AN: Some creative license here on what happened to Dante as a kid. I wrote most of this while listening to Unsteady by X Ambassadors. Much thanks to Meech Macko, JightJakeRises and for leaving reviews. I do read them in order to improve my craft, seeing how I actually write technical and legal mambo jumbo for a living, might as well practice creative writing while I'm at it. I was surprised how long this become, by the time I finished. Ah yeah, don't fact-check the law about adult entertainment establishments and alcohol. I know what I'm describing isn't correct in most places. Down the Hatch is an actual bar. And for those who watched the anime, this is not the same Freddie.

Updated 11/9/16 to fix some grammar and spelling errors.

Sit Down - Chapter 3 - Trembling

One of Dante's best traits was his indomitable spirit in the face of adversity. He had learned to cope by laughing through all the crap that went wrong in his life. When he went hungry in foster care, he smiled and joked to distract the store clerk while he pilfered from the candy rack. When there was no cake on his birthday anymore, he made Molotov cocktail his birthday candles and Everclear his cake, chuckling drunkenly all the way. When he no longer had his twin or mother to keep him warm and safe during cold nights, he grabbed a hot water bottle and later, when he was older, he visited the strip clubs and listened to women whisper one line jokes to him while he held them close.

There was no expectation that life was going to be happy like the fairy tales. His mother told him so when he had caught her in tears as a child who could not sleep. She had smiled at him and hugged him then, as he tried one of his impersonations to cheer her up. His annoying twin later came to drag him back to bed, berating Dante for keeping their tired mother from sleeping. Dante had justified his action by telling Vergil about how mom was happy because he made her laugh and smile. Vergil had rightfully told him then and there that smiles are only facades to cover the ugliness underneath.

His twin was right, of course.

Dante knew that deep own, his many coping techniques left him feeling empty inside. The act of doing something, anything, distracted him from that creeping demon madness that constantly hounded him. His demon side demanded bloodshed, lust, and conflict. The fighting and the pain from bruises and cuts made him feel alive like nothing else. The casual association with free woman sated the lust. The drinking made him forget the conflict. His human side balked at such insanity and made him highly aware of the level of screwed up his life was, compared to what was typical for a nineteen-year-old.

Things were looking up, though. Dante no longer had the money problems to the point that he went hungry on a regular basis anymore. He had his own devil hunting shop and even had a great job with regular doses of carnage to satisfy his need for violence. He even got a pretty side-kick, despite how she occasionally turned into a villain when she was tired and peeved.

Now if only he never got another shit job that reminded him of his messed up life experience was, that would be good.

He had been called by the city police, which in itself, should have warned him not to take this job. When the more savory people came to him with requests, it usually meant that it was something that even the veterans would not get their hands dirty for. In this case, it was a demon possession.

One of the desperate people in the ghetto areas had turned to the arcane to reverse their financial troubles. Normally, this would not have been a problem since it was a case of a human wannabe sorcerer who attempted the spell. Too many things can go wrong. A mispronounced incantation, the wrong blood type, a wrongly drawn symbol, even bad breath, could all lead to calling an uncontrolled demon that ultimately ate or possessed the summoning sorcerer. The problem usually solved itself.

In this case, a father of two children had summoned a demon of fortune. Due to his blatant ineptitude in the occult, the demon ended up possessing him instead. Even that in itself would not have kicked the case to Dante until the man started to kill the neighbors, put up wards to prevent mechanical firepower and opening portals.

The scene at the low-income housing block was bloody as usual by the time Dante arrived. There were several police cars with their red and blue strobe lights on and yellow caution tape everywhere. The building in question appeared to have its electricity cut.

"Well, this can't be good," Dante observed mildly at the dismembered and crushed corpses that littered the pavement outside the block. A compliment riot police were there to push back the onlookers. From what Dante can tell, someone had decided that cutting people jugular and throwing them off the roof was amusing. The smell of blood was in the air and that mere scent promised excitement.

