe what he saw. "-these... monsters came out of nowhere and started killing everybody... slaughtering them like animals. You would have thought Halloween came early it was so unreal, but the smell..."

The elderly man zoned out, having difficulty recalling what transpired. He refilled the glasses and attempted to drink but some of the amber liquid spilled out, forcing him to set it down.

"Was everyone here at a certain point or something?"

Shaking fingers lifted the glass, but Dante reached forward and placed his hand on the man's arm, setting it down on the counter. "The townsfolk stop here on their way to work before going to the city, since this really ain't a job-friendly area. And that's when the massacre began.”

He tossed his back with such vigor that the glass nearly slipped from his grasp. The halfling drank his, though his facial expression didn't sour.

"You say you exterminate demons, son?" Hard gray eyes focused on him with conviction, preparing to request the hunter to share his burden.

Dante glanced over at Nero, more than half way through his sandwich, sipping in delight from his drink. He declined ordering anything from here because burgers weren't his thing. If they somehow made pizza into a burger then...

"I will give you whatever amount you ask for if you claim, if you can... get rid of all of those bastards around here," he mentioned, regaining the hybrid's attention.

He's been down this road before. Humans and vengeance bedded each other when families lost their loved ones outside of natural causes, willing to pay anything to avenge their family. But in cases such as this where the casualty level peaked for no logical explanation, he'll be happy to exterminate the demons without payment.

Besides, he wouldn't feel right if he accepted money from them in a situation like this. The people here will need all the help they could get to rebuild their history; physically, emotionally, mentally, and financially.

"I have a better proposition for you and your family."

"And that would be?"

"Grab the wife and kids and scram the hell outta here-"

"That's not possible."

"-while we do a clean scope of the area."

"We can't hide anywhere we go."

"What's your name if you don't mind me asking."

"… You know how long its been since somebody asked me my name... eight years. Eight long, happy-living years 'cause everybody knows everybody in the town of Whetstone... and now they're gone."

Tears prickled the edges of his eyes, the elder man looking upwards to stop their flow. He took a lengthy swig of the whiskey, forcing Dante to yank it from him, spilling the drink across the counter.

"As much fun it is to drown your sorrows with this, it gets shittier when you let up."

“You know how powerful that thing is?”

"Believe me, more than you can imagine. But I want you sober when you make this decision." No matter if the man didn't want to move him and his family out of here, Dante would force him if they didn't reach a valid agreement.

"If it's the same question from earlier, then my answer remains the same."

You stubborn fool. "Well I don't see how you can say no after their 'headquarters' in the middle of the damn jungle has been ravished. And I'm pretty confident they'll come after the rest of you once they find it that way."

Wrinkled, silent charcoals looked on with a pained profile, Dante's meaning sinking in with a clear outcome. If these "demon hunters" vandalized the Barnes' estate, then her followers will charge straight after them and kill them, whether they noticed what happened or not. Just as much, what if they weren't who they say they are and they looted the house? And even scarier, what if Ramona sent them to make sure they behaved?

Realizing any of this could be true, brittle hands cradled a pounding head, letting watery trails flow freely. He can't keep fighting a losing battle anymore, living as prisoners in their own town. Constantly stressing over the damned and their harassing tendencies; it proved too heavy a burden to deal with.

A slinky, black object caught Dante's attention, looking into a slim mirror in the back of the establishment, thinking its time to get the man and his children out of here.

"Would a demonstration help in your decision?"

Dante brought the man's focus to him. He didn't really know what he had to go through, though he guessed constant paranoia weighed down on his shoulders. The continuing pressure of knowing that death lied upon them had to have his family on edge, anxiety and depression hanging thick over their heads daily.

"You know, I bet after you see this you'll jump at the opportunity to leave." He beckoned his finger for the elder to follow once he cleared his watery tracks, making his way out to the front porch. Ever since those thoughts popped into the old timer's head, his guard was on high, reaching under the counter to grab a hold of the shotgun again.

