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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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter 15: Trickster of the Night

Was he dying? The thought drifted light as an autumn leaf floating in his mind. Vaguely Dante reasoned if that were so, then the pain would cease and nothing else mattered. Gradually the waves of torment seemed to lessen, to lose their anger. He sensed a coming calm. Dare he hope that the aches receded or would it tempt the dark gods to increase it? No, there was no longer any doubt. The stinging slowly withdrew from his body.

Eventually, Dante knew the almost forgotten luxury of no pain. Little by little his form relaxed, but still he dared not move in fear of again inviting those searing stabs of agony.

For what reason he remained above ground after taking a bullet with that much force and power to the brain went beyond his logical reasoning. A lucky perk of having the best of both worlds? But the demons he shot in the skull died from the fatal wound, and very few cases existed in which humans survived any head trauma, so what gives?

While on the subject of cranial injuries...

Though Dante did not yet try to move, he retained his listening and smelling skills. Concentrating, he could distinguish the rapid, steady lapping of heartbeats against the rib cages of what he presumed to be his stunned viewers. He inhaled the increased perspiration coming off in thick waves from his audience.

At first his eyelids seemed too heavy to lift; but slowly and with great effort Dante opened them a little, registering the frozen side view of Nero's face and the fear ridden ones in the couple.

Perhaps he should have given her that warning quicker. The explosive surprise flexed her twitchy trigger finger to accidentally (maybe, maybe not) fire one off straight into his head. Luckily, his healing abilities pushed the slug out after five seconds. If only he healed himself without feeling the damned pain hitching a ride.

Every nerve, tendon, muscle, and bone knitted itself back together with the oversensitive receptors making sure he sensed it all. His lips parted to talk, but he figured he should stay still to ensure his eyeballs didn't pop out when he tried to sit up.

Looking at his spectators through heavily slitted eyes, he wondered how long it would take them to panic or come out of their shocked stupor... and then panic once he revealed a shocking truth.

“Grace... what have you done!”

Quicker than he expected.

A hard breath expanded Nero's lungs, shuddering to calm the sudden urgency of rage nestling within his core. The sinking feeling that something was wrong from here on out wrapped around Nero's soul and constricted it; corroding it with its dark, atmospheric presence.

Not even fucking fifteen seconds ago he stood in front of Dante, wearing his trademark creepy grin and spewing out jabbing remarks. Now he lied on the ground, upper half of his face unrecognizable, a waterfall of blood blanketed his features.

Nero's mind failed to grasp onto the situation. He could see Dante lying motionless on the ground, but he couldn't see Dante lying motionless on the ground. In some judgment he wouldn't fathom, he just knew Dante played some trick on him, he had to be. This idiot survived his own damn sword piercing through his heart, so a trivial pop to the head can't be the end of him, right?

But that's it. A head wound. One of the many omnipotent things that kills demons. Yet in place of the hybrid dying because of such an injury seemed... a bit impossible.

Notwithstanding, none of this shit would have happened if she didn't squeeze the trigger. But Dante should have moved a bit faster. All of this pointed towards Dante's fault, but he couldn't help but want to blame the woman.

Hell, she probably wanted to kill following the stress her and her family went through. Who knew her reason in pulling the lever. Nero didn't think she 'accidentally' shot him because the explosion scared the fuck outta her; it was flames and fire with a small 'poof' of a blast.

How frazzled will her nerves be if he had to stretch his hand out to snatch something? What would she do then? Yank a rocket launcher out her ass and “accidentally” shoot him?

“It was an accident!” Grace stepped backwards until she hit the front door.

Accident my ass!

The words his devil side righteously proclaimed revealed his sentiments in rightful causation. Nevertheless, its logic landed on the side of reason. He could see her shooting Dante in the legs, his crotch even, but to shoot him right in his skull's center required practice; none of the slippy trigger finger or of the recoil status kind.

The red hunter, with his happy-go-help ass, should've watched her hands instead of his derriere catching on fire. The thought still hung in the air about the foul act, his grip tightening on the gun in response. His friend just got his brains blown out, and all he received in return was an indirect “oops”?

“Grace!” Edward cried out, looking from the corpse to his wife and back again. His erratic breathing increased; images flashed across his mind, having to do with the unseen actions of the boy with the scaly arm. He's the one that had to deal with his partner's death; the guilt would eventually roll off of their shoulders while he carried the emotional turmoil on his.

The tightened palm around the weapon conveyed to the senior about his contemplation to act out on that rage. As far as he discerned, the guy in red maintained much more sympathy to their cause than the youth.

He didn't assist his friend when that monster grabbed a hold of his jacket. He just stood there with an annoyed look while the man clearly asked for help. And judging him by his looks alone, it looked like he can do away with the both of them without trying, since he still held their gun.

