Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

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
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17: Drawback Pt. 2

You need some help?"

"No. Just stand there and look pretty for Big Daddy."

The youngster's eyes widened, not expecting that response yet he kept his composure. Had the sentence taken on a more flirtatious tone, his face would have inflamed. Except nothing seemed "cheerful" or "flirty" in the elder's speech. More than anything, he sounded pestered with his open wound or with the teen's ridiculous question.

Nero peeked in the mirror, seeing a less-healthier version of himself; thus the 'pretty' part of Dante's statement was false. Salmon-tinted lips smacked in rebuttal and moved over to Dante's right, aligning his hands to assist him but needing a vocal affirmation.

"So you do or don't want my help?"

"Nero, my darling little Nero..." the youth scowled. He wasn't anyone's darling or dear or sweetheart, at least not Dante's. Not even his brown-eyed beauty called him that.

The red one continued, "If my brain functioned right, I would tell you to go and be eye candy in the car. But alas, I don't physically have eyes in the back of my head, so-”

"I'll take that answer as a yes."

"Yes, you should."

His tongue planted into the side of his cheek, leaning over to look at the bloody hole. Thankfully, he saw no bone showing in the gap. A small, thick red mound visibly greeted his sight. Small, dirt granules prevented the gash from closing, the claim why Dante couldn't clean the breach. Nevertheless... where would he start with this?

"What am I supposed to do here?" Nero closed his eyelids, inhaling deep before he stared at the damage head on. After washing out the gunk in the hunter's locks, it didn't appear as bad... still looked pretty gross because of the remaining gap. "'Cause I am clueless on what I'm doing. Helping you clean your hair from looking like you dipped it in shit is one thing, but acting as your nurse isn't really―Ow!"

Brown boots shuffled back a few feet, warm fingers cradling his injured flank, furrowed eyebrows glared at Dante's right leg.

The black-clad knee lifted up and inwards, his booted foot connecting with the youth's bum. It's possible the hybrid lost the rational part of his logic; resorting to senseless violence instead of talking.

Ice blue eyes turned and frowned at the stunned youth, snorting in a haughty gesture before turning back and resuming to aid himself.

"You look surprised," came the smooth voice that hissed after sticking a finger into the opening.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"You have been spewing nothing but shit out of your mouth the entire day. In respect to the old man and one of his wishes, consider that a minimal ass-kicking to the whole one you're gonna get-"

"Says who-"

"-from me."

Arms of different heritage crossed, soon dropping his left hand to soothe his aching muscle. Dante didn't have to punt him that hard; a simple shove sufficed to steer him towards focus. Did the end tails on his leather chaps give him super leg power or something? That shit hurt.

A clearing of the throat reached his ears, drawing the youngster's sight in time to see the shirtless man point to the back of his cranium, but Nero remained stoic.

The chief turned to the unmoving twat, rolling his eyes because the youth practiced uncertainty about being close to him... and maybe taking any more physical abuse. If he wanted to ravage Nero's backside, there wouldn't be any objections on the youth's part; he guaranteed it.

"If I wanted to harm you, I would have done it already. Now if you don't mind, there's a couple of checkpoints I need to check out before the night is through."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't on the receiving end of physical abuse, by someone he trusted... on purpose. Dante could be plotting to hit him just for not coming when he called. The partial-demon already felt nauseous and exhausted, and the aspect of going along with it so he can take a nap in the truck sounded very relaxing.

"Will a friendly slap encourage you to finish?" The slight edge tainting his voice left little room for arguments.

"Pretty sure that will make me stay away from you."

"Nero," he all but growled, turning his head to glare at the teen.

"All right, already. Don't twist your panties in a bunch."

Quelling the rising animosity laced in Dante's voice pulled Nero's face into a frown. As far as his concerns stretched, Dante could keep those pessimistic emotions to himself or go into town and use it on the lechers in his weakened state. All he wanted to do is take a little nap while the hunter did... whatever.

Being in Dante's presence proved enough of a battle as it is.