The blue-clad hunter peeked over his shoulder as the two men headed outside; Dante with a confident stroll and the senior with a slight, dragging gait in his left leg. The captain walked without a care in the world and the man looked ready to kill. As if reading his thoughts, gray eyes pressed over to Nero, providing a blank, empty stare as if the elder might harm his counterpart if he tried anything funny.

Something in his vacant glare unnerved the teen, an unwanted sensation rising to protect himself and if possible, Dante. While the man and his family had no reason to fear them, Nero didn't reciprocate the feeling. It seemed like there was a trap to be sprung.

He didn't realize how quick he stood up, savory burger still in his hand while bee-lining out the door onto the front porch. His inner demon must've temporarily stolen the reigns to his conscious being, driving the possessed body right back into Dante's form.

The veteran's back muscles tensed, brown boots taking two giant steps to Dante's right to look over the ledge, placing his hamburger up to his mouth.

For ten solid seconds silence crept through the area. No slight breeze blew in the air, no crickets chirped, no owls hooted, nothing. Nature stopped the wilderness from doing the task at hand to see what would unfold next; to watch a confrontation between the hunters.

Heated tendrils wormed its way up Nero's back despite the chilly wind. Nero chomped a piece of the burger off but he didn't chew, depositing the food in the left side of his cheek, cursing his inner nightmare with every derogatory word he thought of. Maybe the men stared at him so hard his clothes caught on fire, but that paled compared to the vibrant shade flushing his cheeks.

Devils by nature are possessive creatures, maintaining an awful habit of claiming things as theirs without consciously knowing the full understanding at first. He bumped into his backside twice now, avoiding a motive.

It wasn't to where he walked directly behind them and he wasn't standing in front of the door to make Nero run into him either. He would have to confront him about this later, and if he struck out on the third swing...

He cleared his throat once, breaking eye contact from the teen's back, glowering over to the startled man. A brief yet fake smile twitched his lips to reel himself to the situation at present.

Knitted eyebrows gave way to confusion on Edward's face, trying to decipher what he just saw.

"All right then, uh... ignore him over there, he's a bit-" The hybrid pointed his trigger finger at his temple, creating small circular movements while crisscrossing his eyes.

"No, I'm not." Nero whispered, resuming to chew his food, protesting what Dante said about him.

Dante turned towards his smaller counterpart with bright, twinkling eyes. The kid strived to fight through his embarrassment, strengthening his stance to appear calm but his quivering voice gave away his emotions.

"Okay... but he got knocked around the noggin today." He waited to hear Nero object, which he didn't before he continued, "Which brings me to the reason you will do this. Now," Dante took one step down the front stair and gestured to the hesitant old timer to follow. "You sir, step off the porch and onto the ground so you'll believe me."

The man's doubtful stare must've told the red slayer he wasn't entirely sold on the idea. Nero turned halfway to see what the men did. As far as he could tell no demons lurked in the vicinity, so exactly what is he doing?

"What am I doing here, son?"

"You're supposed to step off the porch, onto the ground, and step back on the porch."

"… And where do we go from here?"

"It will lead me to show you what's down there."

With hesitant trepidation registering across his weathered features he nodded, cocking his shotgun as he stepped down and touched the soil with one foot. After looking around the area for anything suspicious or out of place, which wasn't much since it's desertion, he joined his other one. The old timer glimpsed over his shoulder to Nero then to Dante, who gave him a firm nod.

"How long has it been since you went outside without fear?" Dante laid a hand on the man's shoulder, seeing how he didn't know what else to do when he stepped back onto the porch. Collateral damage will remain a mainstay when a war waged on, and often the innocent bystanders caught the worst of the suffering.

So what provided the source why they stayed alive? Why not just wipe out everyone and be done with it? Perhaps this Ramona still had some emotional attachment to the old coot... or maybe even play off the ghost town vibe.

Which brings him to his initial question after he heard about the town's extinction. Did any of the relatives of the townspeople try to reach out to them and if so, did they come out here to see what happened?

