Sorry this is so late!

A/N: Here's the next chapter, I didn't mean for this to take so long. I was halfway done with it and had the other half handwritten, but then I got really super busy at work AND a dog I'm watching for someone bit my hand, so I had to wait for it to stop hurting enough to type the second half up. I'm getting really sick of letting people use up my good nature. It's like high school all over again. ANYWAYS, I don't know if it was the gap between the two halves being put together, but this chapter feels...off to me. Well, hope you guys like it anyway! I mean, it's extra long after all, though it's mostly centered on character development. The plot will get moving next chapter.

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.

Dedications: All you people who have only nice things to say about my writing! I love you all so so much!


Nero sighed to himself as he swept up the remaining shards of glass off the floor. For the past hour or so, he had been cleaning up the pieces of broken bottles and furniture, sweeping and trying in vain to wash the floor and walls. It gave him something to do and the place needed to be cleaned anyways. Somehow Dante's desk had survived with little more than a few deep scratches on its surface. The chair was another story, however. What was left he'd already stuffed into a garbage bag that was sitting by the door, waiting with about four others to be taken to the dumpster. The office looked better overall, but with a hole in the window, only half of the bar still standing, and most of the furniture unsalvageable, it was rather sparse.

Lady had grudgingly promised to keep an eye out for the Collector, or anyone who might possibly be the one who summoned it, before she left. Trish had taken a different approach and went to do research. She seemed to doubt that, even if they managed to catch the Collector and its master, they could retrieve Dante's soul.

It didn't help that Dante himself wasn't expressing any concern for the situation. The idiot could at least pretend to be worried. Nero was going out of his mind running through all the 'what ifs' of their circumstances.

But right on the heels of that blooming irritation was a sharp stab of guilt. He had no right to be getting angry at Dante. The older man wasn't doing anything to warrant Nero's antagonism. In fact, knowing Dante, the accepting silence and lack of apparent care was probably his way of coping. Nero couldn't even imagine what it must feel like to lose such an integral part of him. He wasn't as in-tune with his devil-side as Dante, but he guessed that it couldn't be easy. It was bad enough that the famed devil hunter had lost his sight. Dante relied heavily on his eyes in his line of work.

Nero set the broom aside and tied closed the last of the garbage bags, purposefully making as much noise as possible. The silence was killing him. With neither of them speaking and the streets outside quiet, he was stuck listening to his own thoughts and they weren't comforting at all.

He started to collect the bags together when Dante suddenly turned his head towards the front door.

"Nero."

Just his name, nothing else; but the soft note of tension, of fear, had Nero freezing on the spot. He looked back at the couch where Dante was still lying. He'd been quiet since Lady and Trish left. For that matter, he'd barely moved. Nero had to wonder if he might have fallen asleep while the younger man cleaned.

Nero had to clear his throat before he could speak, and even then the words still came out hoarse. "Yeah?"

Dante seemed to relax a little when he got a reply, and it was then that Nero realized he hadn't said anything to Dante since that morning. If it weren't for the noise he made while cleaning, Dante very well could have thought he'd been left all alone.

When Dante didn't say anything else, just stared blindly up at the ceiling, hands folded over his middle, Nero couldn't help but feel a spark of frustration. He had been hoping for a conversation, anything to break the oppressive silence. "I never thought you could be more irritating by finally shutting up." He muttered and hauled up the garbage. As he walked out the door, he glanced back at Dante and was oddly relieved to see a faint grin on the man's face. It was better than the blank expression from before.

Dante listened to the doors close and let the grin slip away. This darkness he was trapped in was starting to get on his nerves. His ears were slowly beginning to pick up the slack of losing his sight, but his biggest issue now was the disturbing emptiness he felt. He wasn't really aware of it until it was gone, but he had always been able to feel a steady flow of power, a presence in the back of his mind. It had always given him added confidence. Without it, he felt a little lost.

He jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening and someone walking in. "Nero?" who else would it be? Well, he couldn't very well tell by himself anymore, could he?

"No, it's the pizza guy." Nero's voice, though heavily laden with sarcasm, was comforting to hear.

Dante's lips curled into a small smile again. The mention of pizza made his stomach rumble and he sighed lightly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He was still tired, and sitting up while being unable to see made him a little dizzy, which was strange enough of a sensation considering he couldn't even see the room spinning. "Too bad you aren't. I'm starving."

Nero snorted at that, his footsteps coming closer before stopping. Dante could just imagine the younger man standing over him and glaring. The mental image made his smile wider.

"Only you could lose your soul and then want to eat pizza."

"That almost sounds flattering."

Nero felt his face flush as his temper spiked. "Well, it isn't." he turned to walk away but paused when he saw Dante's smile fade, the blinded hunter holding out his hand. He seemed to be concentrating on trying to reach something though there was only air before him.

"Nero,"

He hesitated at the way Dante had been saying his name all day. Almost…pleading. He wasn't sure what Dante wanted from him, but he caved and took the outstretched hand. Warm fingers wrapped around his instantly and Dante's eyes slowly closed as he released a held breath.

"Sorry." Nero didn't know what the old man was apologizing for, so he didn't reply even when Dante gave his hand a light tug. "About what I said," he added.

Nero frowned at that and let out an irritated noise. "So because you got your soul jacked and can't see you're humbled and feeling apologetic to the one person who might stick around and help you?"