With a final resolve, and some found luck he would take no more abuse from the shirtless man, he resumed helping Dante out with his healing... if only he wasn't shirtless. It maddened him. No matter the effort, his eyes glued themselves to Dante's blood-stained back.

He wasn't enthralled in how toned and muscled the palette looked. He held no interest in the warrior scars sparsely riddled across the expanse of the albino-like flesh. Nor his fascination in how well and developed each muscle appeared, with that long spiny bone disappearing into the bottom layer of his pants. No, none of those images caught his attention consciously.

"Stop looking at my ass Nero."

Said person refocused to Dante's skull, cheeks reddening after the veteran caught him in the act, sort of. The elder didn't turn his face to see Nero staring at this back, so the only explanation pointed to Dante having extra eyes behind his head.

He didn't directly gaze at his derriere because males didn't do that. Young, respectable males don't go around ogling at grown males' asses. It's always the perverts who fashioned this feat.

"No one's gawking at your ass."

Dante harrumphed. "Then why are you stalling?"

"This gross hole is disgusting to look at."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Am I supposed to say something else?"

"Where's my apology?"

"About what?"

"The ass comment."

"I don't need to apologize for that."

Nero stopped, making sure he misheard nothing.

"Aw kid, why'd you stop again?" Lithe fingers roaming through his scalp comforted him, his head lolling and drooping down further into the sink to enjoy the relaxing feeling. As much as he wanted to prolong the little massage, he needed to close up the wound before it stayed that way.

"What do you mean there's no need for an apology?"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to think?" Dante's voice had taken on a higher pitch, adding in an incredulous tone to complete his feeling. "You're back there and I can't see what you're doing. It was either you taking a peek or you turning green from looking-"

The hybrid stood up, shaking a wave of water into Nero's face, scrutinizing the youth with caution. His main concern wore on to see if Nero geared to throw up again, or more disturbing, into his hole.

A cool, lime tint coated the teen's face, conveying his depreciating health. Lily-white bangs stuck to Nero's forehead from Dante whipping his head and adding layers of fatigue on his visage.

"You're not gonna puke anymore, are ya?" The halfling demanded to know, preparing to steer clear if the brat did.

"I'm a survivor," Nero muttered with his eyelids closed, not opening them just yet after the water stung his eyes. He wouldn't doubt if the water was infected or contaminated, considering everything else wrong with the place.

A warm, damp cloth settled on his face, lightly scented oranges tingled his nostrils the longer he breathed it in. Soothing vibes grabbed control of his thoughts; the towelette's heat smoothing over his nauseated skin welcomed a great relief...

Where did that towel come from?

Reddened eyes shot open underneath a blue rag, paranoia washing over his features, not knowing where it had been. There aren't any towels in the bathroom, and he didn't see any when he walked into the kitchen; very unlikely that the thing just "appeared" out of nowhere.

"Where did you get this?" Nero demanded, peeling the towel off of him, holding the cotton cloth a good distance away.

"The sink. I had the decency to wash it before I gave it to you. Ain't I nice? Oh and by the way, I apologize for whipping the water in your face, had too much weighing me down."

What did it clean originally and how long has it been before the rag's been washed? Being in this abandoned place tightened his nerves. He couldn't distinguish between the tidy and the dirty; the lines between the two merging. Even touching the surface of something can prove to harbor contaminating germs.

"If I kissed it, would that make you get over your fear of bacteria?"

"No."

"Time's a wastin' kid. Are you helping me before you pass out?"

"You're not doing so hot yourself, Dante." The teen said deadpanned, blinking when he threw the blue rag into the trash can.

The chieftain feigned a look of hurt on his face, wondering why Nero discarded his 'support.' "I cleaned that for you."

"I'm not taking any chances in this place, you bozo."

"Psh, I even offered to kiss away the cooties."

"And end up receiving your disease on me as well?"

Shoving the man lightly in the shoulder, he moved over to the kitchen sink, sticking his eyes under the warm running water, sighing in relief.