"Ah. There you are, Mr. Redgrave," called a policeman. He was a middle age looking man, straight-laced with the appropriate blue-collared uniform and slightly portly body that indicated that he had a wife who fed him well. The man had dirty blonde hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.

"You must be...Morrison," said Dante, extending a hand for a handshake. Dante was in his usual gear, red coat, combat boots, under clothes, fingerless gloves, guns in holsters and Rebellion strapped prominently on his back. In a straight job like this, there was no reason to hide the tools of his trade.

The said Morrison had to frown at Dante's appearance. The young man sure stuck out, with that outfit, white hair and a rather attractive face. But that was not what caught his attention. This had to be a kid. Despite the height and build, Dante was far too lanky to have the experience to do a job like this. There was still baby fat on his face. "Aren't you a little...young, to be doing this type of work?"

Dante gave Morrison a look. "I can go home, if you want."

"No...no. Stay," Morrison said immediately. "The chief is desperate to get this under control but he did not want the embarrassment of calling in the military. We had heard from some reliable informants that you're the handyman who handles jobs like this."

"You got that right." Dante looked at the building. There were a scream and growl. Dante rubbed his hands together in anticipation of spilling demon blood, a grin on his face.

Morrison had to frown. What type of trauma did this young man experience to smile in face of flat out butchery? "Jenny briefed you on phone, right? Of the situation?"

Dante nodded. "Demonic possession with portals. It's gonna cost ya. You got payment?"

Morrison handed over a slip of paper and a stack of bills. "The number on the paper is the total. Five percent cash upfront, eighty percent wired to your account upon completion, and the remaining fifteen percent if the portals are closed a month from now."

Dante glanced at the number and nodded, satisfied. Next, he quickly counted the bills. He noted that much of the money appeared to have been soaked in blood recently with an attempt to mop the crimson liquid off. Just smelling the bills told him that the blood was human. "Let me guess, the last guy didn't work out."

The policeman vaguely gestured to a headless muscular body near the front door of the building block. "Got tossed out a window within ten minutes of going in. Think you can handle it?"

Dante stuffed the bloodied bill into an inner pocket then gave two thumbs up and a cheeky smile. "Of course."

Morrison handed then handed him a flare. "Use this when the coast is clear."

The demon hunter found another pocket to stow the flare. He then walked toward the building, waving a hand as he was about to enter. "See you at the after party!"

Morrison watched Dante's image disappear behind the main lobby doors, incredulous and worried. He had never seen this young man before, and the sheer bravado this kid exhibited was either foolishness or insanity. How was the young suppose to see in the dark without a flashlight? And what type of a fallen world did they live in when young men are sent off to kill?

Immediately, there were gun shots and inhuman groans of agony.

Inside the building, Dante was enjoying himself. Misshapen monsters came at him in the dark and he successfully cut and shot them down. His demon side was thoroughly elated by the hunt, the bloodbath, and freedom from human restraint. These bastards were of a medium challenge too. They were the ones that laugh and move about in the shadows, but that only made the hunt even more engaging and entertaining.

Dante did not let himself to be completely lost in his delight of havoc. There were portals to close and that took some mental concentration, time, a couple of trusty paper talismans and a pink glue stick. When he worked on closing them, he that wondered if it was possible to go through those portals himself. He was a curious person and he had thought about going and exploring his father's home. There was a part of him that yearned to know where he came from, be it demon or human. Considering the large hoards devils he had met and dealt with, there had to be some creatures in hell who are technically related to him by blood. And while he was there, maybe he could go find his thick-headed twin and deck him for being an ass.

He tried it. He poked a portal experimentally and hit firm resistance. He had expected that, though. Most portals were one way did not work for high-level demons and humans. He happened to be both. For him, he would need something on the level of Temen-ni-gru if he wished to entertain such curiosity.

"Son of Sparda," came a low hiss as the portal Dante was working on closed.

