Author's notes: Hey there!

So this is basically my very first fanfiction. As I'm sure you've noticed, Devil May Cry 5 was recently unveiled at E3, which drove me into replaying the whole serie (except 2) and rewatch the anime. The more I immersed myself back into this incredible universe, the more I wanted to write something about it. So here we are.

First chapter allows me to, in a way, reintroduce the character of Dante. Not a lot of action there, but I tried to capture Dante's personality through the style of narration. Also, Patty is a character from the anime.

Hope you enjoy!

HEAVEN'S TEARS

Chapter 1: Job Offer

It was far too quiet. Had been so for the past two weeks, really. Last client was something like thirteen days ago (lucky number, they say…). Nothing since then. No job, no phone call…and it was sooooo boring.

Laying on the couch, Dante was vaguely staring at his desk, and the pile of empty beer cans and pizza boxes piling up on it (and the occasional fly buzzing around…). He didn't even have any money left to buy himself a strawberry sundae, what with Lady having taken most of his income to pay off his poker debt. This situation tended to clearly annoy his banker, but also the pizza guy who was getting worried by the increasing size of his tab.

With nothing better to do, Dante dragged himself to the jukebox. Passing his finger on the machine, he noticed the heavy layer of dust that covered it (at the very least, Patty wouldn't be coming for naughts…). He pressed a button, loaded the Rock Queen disc, his favorite, and hit play. The jukebox made two notes, started to squeak miserably as expected from a machine that stayed under the dust for thirteen days (lucky number, they say…), and broke. With a grunt, Dante slammed his fist on the machine. All this usually quite efficient method managed to do this time was a huge hole in the disc cabin.

Lucky thirteen, my ass.

'Hello there!'

He didn't even turn back when Patty came in, just stood there sadly staring at his broken jukebox.

'Oh, c'mon!' Patty said. 'You ate nothing but pizza? You could have at least thrown the boxes in the dumpster, that would be less work forOH NO!'

The young girl ran to the Jukebox.

'You broke it AGAIN?! Morrison's gonna kill you when he sees that! He's really got other things to do than repairing your…you ok?'

She felt a bit worried when seeing Dante's apathic, expressionless face.

'Dante, is there a problem?'

Dante turned to face the eight-year old girl next to him. Patty once came to the Devil May Cry hoping for Dante to help her find her long-lost mother. Feeling charitable (or drunk from the night before), Dante had agreed to lend her a hand. With no money to pay for his services, the girl, fully bent on thanking him one way or another, had decided to become the Devil May Cry's "official cleaning lady". This led to this curious situation in which, once a week, Dante had to bear with the company of a kid who just rummaged through his belongings like a hurricane, was more talkative than Jesse Eisenberg, and sang while working (and badly at that…).

A curious situation in which Dante tended to regret not to have the courage to clean his office by himself.

'No,' he answered while crawling back to the couch. 'That's kinda the point…'

Patty just stared at him for a few seconds with her big round eyes, and then, rolling up her sleeves, she took the broom from the closet and got to work.

'You could at least use the vacuum cleaner from time to time!' she said. 'I'll have less time to come here now that Mom got me back to school. Oh, by the way, do you know that my History teacher…'

And she just went on and on, tackling fascinating subjects such as her new school, her mom's new job, the problems she had on the subway last week, or who was dating who in her favorite sitcom. Dante was barely listening. He was staring blankly at the ceiling, reminiscing about the "major events" of the past few days.

Trish had left for Europe to take care of some important business (which basically meant "gone for God knows how long"). Lady had come to play poker a few nights back (which only brought Dante's debt from 5000 to 6000$). Morrison had come to repair the telly for the umpteenth time (but brought no job).

And for the past three days, nothing. Far too quiet. Boring.

'Dante, you listening?'

No answer.

'You sleeping?'

'If I say yes, will you stop talking?'

'Dumbass…'

He allowed himself a smile. At the very least, he had Patty to keep him company for the time being.

The phone rang. Once. Then twice. Then thrice.

'…you're not answering?' Patty asked.

Without much enthusiasm, Dante took a quick look at the distance between the couch from the desk. Four steps.

'Too far…'

'What do you mean, "too far"?! What if it's a job?!'

'This time of day? T'will be a guy who thinks I handle the lost and founds.'

