A/N: All right. There seems to be a woeful lack of Devil May Cry/fairy tale crossovers, so I thought I'd write another one. ;P
As ever, please read and review - I'd love to read your thoughts, comments, or questions, and I always respond.
Jimli ;P
Naturally, I don't own Devil May Cry, nor Little Red Riding Hood. I think the latter is at least in the public domain, though.
Little Red
He was on his way back home, or at least to the building he was currently living in. His 'home' had been destroyed quite a few years ago. He scowled, shrugging deeper into his red hooded jacket.
No, Dante's home had been destroyed. Tony's home was the warehouse with the cool loft. He wasn't Dante anymore; he was Tony. Being Dante meant living with his mother's and his identical twin's deaths. Being Dante meant that his father was a devil, a devil who'd left a wife who'd loved him and two sons who'd worshipped him. Being Dante meant demons were real and were out to kill him. Being Dante meant not being normal. No, being Tony Redgrave was better. Big deal if Tony was all alone; Tony had never lost anyone he'd loved because he'd never had anyone. Demons wouldn't be after Tony because they didn't exist. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. Instead, he focused on the goodies in his bags.
He'd been living on the streets for a while now, and he was well aware of how dangerous that was. He had to look out for gangs, cops, and homeless people, as well as a definitely stranger type of threat. There were some really weird creeps around every once in a while, creeps with odd shadows that didn't look very human, creeps with eyes that flashed unusual colors, creeps who eyed him with an intense hatred.
Demons, a small voice in his head admonished, devils, and you know damn well why they look at you like that.
No! Tony shook his head violently, causing his white hair to flip into his ice-blue eyes. He didn't believe in demons and devils. Especially not that stupid legend about Sparda. A devil so concerned about the welfare of humanity that he betrayed his own kind, but not concerned enough about his own wife and sons to stick around?
Nope, Tony didn't believe in that shit at all!
Tony didn't need to, either. He could take care of himself, that's why he worked his ass off to get this stuff. He clutched the bags a little tighter.
It had taken a lot of doing, acquiring the goodies inside those bags, and when he was finished with them, he'd have something he could carry with him all the time, for protection. Something really cool. Cooler even than that other pair of .45s.
He frowned to himself. He hadn't thought about how much his new babies looked like his father's - Dante's father's - handguns, Luce and Ombra, before. It didn't matter; his Ebony and Ivory were going to be way better than they ever were. Everyone was going to think they were totally awesome. Especially babes, the babes would think they were the coolest. He grinned to himself.
"Hey, hey kid."
The white-haired boy pulled up short in front of the alleyway the voice had come from. An older guy stepped out of the alley, smiling. He was a grown-up, old enough to go into those places where babes took off their clothes. Probably.
Tony looked at him, trying to look like he didn't care what this guy wanted.
"Hey there, kiddo. Where are you headed to?" the stranger asked, friendliness in his voice. "Not much over in this part of town."
Tony shrugged, his ice-blue eyes meeting the stranger's brown ones.
"I'm cutting through on my way to my grandpa's. I've got some stuff he wanted," he lied.
Lying had always been so easy for him. The stranger raised his eyebrows, smiling toothily.
"Is that so? Well, now, this isn't a nice part of town, you know. I could take you to your grandpa's, if you like. Make sure you get there safe and sound."
Tony eyed the guy.
"Grandpa says I'm not supposed to talk to weirdoes," he replied before kicking his booted foot into the stranger's crotch.
The man doubled over at first, but Tony saw a weird gleam of red flash in his eyes, and he stood again, growling.
"You loathsome brat!" he screamed, swinging his fist at the boy.
Tony agilely dodged the thrown punch, then watched as the stranger changed. Tony's eyes grew wide, staring at the furious, furry monster.
He's a werewolf!
No, a small voice in his mind whispered, he's a demon, a devil.
Tony shoved that thought away as he ran from the monster; he didn't believe in demons and devils, he didn't use to live in a mansion outside of town, and he wasn't Dante!
He chanced a glance backwards after he'd made many different turns, but he didn't see the dem-, werewolf, anymore. He slowed back to a walk, not even winded, and started back towards home.
The demon howled with rage. How dare that little brat kick him like that! Filthy humans! The boy was quicker than he looked, however; he'd already disappeared from sight. The wolf demon grunted; he didn't need to see the kid to find the runt.
He scented the air, searching for the boy's smell. Once he'd picked it out, he loped off, tracking smell back to where the boy had come from. He'd track him all day if he had to, find the little snot, and rend him limb from limb!
It didn't actually take him long to find the warehouse and from the strength of the boy's scent all over the place, not only did the boy obviously live here, but he lived here alone.
The demon grinned, his sharp canines gleaming. 'Grandpa' the kid had said; he'd show him a grandpa! He leapt to a broken window on the second story and wriggled inside where he found a rather sparsely furnished room. He sat on the bed and waited for the brat to come home.
When Tony reached the warehouse, he noticed something...off about the place. He looked around, but couldn't see anything wrong or out of place. Shrugging, he went to his worktable and opened the bags.
Delight spread across his boyish features as he carefully set each of the pieces he'd acquired today next to the almost-complete handguns on the table. He found his tools and set to work assembling the two .45s. A noise from upstairs where he slept startled him. He slid home the last few pieces of the huge pistols and loaded them from a box in his hoodie pocket.
No time for a test run or target practice. Looks like these guys are going to be broken in the hard way.
A grin spread across his face, making him momentarily look like an older teen. He stalked upstairs, the silver gun in his right hand, the black one in his left.
A shadowed figure was in his room, sitting on his bed. Tony frowned.
"Who's there?" he demanded.
"Why it's your dear old grandpa, boy!" a gravelly voice answered.
Light reflected reddish from his eyes.
"My, what big, red eyes you have!" Tony said, affecting surprise.
"What big guns you have!" the voice responded as Tony leveled them at the oddly shaped figure.
"What a big brain you have!" the red-hooded boy answered, still slowly approaching.
"What big balls you have!" the figure snarled.
"What a big mouth you have, Gramps!"
"The better to eat you!" he cried as he jumped at the boy.
Tony had a glimpse of the same fur-covered fiend from the alley in mid-leap as he squeezed off round after round from his newly built guns. The concussion of the shots threw the beast's trajectory off, causing him to fall short of the white-haired youth. The werewolf (devil!) stood, swiping at the boy with his claws.
Dante dodged skillfully, holding the monster at bay until each of the guns clicked empty. He shoved one to each pocket, then dove for his bed, crawling under it just ahead of another swing of lethal claws.
"Hiding under the bed won't achieve anything, little one!" the demon screamed as he lifted the frame and threw it aside, revealing the boy.
"Yeah, so who's hiding, furball?"
The demon was briefly nonplussed, seeing the boy stand with a massive sword in his hands. He chuckled.
"What are you going to do with that, boy? You can't even lift it!"
The point of the skull-adorned claymore rested firmly on the floor, but the boy didn't seem concerned. Dante smiled grimly.
"I'm going to kill me a big, bad wolf!" he answered, lifting the sword effortlessly and slicing through the demon's torso.
One last scream filled the air as the demon evaporated, then Dante calmly set Rebellion back on the floor and carried his bed frame back over to its original position above the sword. He pulled his guns out of their pockets, gave them each a kiss, and carried them reverently downstairs to the table.
Tony draped a dirty tablecloth over the worktable, turned off his lights, and headed back upstairs for some well-deserved sleep.