Dante turned to see a naked, overweight, middle-aged, balding man shuffling toward him. The man's body bulged and contorted as if there was something inside him, anxious to get out.

"Figure that I'd run into you eventually," Dante said, pulling Rebellion from the holster on his back to his shoulder instead, hanging an arm over the hilt like a baseball bat. He had to be more alert here. Demons that spoke words were a sign of higher intelligence and power. Ones that could reason through, could become devil arms.

"Son of the traitor," the man continued to mouth in that hiss. "Spawn of filth."

Dante rolled his eyes. Where had he heard that broken record? Why did his father have to go piss off so many in hell? "Whatever. Just get out of the man's skin already," Dante said impatiently, "I want to kill you, properly."

The man's torso deformed and it puked up pungent green liquid. Then, a claw poked through the man's pelvis and cut vertically up to the head. Like a molting snake, the pure-blooded demon stepped out of its human covering. The demon had the traditional jutting jaw, exposed fangs, claws, several black stingers, and red eyes. It had four limbs, and it walked on the ground like a spider, its head twisted upside down, like a broken toy.

"Man, you're ugly," Dante commented.

"I am Armadul," the creature introduced itself. "Mundus will richly reward me for your death."

The demon skittered toward him, closing the distance between them with a blink of an eye. Dante pulled up Rebellion just in time to block several strikes by the clawed limbs. He gritted his teeth as he felt a couple of stinger pokes into his chest. The poison was not a bad one, but it still made the muscles ache.

No time to think now. Armadul attacked him relentlessly, pincers and stingers striking whenever it could. The creature, having had four stabilizing limbs and several stingers, nimbly skirted around Dante's sword, going up the wall and ceiling. It laughed, yelling out more insults only to be cut short by bullets. It only started to take this half-breed seriously, when it started to be attacked by the man's shadow.

Finally, after exchanging many blows, Dante skewered the Armadul in the chest, pinning the creature to the ground. The stingers now all shot off. A pool of green blood started to spread underneath Armadul.

"That was fun," Dante said with a smile, his demon side now mollified. Armadul had been a worthy but short-lived opponent. He pulled Rebellion up and slammed the claymore down on the creature's face, effectively cutting it in half and spilling brain matter. "Thank you."

There was no more demonic energy now. Dante breathed a sigh of satisfaction of the blood, guts and glory he had participated in. Now it was time to go fire off the flare and get his pay.

He was going toward a window when he bypassed a room full of bodies. It appeared that Armadul, or whatever came through the portals, did not toss everyone off of the roof.

Dante passed by a few more rooms before he saw something moved in one of the hallways that ended with a window to the outside. There was a crack in the wall, and that crack moved!

Dante immediately pointed Ivory at the crack. He did not sense any demonic energy left in the building, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

Bits of plaster and concrete fell away, a mini dust cloud escaped from the wall and a small hand reached out. There was some coughing as the dust cleared.

It an eight-year-old boy. One of those typical looking kids, with dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He wore a plain t-shirt, denim overalls and sneakers. The kid had obviously been in middle of a slaughter at some point, his clothes and shoes were stained with dried blood. The kid was incredibly calm, despite what had occurred in the building.

Dante could relate. He recalled something similar that happened to himself. He was pretty chill too, initially. The worse was yet to come. Dante put Ivory away in its holster.

"Hey kid," Dante called, "you okay?"

The kid looked around to see Dante. The kid seemed relaxed to see that it was person."Yes."

"What's your name?" Dante asked.

"Jason," the kid answered innocently.

"Well, Jason. You're safe now."

The kid immediately perked up. "Really!? The monsters are gone?"

Dante nodded. "I'm pretty sure."

"I gotta go tell mom!" The kid scampered off through the maze of the hallways.

God damn it! Dante cursed internally. Just because the place was safe from demonic attacks did not mean that the place was safe from other harm. Humans were just as capable of hurting other humans. Dante was repeatedly taught that lesson. Plus, he destroyed some building supports and it would be bad if the kid gets crushed by a falling roof or something. He chased after the kid for only a short while.