'You can't know that! What if it's Trish calling from Europe? Maybe she needs help! Or maybe Lady had finally found that wolf monster she told me about last week, because she…'

'FINE! Just shut it already!'

Dante picked up the phone.

'Devil May Cry?'

'Yeah, hello, I'm…'

'Yeah, sorry, we close at 9.'

'Huh? But it's 2PM, what gi…'

And he hung up.

'See?' said Dante. 'Told you. No password.'

'You know, I always thought, if you want more clients to come, you should perhaps think about redesigning your front door. I don't know, paint the walls or something. Cause seriously, when I first came here, I just really thought…'

'Is your name Dante?'

Patty just stopped, turning to the front door.

The man was an Afro-American, bald and muscular, wearing a brown leather jacket and shades, and carrying a briefcase. Aside from the tribal tattoo on the side of his skull, he looked exactly like Samuel L. Jackson.

Dante barely reacted to the presence of this man.

'If you were sent by Lady, I don't need another tax audit, thank you very much. It it's Morrison, I promise I'll never break the TV again. If it's Trish, just put the postcards in the mail box. And if it's for an emergency, the toilet's in the back.'

The man didn't seem to mind those less than flattering words.

'I wish to talk to you, Mr Dante. In private.'

Instinctively, Dante turned to Patty. Meeting his gaze, the young girl made an angry gasp.

'Fine,' she said. 'I got it.'

Once Patty had left the room, the man walked to the desk.

'Most people say that you take pride in taking care of…let's say, unusual jobs.'

Dante straightened himself a bit. He was still looking at the man, but his gaze went from "too boring, didn't listen" to "wait, I heard something slightly interesting."

'They also say you are exceptionally good at what you do.'

Dante studied his potential client for a moment. The man's face was expressionless, frozen almost. Had he not seen his lips move, Dante could have sworn he was talking to a ventriloquist. His eyes, hidden behind his shades, concealed any attempt at emoting. In his leather jacket and pink scarf, he almost looked like an automaton.

'Gotta warn you', Dante said. 'If your job requires me to get a tattoo as well, I don't think you got the right man.'

As an answer, the man sat down, put his briefcase on the desk, opened it, and took out a picture which he handed to Dante. It was the picture of a woman, Asian type, late twenties, black hair but with strands of blonde.

'Cute…' Dante said. 'But if it's about dating problems, there are websites for that.'

Without answering, without even the shadow of a smile (cracked lips, perhaps?) the man took out a second picture.

-Ouch…now that's a handful…

Corpses. Slit throats, burst chests, big blood puddles drooling from fresh wounds…Dexter Morgan would be proud.

'The woman from the first picture was responsible for this massacre,' the man said in a monotone voice. 'She snuck into my employer's vault and stole something extremely valuable.'

'No roses without thorns…what was the stolen good?'

The man took out a third picture. It was the picture of some sort of heavy, angular stone, roughly the size of a kitchen book. It's color evoked granite more than anything else. Dante felt slightly let down.

'…extremely precious, huh? Well I always knew gold was overrated…'

'My employer wishes to recover his property, Mr Dante. He also would want the girl to be handed to him. Dead or alive.'

Dante just leaned back on his chair, looking slightly disappointed.

'I was hoping for a good, action-packed job, and you ask me to play geology? Who's your employer, anyway?'

'I can't tell you this information.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'Well then come back when you can! That's how I work.'

With that said, Dante put his feet on the desk, took an old magazine from one of his drawers, and said:

'Pleasure doing business with you, sir. Close the door on your way out.'

The man remained unfazed (maybe he really was an automaton, after all…), remained silent for a short moment, then turned the briefcase around to show Dante its content.

'HOLY SHIT!'

It was filled to the brim with dollar bills.

'500 000$ if you take the job, Mr Dante.'

Dante seized a wad to examine the bills, his eyes glowing with the eagerness he usually expressed in front of a strawberry sundae.

'250 000$ now. The rest when the job is done.'

500 000$. Five hundred grands! Cash! Dante felt his heart spin in his chest. He was already thinking about the new jukebox he would be able to buy, his bike that was begging to see the mechanic since last month, the face of his banker when seeing all this money. He wouldn't even have to care about his gambling debt to Lady. 500 000$.

'…I think you made your point, Mr Shades.