It's highly improbable that everyone here was an orphan or had no kin so something didn't sit right with this. At best, he could save the chit-chat for later.

He and his children needed to head to a more secure location; Dante just knew Mr. Blond phoned it in to his shitty partners.

"My turn!" The red-clad hunter jumped off the porch and landed a few meters from the stairs. As soon as his soles touched solid dirt, a Fault appeared underneath him, eight neon blue 'limbs' surrounding the slayer from all sides. A frightened, loud gasp escaped the senior's mouth, pointing the gun at Dante's feet.

When Dante met these things back in Fortuna, a single shot from the shotgun did him no good. Heavy weaponry, like Ms. Pandora, killed these little fuckers quick. Alas, he didn't have the suitcase on him so wasting ammo would be useless.

"Move the hell away from that thing!" The older man shouted, aiming the weapon to shoot at the creature if it attacked.

Dante side-stepped to the left as the Fault's appendages closed to form that hideous face. When he moved to his new place, it reappeared to ensnare Dante in its legs but to no avail.

The old man busied himself looking in the eyes of said fiend, frightened and amazed that something could exist of that nature. The octopus-like creature locked up its limbs... and it formed into a semi-face, one with large, bulging eyeballs glaring over missing the swallowing of the big guy.

Visceral monsters combed through his sight since their unwanted welcome in the small town, and the human skin they wore to conceal what they truly are on the inside. However, why did the stranger in red act so damn calm about it?

Dante walked in even gaits towards the steps, ignoring the pointed shotgun and Nero's confused leer. When his foot touched the second stair, the Fault closed its appendages, capturing the end of Dante's jacket in its... mouth and refused to let go.

The hybrid stopped, moving his right limb to the bottom of his jacket and tugged. He repeated the yanking three more times and the result proved fruitless. He glimpsed over his shoulder to gaze at the offensive foe but from the angle of the entrapment, he had to look under his coat.

"Hang on, I'll get it!" Gray eyes swiveled to the idle youngster, looking at his partner with a sneer.

He finished his food when he made his way to the outside trash canister to throw the wrapper away. The blue hunter stood a few feet from the hybrid, crossing his arms over his chest.

"See if you can try and help him!" An old coot of his caliber and age shouldn't be this stressed about anything except his family and his health. However at this rate, both steered towards a grave compromise.

"What for?" The youth gave a loud snort. "He can get himself out of it."

"What he meant to say was that in showing you why you should leave," Dante pointed to the Fault behind him, "I have gotten myself caught in its hold and it is up to me to get myself out."

"That's not what I meant to say, it's what I said."

Dante's lips quirked upwards in a grimace before trying to snatch the jacket away from the demon with more force. He turned around to face the ugly thing when a loud BANG! echoed through the night, breaking the silent stillness engulfing the three men since they stepped outside.

Dante scrutinized the hideous enemy again and noticed a medium-sized hole at the top of its head. The smoke from the shotgun's barrel confirmed the noise, and that it didn't injure the bastard in the slightest. Shortly after, the wife came out the door, similar weapon occupying her hands to see what her husband shot at.

"It's all right ma'am, just trying to rid of your pest problem." The chieftain gave her a reassuring smirk but it didn't reach her eyes, seeing her trigger finger twitching, gripping the lever while pointing the gun at him. She positioned herself behind her husband, looking at the red hunter's jacket floating mysteriously in the air.

"What did you shoot at, Edward?"

"It's nothing Grace. Go back inside, call the kids, and tell them to pack up. We're leaving."

“Leaving for... what in Mary's name is that!?” Her features contorted into enlarged eyes and a widened mouth after recognizing a face that seemed to be eating the man's coat... only that its mouth sat on top of its head. She glanced from Dante to the fiend, then at Dante to her husband before readying her shotgun to blast the thing.

"That's not going to help much."

He carried a double-barreled shotgun capable of firing demonically charged pellets, and that took nearly three to four shots to down the fiend. This duo had a single shotgun with no magical abilities, so it would take twice as many attempts to bring the Fault down, wasting needed ammo.