The kid had entered a room that appeared to be the bedroom of a crack den. There was a stained brown comforter on the corner, trash, condom wrappers and hypodermic needle surrounding the comforter. Laying in the middle of the comforter were two bodies. An obviously dead middle aged portly woman, holding another child.

"Mommy, wake up," the kid named Jason shook the body of the portly woman. When there was no response, he shook her more vigorously. "Mommy. It's safe now. This man said so." Still no movement. She was dead as a doornail. The kid still did not understand and he shook her some more until she flipped over. The expression her face was one of shock and horror. Her eyes bugged out. The front of her dress soaked through with blood from a familiar cut in her jugular. Dante could tell that this woman was a likely drug user, judging by the indentions in the crook of her arm.

Jason bite back a gasp but did not cry. He was a big boy and big boys suck it up. Instead, he focused on the child that the dead woman was holding. Dante could tell that this poor kid must be dead too. There was an obvious gash in the stomach with entrails peeking out. Blood was everywhere.

"Big brother," the little boy nudged the unmoving body that was similar to his size. "Wake up. It's safe now."

"Big brother, please wake up," the kid pleaded again, his words more urgent than before. "What am I going to do without you?" He begged, again and again, not noticing that the hunter had ducked back into an empty, dark hallway.

"WAHHHH!" The kid started to wail. The kid was slowly realizing that there was no waking his family up.

Dante found himself squatting in that hallway, listening to the kid's words. When the kid started crying, he using the palm of his hands to cover his ears. That did not work as well because his accursed acute hearing allowed him full comprehension of the little boy's begging request and growing despair.

The sound broke through much of the protective mental walls Dante had built up. In his mind's inner eye, he saw the moment his own mother was killed and feeling that thick crimson wetness spatter on his face. He remembered discovering his twin's broken body and that instant fear, agony, and grief of loss. He had asked them to wake up too, trying to delay the first time realization that there was no coming back from death.

He could not have gotten away from that accursed sound any faster. The signaling flare was shot off from a window.

Afterward, the police chief grilled him on the details. That was to be expected. Dante did not find the questioning bothersome. He had enough run-ins with the law that he had experienced most interrogations methods. He was used to the screaming and shouting both at the police station and in the many foster homes he had been in.

The police chief was a thorough professional, though. He had an even tone and asked the mandatory questions in a forceful but not irritatingly so manner. Dante kept his answers short, distracted by that kid who was finally being escorted out of the building.

The kid was still wailing away his heartache.

Dante kept on hearing that wailing sound over and over again, overlapping his own memory. He recalled hearing no other voices beside his own, and that fearful understanding the meaning of 'alone.'

"You okay, son?" the police chief asked, snapping Dante's attention back to the present. "You're trembling."

Dante immediately gave his ready smirk. "Of course. It's just the nerves."

"As I was saying. We're done here. The money will be wired to your account tomorrow. Do you need a ride back?"

"Nah. It's early and the bars haven't closed yet." As far as jobs go, this one was one of the quickest. Dante threw up a hand and waved. "Feel free to call me again when you need me."


Normally, when he felt even remotely bad, he went to the Love Planet. The strip bar was a place to lose himself within the heavily perfumed air, watered down drinks, and soft bodies of women. He had been there enough times, knew enough of the usual patrons that the owner turned a blind eye to the obviously fake identification card. Dante was also treated well there since he usually tipped highly. There was nothing wrong with helping ladies out.

This time, though, he did not want to go to Love Planet. He went to a bar called Down the Hatch.

Like most bars, this one was seedy. There were debris, stray cockroach, rat dropping and vomit on the floor. The lighting level was low enough that it would difficult to see people coupling in the corner booths.