Explaining what transpired probably wasn’t going to convey anything to the boy at all. He had trouble himself deciphering why his wife shot the man.

“I-I don't know how... ” she said. Nero expected saddened tears to pool out the corner of her eyes, but nothing happened. Her tone lacked any real traumatic emotion; after all, her responsibility fell on what occurred now.

Grace's grip on the shotgun steeled solid, she couldn't pry her fingers off of it. And by the angered rage on the youngster's face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to either.

“I do. You shot him,” came the youth's flat voice.

Edward stepped ever so slightly in front of Grace to protect her from whatever the young man planned on doing. It wouldn't help much since he didn't have a gun, but he had no desire to surrender without a fight.

“I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to―God it was an accident-”

“Shooting him in the balls would've been an accident. You pulled off that shot perfectly.”

“Now, wait just a minute, son-”

“Stop calling me 'son' and it ain't nothing to wait on. If we affiliated ourselves with this Ramona broad, you'd be dead on the spot.”

His brash and cold tone swept towards the couple and upon seeing the color leave their faces, he thought he might have gone too far in his word choice. Well, his partner personified the state of the dead. How should he react?

Remorse wormed its way into his insides, gnawing at him at a steady pace. He knew what he should do to rid of that nagging feeling and redeem himself in the elderly couple's eyes, but his mind forced the notion to go somewhere else.

There existed something more important at the moment than their sentiments.

As if to reprimand him with spite after his insensitivity, his heart crumbled in on itself, inducing a sharper tug on the muscle. Maybe he should express his outrage in a more convincing manner, though he assumed they got the memo the first time he opened his mouth.

The young man fixed to apologize about his quick tongue when his feet moved on their own accord to the red devil's limp body. A saddened, hurt look met the couple's eyes, Nero hoping they'll understand his disposition. They still had their family while the teen had no one out here.

Sluggish feet approached the crimson slayer's right side, taking in the surface of what used to be his forehead. The hole in the center reminded him of a dormant volcano; once thought to be at peace with its violent activity until it sprang forth, unexpectedly spreading turmoil and devastation to anyone near it.

He dared not look into the gape because he knew his previous entrée would erupt out of his stomach. Though the attention did not go unnoticed that the gun wound resembled a mangled opening to form from the shot of impact. If anything, the bullet's force should've mutilated his head inwards, not shaping his cranium to have a protruding crater.

Which also raised the question of why Dante didn't move out of the way. The man could tilt his head to dodge bullets and knives... and words if he wanted to tune someone out.

In his hometown when he first fought the hybrid, he threw “Sparda's” twenty foot iron-clad sword right at him at full force, and the bastard leaned back a little as the sword flew past him. So why didn't the jackass evade when he heard the bullet discharge from the gun?

Nero knelt by his companion, not knowing what to do since his shock stilted his movements. Even in his deceased state, Dante appeared to have some life in him, begging to have one more go at it before he really went away.

Flashing memories of the times they spent together bombarded his mind, evoking emotional grief to evict his remorse and take up vacancy in Nero's being, stabbing his heart in all its fury. It just seemed like they had so much left to live and do; almost as if somebody cut him off a support he had enjoyed.

His eye ducts filled with the saline liquid he had no intention of reuniting with, if only his grief didn't assault his heart. His mind helped none in the matter either, images reflecting on staying with the veteran and seeing the environment surrounding him.

When he initially arrived there, he wanted to ask the hybrid if any cheap motels lingered in his neighborhood. His excuse in traveling so far out was, he begrudgingly rationalized, if he ran into trouble he could be near the old prune and, with annoyance, call him to help should a problem arise. Yet the dork told him to go upstairs and wait until he got off the phone to see how well he fared.

He didn't have to let Nero stay there with him, give him missions, or a temporary home. The chieftain didn't need to do anything nice or genuine for him, yet the elder allowed him as his roommate.

At first, it seemed too awkward to be given goods when he endured a lifetime of earning stuff on his own. And in consequence, he avoided Dante as much as possible because, in so many words, he didn't meaningfully say thank you and he didn't know how to take the situation as a whole. Yes he said “thanks,” but he didn't feel it had weight behind its meaning. He gave the red one half of whatever earnings he made, not that Dante mentioned he had to but it was the honorable thing to do.

Yet if the shoe were on the other foot, Dante would rack up quite a tab before Nero even saw a penny.

But now, those 'thank yous' are going on a permanent hold, either that or he can save it at Dante's funeral.

A lone tear snuck its way out of its watery nest, wiped away after a stubborn will settled in Nero's core. Resolute to prove to his mental state that Dante is alive and well. If only he had something tangible to go on...