"Get over here and try to maul this asshole before I maul you!" He gritted a whispered command to Nero while the elderly item argued about how this foe is something they should heed worry to. It raised the question of why the damn thing didn't sink back into the ground yet with him in tow. Maybe the monstrosity wanted to make sure it had a solid grip on him?

Nero rolled his eyes, strolling his way to Dante's side, not knowing where to start to rescue him from his predicament. His stashed weapons waited in the pickup and he didn't feel like fetching them just to get Dante out of his trap. He could pull his coat off and yank the damn thing from its mouth and that would be that. And what exactly can he do huh? Wave his arm in the front of the beast and hope the fiend would savor his limb as bait?

"What am I supposed to do?" the teen scratched his head, peering around both sides of the chieftain's lengthy legs.

"Shoot it and get me out of here."

"With what, my looks?"

Dante face blanked out.

"Well?"

"Get your ass over to the truck and grab your sword."

"No."

"Then grab mine."

"I'm not walking over there just to get that."

"What... is with all the lip you're giving me all of a sudden?"

"Don't you have any guns on you?"

"Not enough firepower. I'll be here all night waiting for it to die."

Nero's face blanked out.

Nero didn't see why he had to help out since Dante knowingly got himself caught in its clutches. He knew these things are troublesome to evade and kill, and now warranted the time not to joke because the elderly pair was already old and fragile.

"You play around too much." The teen voiced in hurried words before the couple stopped their minor bickering to listen in. Then again, they should listen because he was sure they would agree with him in this case.

"What are you talking about?"

"What-are-you-talking-about," Nero mimicked him in a sing-song like voice. "Don't you think you should have moved quicker to avoid being where you are now, given what we are dealing with at the moment?"

The veteran hunter stuck his tongue in the left side of his cheek, begrudgingly knowing him to be in the right.

Before the brat further berated him as if he was the child, he needed to get himself free from his demonic bear trap to explain what he did... and maybe slap the fledgling for his smart mouth.

The couple finished their panicked argument and turned towards the hunters, guns still armed as they looked to their trapped, potential help and the trapped, potential helper's friend. Grace stepped forward, aiming at the Fault but Dante stopped her long before she continued, seeing her shaky form holding the weapon. An aim that weak can go terribly wrong and he didn't feel like having his legs shot off... or worse.

"Hang on, Grace." The woman halted her movements. "And Edward... can I call you Edward?" The man gave him a solid nod. "Okay, me and my partner run into these things all the time, so there is no need to get all worked up."

The soft, yet firm voice Dante used eased the creased wrinkles off the elder couple's faces but not much else. Edward made a move to speak in spite of Dante cutting him off. "We didn't bring our special weaponry with us today, so if you don't mind, again, can he use your shotgun?"

The old timer glanced over to Nero, skepticism displaying across his features as to what he meant by giving the boy his hardware. There is a high chance they knew any and everything about demons, but why give up the gun to him if he didn't rescue his ally?

"His arm... got a bit of a punch to it, if you get my drift," said Dante in an annoyed tone.

Edward gave a silent 'oh' as he understood what had to be done. He shifted over to the teen who held his eyes downcast on the floor. It seemed obvious he didn't like to have his appendage talked about or displayed.

Personally, he wanted to see what the funky looking thing could do, but the lad looked somewhat ashamed of it. He waged small steps to where the young man stood, handing the shotgun out to him with caution, not wanting to startle the boy.

Nero raised his head to look at it then took the weapon. He, for some time here and after, will always hold reservations just showing his devil bringer to the world at a moment's notice. The teenager got enough critiques and stares and assumptions from people who didn't know him or heard rumors about him, and he wasn't in the mood to add more idiots to his "fuck you" list.

Once the gun was in his hands, he looked over at Dante, who crossed his arms in expectance.

"Well?" Dante asked.

"Well what?"

"Do that thing you do."

"Like?"

"Oh I don't know. How about making something blow up by shooting it? That seemed to work marvelously that last time you did it." A bitter smirk crossed his face in remembrance to the bodily debris taking him by surprise earlier. "Come on, we ain't got all day."