Dante only came here because the people in this place mostly left him alone and did not ask too many questions. A few years back, he took a couple of bullets for the owner. Ever since then, the bar servers turned a blind eye to his age and not fuss over him about the weapons he carried on him. This bar also ignored the sobriety laws and kept on serving all the way to 6:00 a.m. It was also one of the cheapest places in the city and not too far off Devil May Cry. The best part about this bar was that there was no bar tab. All payments were upfront which meant that there was an artificial control over intake.

There were the usual customers milling about. The usual blue collar workers coming off their second shift drank merrily, exchanging war stories. The rebellious teenagers who pretended to be twenty-one exchanged happily getting disgustingly drunk because it was cool. The sleazeballs traded street secrets over finger foods and hard liquor.

When Dante entered, the customers turned to look at the outlandishly dressed man out of mild curiosity and boredom. They all returned to their own business quickly since rejects of society was expected in this place. Glad to be ignored, Dante picked his usual corner, the one closest to the emergency exit, next to the stack of extra stools, far away from the front door.

"Dante," greeted Freddie, the barkeep. Freddie was a big man, even bigger than Dante himself. He had a mean black beard, tattoo on all exposed limbs all the way up his neck, and a deep rumbling voice that kept most of the patrons in line. He was a softie at heart though and had known Dante during the young man's squeaky voice years. "What bring you to this sad place?"

The hunter gave his usual smirk, one that did not quite reach his eyes. "Shit job."

Freddie nodded emphatically. "I see. You want the usual or the Memory Basher?"

He pulled out a bloodied bill and placed it on the bar top. "Memory Basher. Neat. And whatever else this gets me."

Freddie took the bill and quickly placed it in a cashier's box. He thought quickly on what this particular patron wanted and still met out the drinks in somewhat responsible doses. Like too many kids he saw coming in and out of the place, Dante did not appear to have anyone who looked after him. With Dante's good looks, it was a miracle that he hadn't fallen into some sort of sex trafficking scheme or overdosed on drugs by now. "Coming right up."

Dante watched as a couple of shot glasses of cheap whiskey was placed before him.

"You okay man?" Freddie asked as he served the drink. "You're shaking."

"I will be, after this," Dante answered smoothly as he threw the drink back.

The fire ran down his esophagus, into his stomach, warming his body. Then the effect went the opposite direction, up his neck and head, immediately stirring his brain.

Feeling somewhat more steady, Dante deliberately checked out his hand. There was still a slight tremor and his heart was still pounding louder than usual. His mind still recalling that wail.

Dante rubbed his face and dragged a hand through his hair, mentally going over the events of the night.

It was bad. He had not had a forced mental distraction like that in a long while, not since he was the orphanage. In the beginning, he had cried a lot. The crying subsided quickly when he realized that there was no twin to chide him for being a crybaby or beat off the bullies who picked on him. That was really the last time he really pondered clearly about that awful event because, in short order, he became too busy protecting and looking after himself. He learned quickly that bluff and bluster could work just as well as real power.

In a way, Dante understood what Vergil had said at the tower. Without power, there was no protection. The tragic death of their mother and subsequent separation was a result of their lack of power. The social injustices that Dante experienced was also a result of that same lack. And if Vergil had not goaded him incessantly, make him fight over some stupid unwanted prize, perhaps Dante would not have learned the devil trigger, obtain all those devil arms and learn more fighting skills in short days versus years.

At some point, Freddie placed a couple of whiskey on the rocks in front of Dante. The young man said nothing as took another swig then pressed the cold rocks glass against his cheek, his mind going through loops of many life events, circling back to Vergil.

He hadn't thought too much of his estranged twin since Temen-ni-gru. Another gross reminder of how messed up his relationships were. It should have been them against the world. They were so close as children, and Dante never knew the what "alone" meant until that awful day when he thought Vergil died. When they met again, everything was like a messed up Grimm Fairy Tale. They ended up fighting each other, their accursed demon blood demanded conflict with the person who matched them the closest, deriving twisted pleasure from trying to kill each other, just like how Dante enjoyed killing demons now. The same blood that drove Vergil to desire power and chose near certain death in hell over his last living relative.