His right hand wrapped around the back of Dante's neck, heart rate spiking as he cradled him to sit him up. He dared not to even look at his sagging skull in fear that his determination would sour.

When someone loses blood or they died, the body's temperature drops. And upon touching him, Nero noticed Dante's warm skin, actually a little warmer than normal following his “death.” Human fingers roved over the veteran's face, Dante's flesh seeming to grow hotter the longer he held him, with his devil bringer gently pulsing.

It wasn't the loud vibrations he felt whenever the elder neared the partial-hybrid, but it acted as a subtle hum shooting throughout his demonic arm. Could it be that Dante isn't dead, or his damned limb insisted on telling him he hung onto his last threads of life?

To be honest, the youth was never this near to him. He didn't believe this situation compared to his earlier confrontations because Nero voluntarily got close to him instead of Dante popping his personal space bubble. Since he had a front row seat, at the elder's expense to his face, he figured he'd take a mental picture of his angles and curves, considering this the only way to remember his facial characteristics.

Soft cerulean hues couldn't take in what his mind directed him to do, his left hand hovering over the gash in Dante's skull. He considered wiping the blood off his forehead or touching the wound to see if it remained warm. His eyes trained on the blue digits holding the red hunter up in a slack, sitting position, knowing he'd have to eventually look at Dante before it ended.

His brain ignored his pondering thoughts and shifted over to scrutinize the crater in Dante's head... or rather at the spot it should have been.

Nero blinked in repetition, making sure the darkened night played no tricks on him with its lacking light. He looked at Dante's face with more encouragement this time, looking on in pure amazement because the clotting, dark mound... disappeared?

“What the hell?” The youth's eyes widened, the blood splattered over the majority of the halfling's features slowly receded, as water would do from a shoreline. But this red “stream” seemed to suck back towards the elder's forehead, disappearing into a small hole remaining open in his skull.

Hope rose in his heart as Nero's left hand followed up the elder's face, chasing a thick droplet of ruby liquid traveling upwards. Is time rewinding itself to prevent this action from occurring? “Wait a sec... is time turning around or is he just healing?” Nero mulled this over in his mind while the bead continued on its journey.

Wholesome devils healed, given a chance they scooted away from whatever their attacker harmfully administered to them. However, lessers did not reclaim their health unless they triggered into their devil forms.

Dante and Trish are different in this case and Nero, but not so much. Dante could rehabilitate and regenerate should someone get the better of him, as did Trish, but her powers lacked depth. Nero's time to seal his wounds was quicker than that of a normal demon, but he developed welts and bruises accompanying him a little longer than usual.

The droplet finished its way to its designated spot, leaving the youngster to ponder what happened. Never in his life has he witnessed such a peculiar event. Whenever he got cut or scraped, his blood didn't pool together and seek refuge back in his body, he bled until the bleeding stopped.

Dante still contained a moderate amount of scarlet fluid all over his face after the hole completely closed, so did that mean he's alive?

The teenager wiped away some of the metallic liquid off Dante's forehead, three of his fingers touching an uneven lump where the wound sealed. He speculated the injury hadn't mended all the way.

If his wounds closed up, then... he lives. If he was alive, he could withstand severe injuries. If he withstood severe injuries, then he can deal with this couple and their bootleg weapons. But to make sure he can gloat to his concerns later after jumping to conclusions, he must validate the life of his friend.

Two fingers pressed to the elder's pulse on his neck, moving them around to find that beating throb to confirm his belief that Dante survived. Nero resumed to move his digits; up and down, back and forth until he found that bumping thump. His heart pounded, searching for a beat of any sort and disappointingly, didn't recover one.

“Oh, come on Dante. Don't leave me hanging like this,” Nero strained in a whisper. His head trauma had healed, but he sensed no throbbing vibrations on his throat.

Injuries didn't knit together after someone died. So is he non-alive or not? Nero shook him, giving up his search and attacked his cheeks instead.

“Let me know you're breathing, you big lump of stupid.” Light slaps hit a stubbled, bloody face before he poked him in various spots. “Just wake up you creepy geezer.” The longer Dante remained unconscious, the harder the partial-hybrid hit the half-breed to render him conscious. In the midst of slapping him, Nero noticed the elder's skin temperature returning to a normal setting; no more feeling as if he raged on fire.

Grace took one step forward and away from Edward, gun still in her hand looking upon the duo on the ground. As grotesque and wrong as it may have sounded... her aim landed a pretty good shot. She barely moved to a suitable position to do such a thing and the bullet planted dead center in his skull.

Never before has she pulled off a mark so perfectly, and she relished in her gruesome defeat; semi-sure it might happen again if the youth took his frustrations out on them. But in case it didn't, she would store this moment in the deepest recesses of her mind.

