"You alright, honey?" Nico's voice was like a candle luring him out of the empty darkness of sleep, as gentle and comforting as a hand to hold. Dante's bloodshot eyes flittered open in response, the nerves in his neck feeling pinched and stiff, his arms and legs aching of dead weight and old blood.

"Yeah, I'm fine…" He mumbled at her, his words jagged and almost incoherent as he wiped his hands down his face, his skin feeling oily and slick on his fingers. In that dry and airless backseat he was alone; Nero's place empty, as if he had never been there at all. Dante shook his head before looking out the window, seeing that they had pulled up to a gas station that was barren and lit like the apocalypse was about to happen. He heard a heavy sigh and looked over to see the Kid alive and well; quietly pumping gas with the enthusiasm of a drowned fish.

Finally able to get a decent look at Nero under the lights, Dante was surprised at how much he had changed and matured since the last time he had seen him. His chin was more angular and defined, dusted with the faintest tickle of stubble. He had grown into himself, into his bloodline; toned yet torn like his clothing. Nero's silence, his glacial calmness, all of it was far too reminiscent of his father; stern and loveless and blue. It looked as if there was hardly any trace left of the boy he had been.

Where did he go?

"Listen, I'm gonna run in and grab a Coke, you wanna come? Maybe stretch your legs?" Nico offered, keys jingling from in between her teeth as she rummaged around for her purse; a small leather clutch that she shoved under her arm.

Having hardly heard her, Dante nodded; mechanically sliding the van door open and stepping out onto the ground, his feet aching. She brushed past him, and he followed her into the store; walking with too-wide steps, trying to shuffle some feeling back into his knees.

Dante pretended that he couldn't sense the Kid's glare, feeling it burn hard into his back like fresh bullet holes.


As the doors shot open with a friendly ding, Dante recalled how many nights he had wasted in places like that. Scattered puzzle-pieces of memories tumbling into his mind from what felt like another lifetime, another universe.

He would wander in at two in the morning; drunk and starving for a bag of barbeque potato chips or one of those cheap cherry slushies that he couldn't get enough of. The whiskey that marinated his insides made him smile too hard, laugh too hard; even when there wasn't anything worth smiling or laughing about. His pickled brain thinking about nothing as he handed the clerk a fistful of cash, wadded up and wet with sweat. His wallet always empty the next morning, his mouth stained a heavy red like his tongue had been cleaved in two.

Now that he thought about it…where was his wallet?

Nico immediately went to the drinks, leaving Dante to walk aimlessly about; his hands patting empty coat pockets for a monetary miracle, or any kind of miracle really. Finding nothing, his pale eyes scanned that chaos of candy, junk food, and the other little worthless knick-knacks that nobody ever bought but always lined the shelves anyway. It all seemed so foreign to him now, as unfamiliar and surreal as a nightmarish fever-dream that turned out to be a childhood memory.

So many different kinds, why are there so many now? Had it always been like this? He couldn't remember. (Why couldn't he remember?) All sorts of names and exclamation points shouting from the brightly colored packages like excited voices screaming in his face.

ALL NATURAL! FAT FREE! SUGAR FREE! REAL CHOCOLATE!

(Since when? What had he been eating before?)

Was all of this normal? This was all normal, right?

He didn't know.

But what he did know was that they made his head hurt and he had to look away; at the tiles under his feet or the lights humming above his head; anywhere. For some reason (one that he couldn't articulate) he felt open, oddly vulnerable and naked standing there by himself; even though he knew that he was safe and that Hell was far behind him now.

Subconsciously, as automatic as breathing or grinning, Dante's hands found their way under his coat to grip the handles of his guns just to make sure that they were still there, tracing their triggers intricately the way a priest would count the beads of his rosary. The heavy steel, gunmetal gray and that old familiar weight grounding him in the tried-and-true reality of now.

But they weren't enough. Needing a rock to ground himself on in that tsunami of color, of alien normalcy, he went over towards where Nico was standing; in front of the cooler that held the juice and soft drinks. It was then that he caught a look at his reflection in the glass door, and he paused, statue-still and uncomprehending.

There was hardly anything recognizable about him; even to himself, Dante looked like a total stranger. Unkempt with an almost bestial quality, his beard like a bushel of white thistles, emanating the aura of a beggar's insanity. His clothing was absolutely filthy, his hair a muddled mess (tangled by the wind), the straps holding his boots together looking like they were going to unravel and break apart at any given moment.