Time passed and some more alcohol was consumed, yet Dante felt barely inebriated. The alcohol that was supposed to make him forget lost their usual potency whenever he allowed the demonic side some control. He still felt the adrenaline high that came from killing demons, which added to his own unique physiology, dull the effect of all drugs. His mind was still racing, hearing that wailing sound, reliving the most awful moment in his life over and over again.

At one point, he looked at the clock on the wall. It was late, or early, depending on the person's perspective. His head was clearing so he won't be stumbling, but he would get a headache. He should go home. He liked to think that someone left the exterior lights on back at the shop, an indication that he was wanted and expected. He would, however, not care for her sharp tongue at the moment.

He looked at his hands again. They were still shaking slightly. There was no way he was going back and letting Lady seeing him like this. She might tease him and ask him questions he did not want to answer. Maybe he should wait until the day time when he knew that she was at school. He should probably go find a motel or something to sleep this off.

The door to the bar opened, striking the tiny bell that alerted the establishment of a new customer. Dante suddenly caught the familiar subtle scent of sweet peas and orchids. He looked from the corner of his eyes.

It was Lady!

The other patrons of the bar also looked up. It was uncommon for females who were not prostitutes to be there and that in itself was rare. Down the Hatch was a proper poor man's bar. Plus, it was some time after the devil's hour. Who would even be up this early?

Lady was in her preparatory school uniform, complete with long socks, knee length pleated skirt, starched white collared shirt, the preppy vest, tie and dainty little leather shoes. She looked out of place in this place of blue denim, smell of sweat and work boots. Yet she scanned the establishment like a stalking jaguar, completely at ease. Once she saw the familiar red coat, she boldly walked toward him, taking care not to dirty her footwear on vomit and rat droppings.

Her arrival had also attracted the attention of another.

A local pimp was sizing her up, looking at her with a barely concealed leer. He was much taller and bigger than her, wearing a greasy, pit-stained shirt and clearly unshaven. To a pimp's eyes, she looked dressed and ready for one of those school girl fantasy porn.

"Hey little girl, whatcha doing in this part of town?" the pimp said while he checked her out. He was sitting down. This one seemed innocent and may even have her purity intact. He could get a pretty sum for her.

Lady glared at him and that look obviously balked the man. Her heterochromatic eyes had that effect on people, more so than Dante's sharp blue eyes. She tried to sidestep the man, intent on completely ignoring him.

An arm shot out, grabbing her arm before she could pass by completely. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

Lady gave an annoyed scowl. "Don't touch me," Lady said, barely above a whisper.

The pimp sneered. "Or you'll do what?"

And just like that, the man was thrown against a table, knocking over chairs and whatever plate, cups, silverware, and bits of leftover food. There was an obvious intention on the man's face. Dante saw Lady's impassive expression as she surreptitiously slipped the brass knuckles into her skirt pocket.

The pimp recovered relatively slowly. He attempted to another grab at Lady only to have his own momentum used against him. This time, he tapped his temples violently against a wooden building support pole, nearly knocking him out.

"Hey! If you're going to fight, then take it outside!" Freddie barked at the barely coherent pimp more than Lady. Freddie was secretly rooting for Lady anyways. Women and children were too easily taken advantage of. It's nice to know that there are those who could defend themselves.

Dante let out a breath that he did not even know he was holding. He watched as Lady gave the man a kick to the family jewels as a last insult before the man has a chance to recover.

She sauntered over to Dante like she was strolling through a mall. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the strands that had become unruly during the brief scuffle.

"And leading lady makes her dramatic entrance," Dante commented, a smile automatically graced his lips. He welcomed the distraction. "Watcha doin' here?"

"I woke up and I didn't hear you snore when I passed your room," Lady said simply as she hopped onto an empty stool next to him. "So I came to find you."

Dante glanced at the clock. He did some mental gyrations on time. "You wake up at what, 3 a.m?"

"On most days," she said.