“It's no use in trying to save him. He's gone.” Grace talked in a stern tone; it isn't possible that his friend is even close to alive.

From her standpoint, a thick portion of red matter violently exploded from the big man's head, so attempting to rouse him up from his eternal slumber destined to be a fruitless endeavor.

“It wasn't meant to go down like that, and for that I'm sorry.” She turned to her husband and offered him a sympathetic look, in which he gave a reassuring squeeze to comfort her.

Though by the vibes the young man projected, she wasn't so positive of his acceptance towards his friend's accidental passing.

“Listen to her, youngster. Trust her when she says there's nothing you can do when a loved one is taken from you.”

Nero looked at the both of them; sulfur emerging in his eyes, anger searing away any sympathy about their dilemma. “Are the both of you fucking morons?”

He didn't hear them right. How in the world can they say that shit to him when the fault lied with them?

Hmph, 'It's no use in trying to save him.' Who the fuck do she think she is? She said those words like she meant to harm him. And what in the deuces did she mean by 'It wasn't supposed to go down like that?' How in the hell could that be explained?

His inside demon growled in defense at her words, instinct telling him that one, or both of them, may not be the 'poor and defenseless' couple they played themselves in the beginning. Especially the older woman. Something about her didn't sit right by him; like she purposely lacked sympathy for shooting Dante. Her weak ass apology doubling as proof.

“Hey, you watch your mouth boy!”

Obviously Nero hit a nerve with Edward but Grace's aura seemed to darken, Nero's inner devil rattling the cages containing the beast to combat this becoming threat.

Maybe she remained shell-shocked about what she had done or perhaps she didn't give a fuck. She lost everyone she knew, and there stood a chance she didn't care who else bereaved anyone they lost. Or possibly she just... dammit what did she mean by 'not going down like that?'

“You tell her that! What do you mean by 'not going down like that?' As if you wanted to hurt him.”

“It would not matter because you wouldn't understand.”

The fuck?

“What the fuck is there to understand!” Nero snarled in venomous anger, ready to drop Dante on the ground and violently shake some sense into the old woman.

“Watch your mouth!” Edward took two steps forward to warn the boy again.

Yelling at him or his wife would not bring his friend back, and appearing like he planned on harming them sure wouldn't do the deed either. Though, once he looked down at the docile man, he figured his best course of action succeeded in trying to empathize with him.

He didn't want to think about the body's grim handling and its explanation to the authorities. Truthfully speaking, the weight of reality hadn't hit him full force. He felt shocked, unable to decipher what happened.

In all honesty, what could he do?

He paced back and forth, staring at the evil glare from the young boy. Whetstone went extinct of human life, humanity's traitors plaguing the town. Only one notion existed why Edward and his family were kept alive by Ramona: to alert the few neophytes nestled in the vicinity that a fresh supply of food arrived. The damned inhabiting the community needed him to direct any passer-bys towards its township center, and then the monsters would do their dirty deeds there.

Anyone who ventured up here never returned.

The converts destroyed the evidence of the person ever being here; the explanation why this tiny dwelling became successful into becoming a ghostly boondocks. And Edward helped with the rest.

At first, he refused to aid in such a heinous act; telling their devil-worshiping asses to go to Hell, pun intended. But when Ramona, that sweet little girl he knew since the age of four, threatened to have his innocent daughter raped and killed in front of him he relented, even rushing to say he would vacation there just to ensure his brood's safety. Though as a measure to make sure he didn't play the good Samaritan, she had a minion of hers keep a close eye on her.

When he heard these two travelers say they're from out of town and worked an anti-demonic occupation, he sensed a calming elation; like someone threw him a lifeline to get him and his family out of there. Actually, he didn't think he would go somewhere heavenly after the acts he committed when he passed on.

He directed men, women, and children to meet their cruel fates at the claws of those disgusting monsters plaguing this earth. But the more he tried to convince himself he sacrificed those people in the name of his kin, the shittier he felt. He should have fought back; stretching himself beyond his means to do what he knew was right in his heart. He showed weakness to an even weaker enemy, and for his loved ones he would gladly trade places with the man in red.

“I know how you feel-”

“No you don't! If you did, you would be screaming and yelling at your wife about killing off your only help!” Nero fumed.

“Son, I've fucked things up by leading my family down this road. You got every right to feel the way you do now. The consequences I've rendered will be accepted by me and me al-alone.”

A hoarse sob escaped his lips, the weight of everything that's been occurring reached its limit, weighing down on him until his knees gave out from under him. How many more lives had to be taken away due to his foolishness?

Over the past few months, he grew accustomed to the deaths surrounding him on a weekly, if not daily basis. Guilt ate at his consciousness, rolling over blind in letting these atrocious acts continue. A numbing, black void settling in his being permitted escape from reality ; a means to deny the truth. When he saw his potential help evade this world he caved into that abyss.