"Not taking any chances, yet you willingly stuck your head under the tainted water-"

"Shut up." The youth stood back up to his full height, pulling up the bottom of his red sweater to wipe away the excess water dripping on his face.

The burning sensation gradually melted but the redness in his eyes remained, looking upon the faucet's reflective surface. Dark circles posed under his lower lids. His skin paled, pupils dilated larger than normal and lips a lighter pink rather than their natural salmon color.

Being ill never sustained an issue due to his superb immune system and on the days he felt sick, some good sleep set him straight.

"Stand there a bit longer and you'll look like a beauty queen," The red slayer said, wiping the water off his face with his gloved hand. He wouldn't be standing here watching Nero's well-being steer from bad to worse if the brat didn't stop his task. And because Nero hasn't had any proper nourishment (all of it now in the sewers) his regenerating qualities are on hold.

"You can even go on to win the pageant in the car if you get through this." Dante grabbed Nero by the shoulders and lightly shook him.

Nero pulled his face in his hands, taking a deep breath to still his nerves. "Is this all I have to do?" the teen pointed to Dante's head.

"Yes Nero, this is all you have to do."

"… What am I supposed to do?"

Why is this dragging on?

"Gently, as much as you can, put some soap on your finger and wriggle it around in the gap so the dirt can glue itself to the soap."

"Okay."

The young hunter descended his finger to the designated spot, preparing to insert his knuckle into the red cave when he stopped, mind sorting through the mental fog to let Dante's words sink in. "You want me to do what now?"

"Nero!" Dante moaned aloud, knees almost crumbling down in disbelief, edging no closer to closing his skull's opening. An urge to push the kid away and do it himself grew stronger with each passing second, but he couldn't see what needed to be cleaned and Nero had the better angle.

"No, I know what you want me to do, it's just that I don't know what to do."

"Just rub your finger in there and wash all the shit out."

"Uh, okay... I guess." The youngster took a deep breath, placing a hand on either side of the wound, brushing as much hair away from it as possible. The gash didn't look that serious, but a considerable amount of dirt lodged around the opening, creating goosebumps up and down his spine.

"You can't do this by yourself?" Nero asked with caution, giving himself a full shake to steer his nerves solid.

"Nope. Don't have eyes in the back of my brain."

Nero questioned that notion.

"Besides, this is all your fault so get in there and clean up your mess."

"What're talking about?"

"You. Dropped. Me. On. My. Head." Dante light gritted each word.

"No I―oh"

The flashback of lifting Dante and leaning him against his knee and then dropping him back onto his head... reminded him of his faulting judgment. True, he forgot he cradled Dante, yet at the same time he had to protect the halfling's exposed carcass from receiving any damage; that lizard bitch slithered through her dual personalities, showboating as the old woman.

"Why so little soap?"

"The dirt needs to catch on the finger so it can break the clump."

"… It's in a clump?" Nero's scowl hardened, face growing a little greener over taking a small roll of muck out of Dante's skull.

"I guess. Maybe it healed up a bit weird and it's angled somehow."

"What do you mean angled?"

"I don't know, get to scrubbin' and find out."

"This is fucking disgusting-"

"Now Nero!"

"Screw this!" The youth shoved the veteran's skull under the warm water, grabbing the orange soap and pouring half the liquid into his hair.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Cleaning out this filthy head of yours... and not throw up on you."

His muscles clenched to shift away but Nero forcefully held his neck down, letting him know he wasn't about to do that yet. "I'm not going to splatter my stomach acids all over you. I should, but I'll move to the side or something first."

The statement seemed to settle him down, though still uneasy about the youth being so sick. Oh well, if the twerp somehow passed out from his illness then they would stay here until the kid woke up and did it right. "My hair's already clean. Why are you doing it again?"

"Yeah, but your head isn't."

No matter how delusional he felt or how hard the dope forced him, he wasn't about to stick his finger in any hole. Bad enough he had to look at the offending gape, but to inject his knuckle inside the creepy opening while sick? Not in this life.