Oh. That further explained why they really do not see each other. That was usually when he was dead asleep, night jobs notwithstanding. "Insomnia?"

"No. It's just quiet enough for me to do homework."

Oh yeah. That's right. School has a habit of making students do a lot of scribbling for no reason. On to the other question on his mind. "How did you know that I'm here?"

"You talk. A lot," she paused dramatically to drive home the point. "You've mentioned this place," there was a withering look, "among others."

Dante caught the euphemism on that last part. "Let me guess, you went to Love Planet first!" he said with a grin. He did go there more than anywhere else to pass the time so he must have mentioned it. He was certain that he had invited Lady a few time too because everyone needs a wingman or wingwoman. Most of those invitations resulted in dodging exercises.

There was a sigh in confirmation and shaking her head. "Judging by the reception and the chatter, some of the dancers seemed to know me for being at the shop. How many of those women have you brought back?"

Dante raised an eyebrow. Now he was imaging the women running away from Lady like the parting of the Red Sea. Well, probably not that dramatic, but close. In the end, he answered, "More than the number that you've chased off, that's for sure."

Lady gave him a blank look. "I chased off?"

"Don't you remember? You scared these chicks half to death."

"Not really."

"Not really?" Dante echoed incredulously. "I had to mop up their pee off the floor more than few times because of you."

"You bring back women who deliberately pee on your floor?"

Dante decided not to pursue that line of logic anymore. Either Lady was that forgetful or she really was clueless. Well, she was tired most of the time those women had the misfortune of meeting Lady. Maybe Lady had selective amnesia? Or maybe she was actually a complete ditz in disguise. She never did say anything after waking up from the couch that one time she fell dead asleep. She had stumbled back up the stairs to her own room and slept most of that weekend. At least, he thought she did. He did not keep close track on what she does with her time. "Never mind. How did you even get in Love Planet?"

"I can ask you the same thing. It's a nude club with open bar. The law says twenty-one and over." She looked around to make sure no one was listening and her voice level dropped to new low. "Both of us don't fit that description."

"I have my mysterious ways," whispered Dante with that annoying smirk. "You probably have a fake ID."

"Several," she said. "You do too, I imagine."

"A birthday and free buffet every month," Dante admitted. "The magnetic strips don't work, though."

At that, the corners of Lady's lips upturned slightly and her eyebrows furrowed as if she was confused. It almost seemed as if her lips was about to break into a smile. It was not one of her manic grins as she plowed through demons, she was crazy like that. No, she almost seemed amused by his response, like a normal person. The play of emotions across her face was quite appealing.

Their moment was interrupted by Freddie, who had finally gotten free to serve a new customer. "Dante. I see you brought in someone."

"Freddie," Dante acknowledged. "This is Lady. Lady, this is Freddie. He'll take good care of you."

The barkeeper frowned a little at the strange name but automatically smiled nonetheless. He reached over for a handshake.

"Hullo. I'm Dante's friend." She reached over to accord the man a proper greeting.

Freddie made sure to be gentle with the handshake. This was no doubt she was underage. Her hands were tiny. For Dante's sake, though, he was not about to raise the issue. This was the first time Freddie had ever seen Dante with someone who appeared to be from respectable society. Even if her eyes were strange looking.

"Well, pretty Lady, what can I get for you?" Freddie asked. "Payment is upfront."

Lady rummaged through her skirt pocket for money. Before she could fish out a bill though, Dante already slapped another bill down.

"Milk for her," Dante ordered. "Another one of my usual for me."

Now it was Lady's turn to gave an unbelieving expression. "Milk? Are you serious?"

"You're still growing," Dante reasoned for her. "No alcohol."

The response only made Lady frown and she crossed her arms. She gave one of her infamous chilled looks. "I can say the same for you."

"Well, you know I'm a special case." He grabbed the newly poured glass and was about to chug it down his throat when he felt a hand on his forearm, preventing him from a bottoms up.