“Crying tears won't bring him back because you missed playing the superhero,” the teen said in an even voice, looking into Dante's serene face.

“Edward,” Grace ran over and knelt by her husband to comfort him. She let go of the gun, encircling both arms around her fallen man, placing little kisses on the back of his neck to calm his frazzled nerves.

The child should reflect his negative emotions unto himself. They wouldn't be in this situation if the youngster didn't just stand there and observe his friend being eaten by that fiend, so it served him right.

“You don't have to explain anything to me Eddie. You did everything you could to save this family. After all, they say bad things happen for a reason.”

If this lady pushed to piss Nero off subsequent to snapping at them: mission accomplished.

“Who knows, perhaps they were with Ramona and this was a set-up.”

A surging pitch riled him in anger. “Get bent, Lady!” Nero bellowed, temporarily forgetting he held Dante in his embrace.

Dusted jeans stood to his full height, pointing a neon blue finger at the woman. Edward tuned out long ago, cradling his head and silently weeping. “Are you trying to say that by accidentally shooting him you're trying to see if we're with this broad?”

“It's logical.”

The small hairs on his forearm rose, all alarms going off in his mind after hearing her voice dip three octaves lower. No female possessed that calm of a natural tone flow so smoothly, yet so deadly into another speech. This situation gyrated towards the eerie the longer it waged. Her cold demeanor and startling words hid something, and by the mere presence of the devil hunters being there threatened her secret.

“You shouldn't have dropped your gun,” Nero said lowly. He tested the grounds to see if his suspicions ran wild or if he needed to prepare to strike.

“Why is that young man?” The lowered octaves in her voice vanished, but that low timbre remained, reverberating in her chest. “You wouldn't dream of killing a poor, old dame would you?” Honey-brown eyes blinked twice, but what the teenager saw in between the blinks made him gasp. Her pupils enlarged to giant, jade-toned circles, her irises no longer visible in the flash of a second.

“Nobody's doing any more shooting tonight!” Edward lifted his head, wiping his tears and standing up shakily, holding an assertive stance. “There is nothing we can do, son. And believe me when I say I lost out on something great.” He looked to his wife, Grace quirked her lips into a sweet smile before turning her gaze back to Nero, piercing him to the spot with those pea-green rings.

There goes that 'son' word again.

“Get away from her,” demanded the teen, readjusting the awkward weapon in his hand, pointing at the woman. Earlier it seemed the light, or lack thereof, tricked his mind over her face. There weren't any shadows or flickering lights to play tricks on him. He wasn't aware of people's eyes changing to that drastic of a color within seconds of each other, so she had to be a demon in disguise.

“No, please no!” Edward exclaimed, moving over to stand in front of Grace in a defensive gesture. Nero admired his courage, but not enough to stop him from exposing her nature, he hoped.

“Take me instead. Kill me, shoot me, do whatever you want, but let my wife and my children go! Please, I beg of you!”

“No problem,” The partial-hybrid stated with casual ease. “If only those words came from her.”

“She's sorry! I'm sorry! None of this should have happened to your friend-”

“I'm over that. I thought he no longer needed any training wheels to steer him through life, and I was dead wrong to assume that, wasn't I? Get away from her, I will not say it again.” Nero paused, replaying his words laced in a cold tone.

“Then shoot me. I'm tired of running from devils with no hearts. Look at where it’s gotten me! Everything I've ever known is gone; whittling away as time passes... but not my wife, not my family. I'm. Not. Moving.”

“I wonder why your wife isn't speaking for herself?”

“My husband is trying to protect me, you ingrate!” Grace shouted from behind the security of Edward.

That voice again. Is he avoiding her changing tone or is he used to it?

“Funny how you say you're not running from demons when there is one you should be running from.”

Nero dropped the shotgun to his side because his left shoulder bristled with aches. The recoil hadn't been pleasant, and his arms didn't feel like dealing with handling just yet, if not any more.

“The only demon here is you and your unstable behavior! Did someone teach you to respect your elders?” She mocked in laughter, inching closer to the gun she ditched on the ground.

“Yup. This bozo right here,” Nero kicked the black boots beside him. “Obviously his lesson didn't stick.”

“You're a monster!” The old woman snarled, emerald hues staring at him with frigid malice, pointing an accusing finger at the youth.

If that wasn't a tell-tale sign she disguised herself as a demon, then nothing would... other than if she revealed her true form.

“Heh, that may be, but it takes one to know one. After all, I'm not the idiot who has―Ow!”