"No. I really am sorry." Dante said quietly.

Nero forced himself to relax and not keep his guard up so high. "Don't worry about it." except that apology was fast working its way into his heart and starting to break down the bitter wall he'd built around it. Dante seemed so vulnerable now, and Nero knew he had no choice but to stay and help him through this. But if he wasn't careful, if he didn't keep his defenses up, he could easily let Dante back into his heart and chance having it broken a second time.

-o-o-o-

A couple days later brought clearer skies, the sun shining through the broken window up until Nero covered the hole in the glass panes with a tarp. It was nice weather for now, but it would inevitably start raining again. Putting up a cover now was better than scrambling to do it while in the middle of the wind and rain.

He was climbing down from the ladder he'd leaned up against the outside wall when he heard a loud thump from inside. He sighed as the sound was promptly followed by a curse. After spending that first day on his back, Dante had decided being blind wasn't going to make him an invalid. As such, the idiot was trying to navigate the office and was always running into what was left of the furniture.

Nero hopped off the last rung and went inside, holding the door open as he shook his head at the sight of Dante leaning over his desk, hands braced against the top as he leaned most of his weight off his left foot. "Injure anything important this time?" he asked with a sigh, silently noting that Dante's shirt was on backwards. Stupid jerk, insisting on dressing himself…he looked like a child.

"No." Dante gasped, gritting his teeth as he gingerly set his foot down. "Just broke my damn foot. What the hell is this anyway? I keep running into it."

"That's your desk, moron."

Dante scowled as he patted the surface. "Huh…who knew it was so damn solid…" he stood up straight and took a few limping steps back from the desk. "What is it doing in the middle of the room? It didn't use to be there."

Nero looked away at that, clearing his throat quietly. "Uh…I put it there." Seemed his cleaning had altered the room Dante was probably using his memory as a reference to navigate. "But it isn't in the middle of the room." He added defensively. Technically the desk was only a foot or so from its usual position. Nero frowned as he thought about that. No way was Dante's memory that specific.

Dante shook his head, lifting a hand slowly and rubbing the side of his neck before sliding it up to cover his eyes. He'd been doing that a lot, Nero noticed. After watching how carefully and hesitantly Dante moved, Nero had to wonder if he wasn't still in pain from what the Collector had done. The older man was always rubbing at his eyes and he didn't stand up as straight. That overwhelming, confident aura was gone, making Dante seem somehow…smaller.

"I'm hungry." Dante said, suddenly breaking the silence.

Nero instantly was irate. "Then you should've eaten this morning. And last night. And all the meals before then instead of complaining about it."

"It wasn't pizza." The older man replied almost petulantly.

"Pizza made you sick after just one piece last time! Of course I'm not letting you eat anymore."

Dante could feel the tension gathering in his brow, bringing on another headache. His whole life going without one and now he had them nearly every hour of every day. As things stood now, he was blind, lacking in demonic power, tired, and incredibly hungry. He'd barely eaten since the Collector's attack, but he had been insisting on his strict 'pizza only' rule; though honestly, he didn't really want any. It was part of his decision to have normalcy, something familiar. Instead he felt a sick, burning sensation in his gut when he tried to eat pizza and the taste and texture just wasn't as palatable as it used to be. Although the alternatives were just as bad; Nero couldn't cook worth a damn.

He held his breath in the following silence, listening intently for a moment. Nero was standing relatively close to him still; he could feel the other's body heat, hear the soft draws of breath. The kid was surprisingly quiet when he didn't speak or fidget around. That impetuous behavior, the inability to sit still, seemed to have grown out of Nero over the past year or so. Dante found that he missed it, especially with these new circumstances.

"Just get me something to eat, punk. And whatever you do, don't cook it yourself." Dante finally said.

There it was; that low growl of irritation. Nero still had a temper and no matter how mature he became, that would never change. It was a small fact he took comfort in. He was willing to take what familiarity he could in this new dark world he was stuck in.

"I should just leave you to starve, you ungrateful bastard." Nero replied with an angry snort.

Dante smirked at the expected response. "You forgot 'picky'."

"Damn it! Stop trying to get a rise out of me!"

"Why? It's working isn't it?"

As Nero started raving on about what a completely selfish asshole he was, Dante felt around and placed his hand back on the cool surface of his desk. In his mind he could see it. The dulled color of the wood, the many marks on it from all the times demons had attacked his shop. His fingers traced over all the gouges and scratches, pausing when he encountered five deep grooves near the edge. Even without seeing them, he knew what they were. Nero had made them a year ago. Right before the first fight that drove them apart. He'd moved the phone to cover the marks even though it had taken some getting used to, having the phone on the opposite side of the desk. He'd made the sacrifice to forget. Nero's absence had been easier to bear when he wasn't reminded of how happy he'd been when the kid was around.

"Are you even listening to me?" Nero's voice penetrated the haze of painfully nostalgic memories Dante had fallen into.

Instead of an answer, Dante took his hands away from the desk and crossed his arms. "So, are you going to get me some food or what?"

Nero fisted his hands and barely resisted the urge to punch the older man. "Fine! But you'd better start being nicer to me or I'll fucking poison you!" he snapped and went to stomp out the door, slamming it hard.

Dante tilted his head down towards the floor though he couldn't see it, ears ringing as his headache continued to throb through his temples. "You can do whatever you want, kid," he said to himself. "Just come back."