Truth be told, the teen didn't specialize in powerful artillery because its handling couldn't match the speed of his movements. Both his weapons were designed to flow with his quick motions to attack his opponents in rapid succession. Shotguns took too long to fire and they possessed a wide target range.

His inexperience with the weapon just by holding it showed clear in Dante's dubious eyes. Nero held the piece on his left side with his left hand awkwardly on the trigger and his devil bringer a little too close towards the nozzle; the tool slightly tucked under his arm and the butt of the shotgun aligned with his shoulder.

From Dante's point of view, the brat looked crooked... or even crippled; the gun appearing too big for him to handle. He knew the kid could utilize both hands with no problem, except in this situation... no.

"See from this angle Nero, honestly, it looks like you're gonna mess around and shoot me in the face."

Nero agreed on that part. "Okay, but I'm aiming at that thing."

"Yeah but... can you hold it on your right?"

"You can always take the gun and shoot yourself." An edge laced his voice after the youngster responded. His proficiency didn't lie in guns, it belonged in swords; heavy artillery like this would delay him in battle.

Speaking of delaying, what's Dante going to do once he shot the demon with concentrated energy? It was about a three second layover until the target blew up to pieces, and he was sure to get caught in the blast. Oh well, he shouldn't be so lazy.

"I would, but you're at a better angle to kill it. Now if you please..."

While the chieftain babbled on about nonsense, Nero imagined said slayer getting mixed up in the explosion. He envisioned his backside erupting into flames, rolling around in the dirt to put himself out. Once the fire died, his clothes would have awful burn marks and holes along his back.

Say hello to rawhide flesh!

That sentence alone almost made him not want to do it. Almost.

Nero readied the shotgun again, despite Dante claiming he should hold it on his other side, and charged the weapon; the demonic energy from his devil branch gaining in intensity the longer he channeled the magic into the gun. Edward and Grace took two large steps back, watching Nero's rough limb brighten, looking on in terror and awe at the spectacle.

In all honesty, this sight shouldn't have been a surprise to them, since the human-turned-demons that came through there had slimy arms and scaly legs they didn't hesitate to scare and prank the couple and their kids with. But this held quite the view.

Dante shuffled over to the right as much as possible so the youth can have an increased chance of hitting the correct target. He wondered, because the Fault could "see" its surroundings with those big, ugly red eyes, if it would move since the shotgun pointed at it.

Nero fired off a single shot, taking a full half-step, half-jump from the recoil bucking into his left shoulder. Dante looked down at the monstrosity and observed a gaping hole nestled right between its bulging orbs, looking as if nothing perturbed it.

Only a matter of seconds remained before the head exploded and he needed to haul ass. The lovers stood a safe enough distance from the explosion, though he should still warn them about the shock.

"Did it work?" Edward asked with caution, still seeing the red-clad man trapped.

"It's going to, just don't mind the explosion when it happ-"

BOOM!... BANG!

Interesting...

Interesting indeed...

Nero always wanted to be the cause of Dante's demise, well he surmised his indecisive devil side did, but someone beat him to it.

Everything with a positive effect on Nero, from staying with Dante to having the friendly bantering to slashing rogues to his overall company with the man vanished, replaced with a sudden, horrifying realization.

The idea of Dante catching on fire or even him being blasted away seemed to be the worst concept Nero ever thought of. Except that didn't befall the red one.

A tightness grew in his chest upon seeing his fellow demon, his friend, lying on the ground with a gaping hole in his forehead, mangled skin decorating the surface. The Fault died, but in its place lay the unconscious half-human, lifeless to the world.

Nero's body stayed rigid, letting the anxiety of what happened in mere seconds seep into his mind and settle into his memory. His eyes however, couldn't look at the sight anymore, moving incrementally to the left, settling on the smoky vapors rising from the barrel of a shotgun the old woman held.

A/N: The story is NOT OVER folks. :D
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Dreams Will Be Made Of These