The teen fell, landing his weight on his right knee after a rough kick sent it inwards from behind. Punctuated spikes throbbed in his patella, dropping down onto his side with his devil bringer clutching the injured bone. He threw the weapon away from him as if that became the root of his troubles.

The cocking of a gun alerted Nero of his little slip-up, but he didn't pay attention to the woman, his leg conquered his importance than her wretched attitude. Is it possible his legs tired, unable to support his mass? Dante didn't do it, he was dead as a brick.

“I have suffered much during my time here, but to be threatened by a snot-nosed brat like you is where I draw the line.”

Nero rolled over on his back to view the lady's rigid stance.

She pointed the gun at his head, eyes (for now) back to their brown color coupled with a sour face. He could have grabbed the shotgun with his devil bringer in a moment's notice, but the blue and red appendage wanted to console his knee. If he played his taunting cards right, he can stall her enough to get out of her line of sight.

“Grace, sweetheart... I know you're agitated that he upset you... but this ain't the way.”

Or Eddie can do the stalling.

“Our lives are at stake here, Edward.”

“I don't need a reminder-”

“You know what will happen if they found out about this; they'll come after your children.”

“It doesn't have to be this way, honey. Put the gun down!”

“You would trust these strangers over me?”

That damn voice.

“I think you should go alert them and tell them we have more visitors, Eddie. What's two more people gonna do, huh?”

“What's... what's gotten into you?” Edward said with nervous jitters, stepping towards the stairs to slightly move away from her.

It was terrifying what happened to the man in red though the damned terrified him more. His wife seemed to plot something corruptive, like she wanted to rid her conscious of any wrongdoing by eliminating the strangers as if they never existed. Wait...

“Grace... you don't mean to-”

“Call the demons―It's not possible!”

Bang!

Nero barely registered the woman's bulging eyes before she dropped to the ground, a nasty splash of the visceral substance splattered over the restaurant's door. The weapon slipped from her hands, discharging a shot that whizzed by Nero's ear if he didn't tilt his head. The slug rang off somewhere in the distance, making the youth follow the sound to its last destination. Midway on his journey did he stop to witness the feat firing the gun.

In his line of vision, he noticed Ivory raised in a heightened right arm, the nozzle sizzling from where the bullet left its trajectory. He looked towards the chest of the hybrid to see if it shallowly rose and fell, and yet again Dante remained still. If Dante pulled the trigger, then that meant that Dante is alive and well!

But, why did he feel the need to 'play possum?' Nero scooted by the stiff demon, knee spasming the whole way over. He took a quick glance at Edward, cowering in fear on the porch; either from seeing his wife's brains blown out, the dead man in red seemingly joining the living again, or the two scenes mixing. Needless to say that the roles reversed, so now Eddie-boy can walk in his shoes and share his sentiments.

“Dante... you alive or some-”

“You have got to take some classes in sensitivity, you brat,” Dante's heavily throated, raspy voice spoke. Nero breathed in deeply, relief and triumph simmering inside his soul over having a non-dead comrade.

It felt like the pressing weight on his heart lifted, a welcoming sensation replacing the negative emotion with happiness. He, in a fit of paranoia, placed his two fingers under Dante's chin to find a pulse, which throbbed this time.

“Don't touch me... you boob.”

“You are welcome,” the teenager uttered a nervous, but welcomed laugh, internally telling his emotions to capture those sad feelings and shove it somewhere far and deep.

“Why? What did... you do besides scream and whine at the old folk over half the night.”

“Hmph, I did not. … Hold on, you heard everything?”

“Yup.”

“Starting from when?”

Interesting... if Dante listened in at a certain point, then why did he wait so long to make his re-appearance? Maybe he underwent the regenerating spectrum from the blast to his brains. Anyone taking that much damage to the head and healing within moments proved a feat.

“It started with whoever shouted 'Grace' the first―FUCK!”

Uh-oh... perhaps pulling the halfling up by the lapels of his coat hadn't been such a brilliant idea. Nero had this strong curiosity to see how the back of Dante's skull looked after it healed, or not, and he briefly caught Dante's pained expression. He should have let the captain stay as is. Besides, he didn't think he wanted to release him now in fear of actually killing him, seeing what rested underneath his noggin.

If the crimson slayer held out while his demonic lifeblood repaired his wound, it sure did a botch-ass job. Clotted blood pooled where the dirt lay, forming a ring around Dante's head as if it cushioned it. Nero didn't recall seeing this much gore the first time he lifted him up, but maybe he overdid it by letting Dante hit his cranium when he made that outburst at that old woman.

Shit!

Was dropping the elder the outcome in him re-opening the fresh injury?

Shit! Shit!

Hitting the man all over his face seemed awful, half-knowing and half not knowing the chief attempted to close up his wounds. Nero stared at the conglomerate of bloody excrement and soil before he struggled to throw the chief's arm over his shoulder to hoist him up.