Soaping up the infected area and gradually working to getting the dirt out seemed like a better idea. Protruding his digit in the half-breed's skull just sounded foul. He entertained uncertainty if his brain remained exposed or if the bone covered the soft matter. What would happen if he inserted his pointer into his cerebrum and one of Dante's limbs went lame, or he had a seizure or even go blind?

As much as he repressed the craze to kill Dante on some days, he couldn't bring himself to intentionally hurt the man when he was down.

"You treat me so mean."

"No, I don't. Saying 'fuck off and do it yourself' might make me though." Timid fingers scrubbed around the wound, using his left hand to apply a small pressure the closer he veered to the hole. The grotesque thing equaled the size of a fifty-cent piece, dirt and caked blood mixing about and resting inside. Luckily, he didn't see the white bone, yet it stayed too deep of an opening nevertheless.

He wondered how much pain the dope could take. Having a sword embedded in your chest tortured his nerve receptors sure, but Dante never let on to his discomfort concerning the time when he pulled the blade out of himself. Thus far, the veteran hadn't twitched or grunted in veiled ache.

How anyone can suffer this volume of trauma to the head and be so still and quiet perplexed him. If the shoe were on the other foot, he would have snarled and grumbled throughout the entire process. He isn't... dead, right?

He tilted his head, looking down the length of Dante's cheeks to see shut eyes. Enclosed eyelids didn't twitch from the water running over them. His heart thumped a tad faster because that told him something was off. Any liquid pelting down on closed lids doesn't make them stay still.

Nero leaned down, face sitting several inches from Dante's docile one. Under the water, the red one's skin tone adopted a more pallid hue; the fluid high-lighting his chiseled cheeks and defined jawline. He looked so placid and serene, like he took a small nap until the teen finished with his job.

Dante turned his head to the right, opening a single ice blue eye to stare at the youth; nose almost touching the kid's lips.

"Uh... hello." the halfling mumbled.

"Hi."

"Something wrong?"

"You hanging in there?"

"Yeah, I'm hanging in there."

"Ah, okay then. I thought you died.”

"If I was dead, wouldn't I be slumped over or something?"

"Who knows, you... thing."

"Oh, name calling now are we?"

"Just stay alive, will ya? I don't feel like driving home if you croak."

"Can you drive?"

"No, but that's besides the point. If I do decide to drive, I'll run people off the road."

The chief snorted but said nothing else. Lathering around the wound held out okay for what it's worth, yet the soapy tendrils slipped past the dirt and grime, stabbing itself along the bloody walls. He wasn't in a great deal of pain, it just stung like hell.

Dante guessed the teen grew uncomfortable with his silence, in this situation. His soundless tenure fetched on by him weeding through this demonic mess. An abundance of questions hung in the air. The most puzzling of them all; the motive why no one bothered to come up here after the whole "communications out" thing, excluding the relatives who did. If he had received that notice, he would have left. Period.

What sense did it make to stay up here without communication? And those who had escaped, were they hunted down too? Yet Mr. Edward said some dipshit name Scott involved himself in the affairs, disguising himself as a police officer; no doubt playing a big part in this shit storm.

Relatives of the locals couldn't have been that cruel to not come up here and check on family. Whoever rode into town met their ends in an untimely manner, not entirely to Edward's mercy, but this policeman knew how to construct a plan. He must've relayed the messages to the families of the civilians.

This must be a small community to set up their demonic operation here, disabling anyone from calling for help. Just how many roamed here and what purpose did they carry to do this? He hated fighting humans who converted to demonhood. They irked him more than the natural-born ones.

"There, all done." Nero stepped back, shaking his hands before wiping them dry on his jeans. The red cave healed up centimeter by centimeter; the dirt washing away when Nero made deep, circular movements throughout the cleaning operation.

The partial-hybrid felt more than relieved to see the hole close, now presenting the time to let lazy ass look out for him while Dante got them home safely. He needed to shake off his nausea, and they had more than an hour and a half to make it there.