He was surprised that the Kid even recognized him, as bad as he looked. Hoping in his heart that perhaps the familiarity between them went beyond just skin-deep appearances, down into their shared blood, into the abyss of the soul.

Completely oblivious to Dante, Nico tapped a small packet of fifty-cent peanuts rhythmically against the revolver inked into her hip. She was zeroed in, positively stumped; stuck between choosing a Classic Coke (her favorite) or a Cherry Coke. (her other favorite)

Decisions, decisions…

Dante looked out the store window to see that Nero still hadn't moved from his spot, rolling his mechanical shoulder like he had pulled a muscle; frowning hard. Dante watched as Nero furrowed his eyebrows, then shuffled in place like something was bothering him.

"So, what's up with the Kid?" Dante heard himself ask, eyes flickering over to the tattooed vixen next to him, trying to sound unconcerned, like he didn't really care whether she answered him or not.

"Hm? Oh, don't worry about him. He just acts like an asshole sometimes. Real mean and grumpy. He'll snap out of it eventually, you just gotta give him a little bit of time." She waved the peanuts through the air before picking up a bottle of Classic Coke and shutting the door with a hard slam, having made her choice.

But Dante knew that he couldn't do that, ignore Nero like he was a child having a tantrum. He didn't want to turn his back like he had before; walking out of his life without so much as a glance back over his shoulder, making a hand gesture so vague and meaningless that even he didn't know what it meant.

"You gonna get anything, Dante? If money's a problem then I'll get it for ya." Nico asked as she headed towards the register.

"Nah, I'm good… Thanks for that though." He only smiled and shook his head; not wanting her to know that he was as broke as he looked.

The clerk, tired and underpaid and used to dealing with late-night weirdos; did not even look up from his magazine when Dante walked out.


A terrible pain had settled inside of Nero, clawing its way up his arm, scratching like a wild animal at the walls inside of his chest, peeling the meat down. He clenched his teeth and let out a soft groan. (too soft, the kind that was ashamed of its own weakness) He sucked in a quivering gulp of air before pressing his hand against the Devil Breaker, rolling his shoulder again like that was going to help.

He wasn't used to this, he could never get used to this; that was out of the question. Pins and needles, needles and pins. Burning, aching, tingling in the clawed fingertips that he no longer had.

Phantom limb pain, a terrible hurt without a viable, physical cause. A cause that he couldn't hack or shoot or punch; it was intangible, torturous, and ghostly. The least he could do being the most he could do; which was to just grit his teeth and bear it.

The Kid crushed his eyes shut when he heard Dante's unmistakable footsteps venture closer, anger shooting up his already stiff spine. I do not need this shit. Nero thought to himself as he sank his teeth into his tongue to quiet another groan.

He only hoped that if he was silent for long enough, still for long enough, the Old Man would take a hint and leave him the fuck alone. He quickly glanced over to his side, seeing that Dante was standing with his back leaning nonchalantly against the van door, tracing his fingers along the curves of the 'D' of Devil May Cry; looking like he wanted to talk but didn't know how to begin.

Standing there, the numbers of the gas pump still climbing higher and higher, pain chewing and swallowing the arm he no longer had; the Kid tried to pretend that Dante was just a stranger. A random hitchhiker that he and Nico had scraped off the side of the street like road kill. Just some scary-looking hobo that they were treating to a ride and maybe a bite to eat, all out of the kindness of their Good-Samaritan hearts. That's it. Nero didn't really know him in any kind of way that mattered, not then and not now.

You've grown, Kid…Dante thought as he felt his lips twitch; but nothing close to a frown or a smile changed his expression. He finally decided to speak, though he knew that it would not amount to anything.

"Hey Kid, thanks for—"

"If Nico wasn't here, I would've just left you." Nero interrupted with a harsh sigh, keeping his attention focused on the gas pump, the numbers spinning just like the thoughts in his head. "So if you need to thank somebody, thank her. Don't waste your breath on me."

Sure Kid. Dante thought, believing him completely. "But—uhhh… you okay?" Dante knew that he wasn't, taking in such slow and shallow breaths like he was about to puke, and stepped closer. Nero curled up into himself, letting out another pained moan; then nodded, though it took effort.

"I'm fine…" He breathed out in a huff, his voice sounding strained and pulled thin, his face flushed.