Shit! Shit! Triple Shit!

The partial-hybrid stopped his movement when he saw something cream-colored protruding from the red mass on the ground.

“Please let this be a shiny rock... or a shark tooth,” he whispered aloud, reaching his right arm down to pick up the slightly jagged 'rock.' When he picked up the thing a sharp, ragged exhale resounded throughout his mouth, disbelieving what he held in his hand was actually a piece of Dante's skull.

“This is impossible.” Nero shuddered, holding the widget up to his nose. A darker shade covered the edges, probably a sign of Dante's age or even how his hexed heritage affected him... or how the blast to the forehead impacted the bone. Little globs of gooey, red mass held on, as if afraid to let go whatfor.

Attentive ceruleans traveled upwards to Dante's back, churning his stomach.

Reds and browns matted up his otherwise pristine white hair, looking like he mashed his locks into some meat loaf. Nero scrunched his face, lips turning downwards because the fault pointed towards him dropping the slayer. His tummy turned acrobatic flips holding the object, disbelieving he held... a piece of someone's skull. Swallowing the bile threatening to rise up and out of his throat, he tucked the missing chunk of Dante's anatomy in his jacket.

“I'm so sleepy...”

“Please say nothing remotely close to that!”

“You suck... ass as my partner... you ass.” The teen didn't fail to notice the sluggish speech pouring out of Dante's mouth, and he bet whatever his worth that his mind fixed on recuperating from the onslaught.

A sanguine trickle descended the back of Dante's neck, disappearing into his shirt, a gloved hand feeling behind his brain case. His flinching fingers let Nero know his stance seemed dire, verifying his assumption by sinking in on himself and lolling his head to one side.

The youth looked at where the elder touched himself, gazing into the slightly open wound spewing out trickles of the red liquid. His blood leaked out little by little, as if in tune with his heart beat. Maybe he could rally the hybrid to speed up his healing process to get out of this shit-hole.

“Hey uh, Dante... you won't stop bleeding.”

So much for being convincing.

“Blood is infected.” Dante's tone took on a more sluggish, monotonous one; words slurring and slowing the more he talked. But he had to keep him talking, unless he wanted him to lose consciousness... permanently.

“How? From the gun wound?”

“Yup... and the-the d... brown shit...”

“Hey, hey, HEY! Stay with me, you dupe!”

“I wanna get... away from you.”

“Yeah, well you're stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“... Eww.”

Nero needed to move Dante to the truck. At least if he passed out or died, Nero could try to drive him until he reached a hospital or something of the sort. “Just stay awake man. Don't die on me now.” He grabbed the elder's left arm and lifted it over and around his shoulder, never letting go since Dante seemed incapable of grabbing onto him.

He placed his left knee on the ground, deciding to use his bad knee to support him and the captain's mass. Cold air expanded his lungs before aligning himself hip to waist (because of the small height difference) and pulled him upwards.

“Thisain'tgonnawork!”

His spasming patella malfunctioned, starting him at step one again. The partial-hybrid glanced towards the old timer and saw him kneeling besides his wife, which gave the demonic duo even less time to gain their footing, literally. Reaching around Dante's side to grasp onto his belt, Nero inhaled again to give the man a lift; succeeding in lifting the elder's hips from the ground and failing because his knee stopped working.

If only the elder lost about twenty-five pounds...

“Looks like someone needs training wheels,” Dante wheezed out, looking up at the fledgling, supplying him with a sly grin.

Had he not known better, he would have believed it was Dante who punted him in the back of his leg in his delirious state. Well no matter, he had to hurry up and move... wait, what?

“You!”

“Boob.”

“You kicked me in the leg, you ass!”

“I didn’t approve of those pet names you gave me.”

“Tch. Whatever, you bozo―OW!”

The red hunter may be half-dead, but he still packed a lot of bite in that bitch-slap he gave to Nero’s nose.

“What was that for?” Nero whined, touching his nose to make sure it didn't break.

“You did a shitty job at defending my honor-”

“When did you ever-?”

“-but since you cried... over me, I guess that makes us even.”

“I didn’t cry over you.”

“Oh no?” Dante gazed into Nero with darkened, glazed eyes, head leaning to the left to peer into those ocean blue peepers, daring the little runt to tell a lie. His olfactory networks tuned into the environment as he lay there recuperating, and no one else near him smelled like saline and chili cheese except the brat. Edward couldn’t form a sentence and the witch spilled no water out of her tear ducts, so it garnered no problem to figure out the culprit.

The hybrid felt Nero’s sentiments course through him, like… he channeled the stress and discomfort he went through in a freaky, spiritual sense. All though listening to him screech and complain about Grace's bitchy demeanor worked too.