A sagging body leaned against the counter, arms crossing with his tilted head towards the ceiling. Nostrils expanded, taking in the orange-scented aroma and the unique, leathery scent of Dante's, moreso than the soapy one. He thought the hybrid busied himself with finding a cloth to parch his silver locks, however he seemed inclined to bother him instead.

Lukewarm hands touched his face and neck, spreading warmth to his shoulders. The youth just stayed there and relaxed, about ready to fall over and use the tiled floor as a bed. Upon remembering where he was, that idea soon flew out of his head.

"You feel a little cold."

"Then warm me up."

Bask in his soothing touch.

Did he say that aloud? Oops. His mind's delirium spoke in his place, words coated with insinuating hints. If the red one understood his faltering situation, which he failed to properly address, perhaps he would at least sympathize with him on his condition... hopefully.

"Body heat can warm you up." The halfling stood in front of the punk, staring at the kid's exposed throat. A dark voice echoed in his head, telling him to suckle and gnaw on it but he silenced the talker.

"I wish someone would share theirs with me... not you though, you're disgusting."

A great heat enveloped him then, squeezed against something hard and warm. A strong arm clung to his shoulders as the other crossed his upper back, wet droplets of water splashing onto the side of his forearm. Rock-solid abs pressed against his clothed self, arms hanging limply by their sides. A green-tinted nose peeked over a smooth, broad shoulder, lips closed and smashed against a steel-like bone.

The teen's mind almost shut off, soothing vibes pouring through his form, threatening to bask in the good sensation. If only the thumping heart didn't beat underneath all that hardness.

Dante was holding him. Dante was touching him. This couldn't be happening.

It is happening.

“And yet I'm hugged by the disgusting monkey,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

"There now, you won't die of frostbite before we―fuck!"

Nero popped open an eye to see the captain cradling his collarbone, a small scowl marring his soaked features, rubbing the blossoming red mark.

"You bit me!"

"I did not." He took no fault in that, his common sense submitted to his delirious mindset.

"Yes you did, you little runt!"

"You can't put that on me, I didn't see myself do it," Nero proclaimed in sluggish words. Trained, slitted eyes could not tear themselves away from the hair hanging down the veteran's face, giving him a youthful, almost childish bearing.

Twenty-five pounds of muscle loss and a shaven beard would entail the red one to look just as young as him. Not to say Dante looked elderly (somewhere in his mid-twenties to early thirties), but his locks made his profile appear different, depending on where it parted. Though he wondered how old Dante is. Did he age in human terms or slower than the average human?

Then the skull fragment's discoloration roved fresh in his mind... but that seemed doubtful. Hmph, he would have to check up on that later on.

Satisfied he didn't drift past Dante's neck on down, Nero tugged at his lips with lazy grace, leaning to the right and slightly losing his footing. A light pulse formed behind his eyes, queasy motions beginning to turn its gears to make him sick again. Malnutrition must have taken his nutrients from his body, leaving him clumsy in the wake of Dante's immature advances.

Blinking weighted down his eyelids, akin to sagging onto his cheeks. Sweat, or maybe water, formed to the left of his head, descending the side of his face to run along his jawline. No point in going to the bathroom to see how he looked; he felt like shit. Thankfully, Dante realized they outlived their welcome in this charming place.

"And you say I've lost my marbles."

“You never had them to begin with,” he groaned, cradling his forehead with his sudden, spinning vision. “Rolling around and sinking balls in your... for yee... "

"Nero? Hey Nero!"

The hybrid moved forward, cradling the rascal in his arms. From the time he threw up to now, his health deteriorated in continued succession, and Dante stood by and watched with a twisted fascination. It wasn't common to see the devil-blooded throw up anything since they ate everything, but he had to remember the youth carried more human than demon blood.

Actually, the kid brought this whole sickness upon himself. He ordered the food. He looked in the fridge and he believed he ate a heart burger. So why did Dante have to take custody of the runt? Wasn't he the one hoopin' and hollerin' all day about his ability to care for himself, and that he didn't need any help?