"No," Lady said firmly. Without batting an eye, she snatched his drink from him and threw the liquid into a nearby bar sink.

The bartender, Freddie, stopped whatever he was doing and watched the scene. In his memory, Dante never had restrictions on his person. Even the women he brought in on occasion typically participated in his merrymaking. Did this little girl have a death wish?

"Hey! What gives?" Dante groused.

"I'm correcting what is wrong with this picture," said Lady reasonably. "You should take better care of yourself, despite your obvious advantages."

Dante had nothing to say to that. He had heard similar words from social workers, psychiatrists, and teachers at one point or another. Most of the time, those words just made him want to self-destruct because being pitied served only as a reminder that he had no one that he could trust or rely on and that he was mostly unwanted by society. The other people he associated with, the people he did rely on, like Enzo and his ilk, would have encouraged him to chug and admire him for his tolerance for alcohol.

Lady drank the milk that was brought to her, then she continued to talk. "Look, you're obviously brooding about something, and drinking isn't going to solve it. And no. I will not ask you about it because that's what led you here in the first place."

"You're full of charm, as usual," Dante bite out sarcastically. "A friend would've asked what's wrong."

Now Lady was getting a little pissed. Fortunately, she had enough sleep that her patience was still sufficient to continue their chat. It was something that's been festering between them for a while and she needed to get it out. "Dante. Our lives are fucked up. More importantly, our families are fucked up. You know it and I know it. We cope the best we can but sometimes, it's just not enough. Besides, I already know what's wrong with you and you will give me the run around if I ask."

"Then what's wrong with me?" he asked, feeling her hitting an exposed nerve.

"Dante, you talk. A lot," Lady repeated her earlier words. "In the months that we've known each other, live in the same place, you've made sure to keep on talking when I'm around. You tell me about all your jobs, about how women can't resist you, about this titty club and that hole-in-the-wall bar, about how your informants are crap, how your devil arms won't shut up. You even tell me about your mother and your father. But never once did you mention Vergil."

Dante slammed a fist on the bar top. The loud bang sound made Freddie and whoever still at the bar jump and look toward Dante's direction.

Lady sat stock still, her bi-colored eyes and expression gave nothing away. She knew when she had hit on a forbidden topic. She had seen Dante sad once, and there was a tear for a lost brother. He had blamed it on the rain at the time, but she knew better. The wound ran deep, like a knife stabbed into the chest and twisted so the wound not close. She could see his eyes flashing a demonic red, mixed emotions in his eyes. He had not yet made peace with what had happened and still held out hope that someday, somehow, his twin would return and there would be a normal happy ending.

Hope. Such a human conceit.

"Look. I won't say his name again. Not until you're ready," Lady declared. She then impulsively pulled on his hand. He needed to be distracted at this moment. That was the underlying technique in all coping mechanism. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned off," her sense of smell had always been good and his current scent was offending her. "You stink of blood."

Dante did not pull his hand back from Lady. He allowed the girl to lead him out of the bar and toward the winding back alleyways toward Devil May Cry. It was unlike him to meekly allow a female to lead him. When he had his fun time with free women, he liked to be dominant, dictating how the evening would go so that the night would end to his satisfaction. Lady, though, had a strange effect on him. He had allowed her to invade his home and insert herself into his life without permission. He found out that he did not mind her intrusion.

It was like that time back at the tower all over again. He went in, not really giving a damn. then somehow, she made him care, made him want to make things right for her. He carried her rocket launcher like some sort of knight carrying a maiden's token into battle. Was her effect on him part of her powers as the descendent of the priestess whose blood had sealed Temin-ni-gru?

He kept on staring at her hand that held his hand, half dragging and half leading. He noted, perhaps for the first time, how delicate, soft and small that hand was compared to his own. All along their silent walk back to Devil May Cry, he kept on examining and observing the difference between their hands. She was steady in her grip of his hand. He was letting her pull him in whichever direction she wanted.

By the time they got back to the shop, he realized that his own hand was no longer trembling.