Nero wouldn't cave in to his question, no matter how intimidating he appeared. For the record, he didn’t cry; he shed a tear. A single, lonesome teardrop did not qualify him as crying.

“You’re still bleeding,” whispered Nero.

He attempted a third try to hoist the stout devil up, and this time the elder helped out by using his own limbs to help out. The half-human slouched once he reached his full height, stumbling into Nero’s side, the youngster nearly dropping the staggering flesh.

“You have got to lay off the pizza,” Nero grumbled, readjusting his hold, walking to the truck but the half-zombie stilled his legs into the ground, unwilling to advance any further.

“You need to eat more.”

“I thought you were just pulling my leg; that you really couldn’t move.”

“If I was pulling your leg, you wouldn’t be moving at all.”

“Oh, real funny!” His cheeks inflamed over reading too much into the double entendre, quickly blaming it on Dante's disorientation.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Why don’t you wanna go to the truck?”

“Need to flush… all the dirt out the wound so it can finish closing.”

“Hmm.” Turns out the elder retained some smarts. He should remember that for future reference. The teen imagined it to be unpleasant, hosing water on an open sore to swish out the particles embedded in there. He visibly shivered, never wanting to know what that felt like. Ever.

“Oay, so why’d you shoot the old lady… that was you right?”

“Yes. Demon.”

“How’d you figure?”

“She smelled like one.”

“… Okay?”

“That and she licked her lips with… a big ass tongue. Humans ain’t got tongues three feet long and they sure as hell don’t have ‘em with a black underside, do they little Nero?”

He sneered at the nickname but said nothing else. “She tried to… flirt with you or something?”

“There was a mirror in the back, angled to… where I saw her but she couldn’t see me.”

“Great, what do we do now?”

“We, of course meaning you, have to kill her and get that old coot away from her… and the kids even if they're… alive. Whether that’s his wife or woman-turned-demon or… fuck I’m tired of talking, you get the picture.”

“All right, but what do you mean kill her; she looks pretty dead to me.”

“Let’s play possum.”

“Never mind then.”

Squelching skin tearing apart reached their ears, followed by a piercing screech. Both hunters looked towards the noise, almost falling to the ground because Nero's not accustomed to Dante's bulky weight leaning against him.

A quick snarl flowed from their mouths; Nero because he had to deal with another humanoid demon, and Dante because the old man had lifted into the air, a taloned tail piercing through his heart.

Her body morphed into a dark, mossy shade, scales covering her form from head to toe, a spiked tail swaying to and fro behind her. Her gray locks changed to orange; the waves mimicking that of a roaring fire. Neon orange claws extended from her fingernails, eyes turning into that creepy green hue again. A black tongue flicked in and out of her sharpened mouth, tasting their scent through the air.

“You pathetic weaklingsss. How dare you even try to help thiss poor fool. Your daysss ass the Legendary Devil Hunter are over!” Her laugh expressed it likeness on par of a cackling hyena. She flicked her tail once, sending Edward flying to the other side of the porch, landing with a dull thump.

“You want to know what happened to hisss wife?”

Thinned lips kept silent, each thinking of strategic ways to kill her quick; no time to fool around and split up. This situation turned ugly, and there was no telling how many more of these set-ups lingered.

“SSShe tried to grab her children and essscape, ssso I caught her and her worthlessss cretinsss and had them killed jusssst before you came. And I had to “borrow” her ssskin and act the pitiful wife ssshe wasss. Isssn’t that wonderful?”

“SSSounds like a load of ssshit if you asssk me,” Nero taunted back, earning a gracious chuckle from his half-dead friend.

“Ah yesss, the brat. I believe I ssshalll take great pride in killing you after I turn Dante into mincccce meat.”

“Do we really have to go through this again?” The chieftain asked peeved, slowly reaching his hand down to reach ebony.

“If we want to get home? Yup, we do.”

“You wanna ‘chop down whatever we lay eyes on’ or would you rather fly solo?”

A widened grin spread across his face, remembering their heated conversation when they first encountered lechers at the mansion. He had a feeling he would do most of the fighting since one hit to Dante and he would be down for the count. But just to lead the man to think they would work together, he agreed that using teamwork would be their best bet to defeat this ugly reptile.

“Keep up with me old man. Don’t need you falling down and taking a dirt nap. Carrying you around is not fun.”

“Hey, you’re speaking my language, kid.”

A/N: It's really fun to just have them bicker with one another, and then create an accident where they will think about being nicer to each other. But alas, they wouldn't be who they are without having those ginormous egos of theirs.

P.S. I have got to stop watching Quentin Tarantino movies. I think they are bad for my health.
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Dreams Will Be Made Of These