Dante picked up the unconscious brat, feeling his cooled skin temperature settling against his normal one. Warm temperatures indicated a fever while cold ones suggested the same... or death.

Oh. Maybe that's why he looked a little green. Nero ate a heart burger, and the sandwich might be poisoned since it sat in this amber-like liquid.

The veteran leaned over, nearing his nose by Nero's mouth and taking a brief whiff. Though unpleasant to sniff, he detected nothing foul-smelling in there, other than his rancid breath. Withal, the acidic stench could cover up any scents that might reveal vulgar play.

As messed up as it sounded, he lacked worry about Nero's health, yet for good reason. A relaxing night's rest will have him better, and if that wouldn't work then his bedeviled blood would straighten him out.

"You know, I don't know why you harped and hounded me when you're the one not being careful," he murmured, sweeping over the fledgling's form as he carried the youngster over and placed him down on the bathroom floor. After he finished dressing himself and finding a few, clean rags to dry his hair off he hoisted Nero back in his arms, shaking his head over the youth's lack of attention.

Once he glanced down though, Nero did look a bit dead; the steady but slow heartbeat said otherwise. “I told you you'd regret it. Now I gotta do all this shit alone. Thanks a lot, you helpful ass!"

Dante heard incoherent mumbling from the partial-demon's mouth, enticing the elder to chuckle loudly to wake the boy up. Despite him looking like he woke up from the dead and returned to being that way, Dante guessed it better to just let him rest.

The hybrid strolled over to the refrigerator, balancing Nero in a lone arm and on a raised knee while he grabbed two jars out of the fridge, putting each of them on Nero's chest. Might as well take a couple in case things took a turn for the worse. Perhaps he could find a remedy from it and use it as a potion, or maybe even as a weapon.

Shivers coursed throughout the youngster's body, the teen subconsciously drawing closer to the warmth on his left side.

"I can take care of myself. Let me do what I gotta do. We cut down what we lay eyes on. Stop calling me 'kid' old man." The veteran said in a sing-song voice, carrying the delirious youth back to the truck. "Baby-sitting was not part of the agreement as roommates."

The teen shivered once again, curling up into the elder's side and mumbled something like "punk ass" into his chest. He'd probably piss bricks if he realized Dante laid those hearts on him. Oh well, brat should have paid attention to his surroundings.

He sighed heavily, placing the sick hunter in the passenger seat and the jars on the floor. Only a matter of hours remained before he had to do a turnaround; torn between finishing this place up and getting Nero to safety wore thin on his nerves.

Who knew if the Grace-demon lady called in back-up and they headed this way to attack them. And what would he do with Edward's body? What about checking on his children?

This wouldn't be a problem if Nero carried on well enough to watch himself, but he couldn't be blamed if anything happened to him. Thinking about it, why did the teenager depend on him to look out for the both of them? Being a lone warrior entitled him to protect him and himself alone.

Who knows, maybe this is a sign to go home and recuperate. Nevertheless, Hell's dwellers ran rampant in this town and he needed to rectify the situation before anyone endangered themselves. Whatever course of action he arranged to take called for a quick decision, unless the undead residents of Whetstone came running into them.

A/N: So that completes the two-part chapter, and I hope you guys enjoyed it! Dante turned out to fight his drawback and Nero fell into a drawback.

Speaking of a drawback, I don't have a clue how Dante ages. You can miss me with the head canon that's he's in his late 30's/early 40's in DMC4. Capcom screwed up with making Nero fit into the timelines and the ages don't add up. Actually, I wrote a small article on tumblr called 'Nero, what are you' explaining Capcom and their inconsistent stories.

In interviews, still to this day, Mr. Dante aka Reuben Langdon, keeps saying that Dante is 2000 years old (implying Sparda boinked Eva after he sealed off the underworld) and that Dante "acts" a certain age. But there are fan websites that are adamant that Dante ages like a human. Then there are other websites that argue that he's still aging, but not as fast as a human. I'm so confused so I'll just blindly pick one or...something and go from there.
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dreams Will Be Made Of These