"You sure?" Dante questioned as he stepped closer. "Is there anything I can— "

You can't do anything! Just fuck off! Nero thought.

Even then, stubborn as always and without knowing his own movements; Dante reached out and lightly grabbed Nero by the padded shoulder of his coat, pulling him close.

The Kid was stiff as a board, all nerves and bone; meat and metal. No heart, no soul; just a puppet pulled by its strings without any thought given to its own wants or desires. The hug was a gesture that Nero neither accepted nor denied; awkward and crushing and sweaty. He was quiet, feeling Dante's arms wrap tight around his body like a blanket, rubbing his elbows and shoulders gently; holding him close like he meant something special.

Did Nero want this? He didn't know. But he felt like he'd kill the Old Man if he didn't stop soon. His skin and clothes smelling dirty and unwashed, damp and hot with perspiration.

Dante smiled as he gave the Kid a few well-meaning pats on the back (his version of a 'there, there' gesture) that would have knocked the air out of anyone else.

The Kid winced when he felt something thorny and unpleasant press hard against the side of his head, and he realized that Dante had kissed him. It was tight-lipped and warm, completely unreasonable.

Still, slowly and surely, the misery within Nero seemed to loosen its grip on his missing limb; trailing down his wrist, to his fingers, linking them once before finally letting go.

Nero only told himself that it was just a meaningless coincidence. "You done yet?" He asked coldly, his voice low, his ears flushed an obvious and humiliating red.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm done." Dante murmured, giving him a half-hearted grin, appearing untroubled; but they both knew better. Nero didn't answer him.

And then, like a ship, like a boat, like a lifeline; the Kid drifted away. Dante watched his movements; seeing that he looked so wounded. The hug (could he even call it that?) had done nothing. It was nothing more than a placebo, a sugar pill, a smiley-faced sticker handed out at a cancer ward.

But he loved him still.

"Hey, Dante!" Nico called out as the automatic doors dinged shut behind her, a small plastic bag swinging in one hand, her Coke in the other. "You hungry?"


They found a 24-hour diner not too far from where they were at, the parking lot as empty and desolate as the gas station; Nico taking up as many spaces as she liked. The neon sign of the diner had ignited the night, catching their attention like a shooting star, Lucky Lude's Burgers and Milkshakes.

Dream-like and half-asleep; she and Dante walked in unison towards the entrance of the diner, Nero trailing behind, walking with slow and deliberate steps like he didn't want to be there.

Nico blew a raspberry at the no-smoking sign plastered on the door as they walked through.

Greeted by a gust of cool air, their shoes scraping across the checkerboard flooring, colored red and white like a picnic tablecloth. Vinyl records graced the walls along with posters of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. Electric guitars colored an explosive cherry bomb red mounted the walls left and right, along and Golden-Age superhero pictures.

It was a time-warp back into 1950's Americana, frozen like the snap of a photograph; seemingly immune to the ever-changing world just outside their doors. Dante couldn't help but think of Fredi's; the old diner back home. He hoped that it was still there, in business; and that nothing had changed. That he could just walk right on in and they'd have his usual waiting for him like always.

But it was an idiot's wish that he had made; a fool's dreaming nostalgia.

(Everything had changed and would not change back.)

"Man, I love places like this. It's like something out of a movie." Nico said as she sat down in a corner booth styled like the seats of an old muscle car, with Dante seating himself across from her. "So what are you in the mood for, Dante? I'm buyin'." Nico passed him a menu before stretching her legs long across the seat, her cowgirl boots caked in dirt and dangling off the side. Smiling brightly and acting like stretching out like that was the most natural thing in the world to do.

"Hey, you never buy me food." Dante was surprised at the amount of bitterness that coated Nero's words, though a playful sort of irritation lingered there as well.

"Living Legend Discount, Nero. You're a pro, but you ain't there yet." Nico said as she winked at Dante with the hint of a grin.

The Kid saw his partner sprawled out and shot her a look that could kill, before dropping down beside Dante, nudging him over like he was just a backpack that someone had left there. Though in spite of the Kid's behavior, the chasm in between the both of them had receded a bit now, their knees touching under the table.

Dante heard a smirk from Nico, and noticed how much it seemed to amuse her; pushing them together like that. She raised her chin a little high as she placed an unlit cigarette in between her lips, smug and pleased with herself; like a girl who was forcing her dolls to hug and kiss and fall in love.

Dante swallowed and perused the menu in his hands, classic All-American dishes, burgers and French fries and milkshakes. The words were a little blurry to him, so he judged by pictures alone, which were kaleidoscopic and plentiful.

Their waiter shuffled up and took their orders without a hello or a pen, eyeing Nico's unlit cigarette with a quiet sort of need. The rule-breaker simply plucked it from in between her lips and gave him an apologetic smile before quietly asking for a cup of coffee.

"Do whatever you want; the world's already gone to hell anyway." He grumbled before asking if she had one to spare. She gave him three and watched him light one right then and there.

Dante ended up ordering bacon and eggs and toast, along with a strawberry milkshake, pointing at what he wanted. And Nero only mumbled that he wasn't hungry; and asked for a glass of water.


"Gone to hell?" Dante asked after their waiter had left, eyes flickering in between the both of them. He knew that something was wrong, he could feel it like splinters in his fingers when he had broken out. That things had gotten worse, worse than they had ever been before.

"Yep, gone straight downhill ever since you left. We've been picking up the slack as best we can though, kept the business afloat and all that." Nico's coffee was brought out first. She added in heaps of sugar and cream until it was as pale as milk. Took a sip, made a face, then added in more sugar from the little pink packets at her elbow. Having the waiter's blessing, she used her saucer as a makeshift ashtray, a cigarette already snubbed out on it.

Dante looked over at Nero, who kept his eyes on his hands, drumming his cybernetic fingers along the tabletop as if he were bored. His water was brought out next, which he took a few meager sips of, tasting like medicine.

"Grandmamma told me stories about you." Nico murmured softly, eyeing Dante through a gauzy curtain of smoke.

That got his attention, causing him to stare at her as his plate was set down in front of him.

Not knowing how to react to what he was being told, as well as feeling ravenous, Dante shoved food into his mouth as if it were going to hop off his plate and fly away. He tried to savor it, he wanted to savor it, but he was far too hungry. He licked his fingers ungraciously, sucking up the salt and crumbs, wiping his hands on his pants and coat even though napkins were right there in front of him. The milkshake tasted like heaven in a glass; thick and creamy, staining his aching teeth a sweetheart pink.

"Stories? I hope they were good ones." He finally said with a smile so charming it put Elvis Presley to shame.

She laughed, a sound filled to the brim and then running over with affection; though whether it was for Nell or Dante himself, he couldn't tell. She shook her head and pushed her hair out of her face, accidentally flicking ash onto her shirt. "God, no! She said that you didn't care one lick about the hard work and craftsmanship that went into making a gun. All the blood, sweat, and tears, none of it seemed like it mattered at all. Said that you treated guns like they were somethin' to play with; like toys or firecrackers. Always thought of you as somebody's rowdy youngin' that needed his butt whooped." Dante could only look at her, grease shining bright on his chin.

Nico nodded as she took another sip of her coffee. "She said how she'd tell herself 'Okay, this is the last time I'm helping him out' But like a puppy dog you just kept coming right on back. And she just couldn't find it in herself to tell you no."

"I had to keep coming back. There wasn't anybody in the whole world who could do what Nell did. She could juice up a squirt-gun to have it take down an elephant. She was just that good."

Dante glanced over at Nero's cybernetic arm, the metal digits wrapped around the cold glass.

Nico stirred her coffee, as if in deep thought, eyeing her reflection in the cup. "But…" She began, a veil of smoke curling up around her like a halo of light. "But after she got sick things, were different. Before she'd fall asleep, she'd build you up to be some kind of superhero, like there wasn't a thing on this earth you couldn't do. Like Jesus Christ and then some, somebody to be worshipped."

She emptied her cup, tossed her cigarette in and listened to it sizzle, watched it die.

Nero couldn't help but scoff at that, angry and audible. An entire world of hurt compressed into that one sound. Nico shot him a look and he kept his face turned away, slurping down the rest of his water.

"Jesus Christ huh? That's a new one." Dante said with soft chuckle as he scraped his plate clean. Sure his dad was thought of as a deity to be worshipped, but not Dante.

Nothing could be further from the truth; they had about as much in common as heaven and hell.

Dante wasn't Jesus Christ, not even close.

He couldn't heal the sick or raise the dead. He couldn't make the blind see again.

And he couldn't give an amputee his arm back.


Rating will go up with next chapter.