Whew! Sorry it took so long getting out this chapter, and I'm sorry that a lot of you people began to think that this fic was dead! Seriously, it isn't. It's still here, just going very slowly because of a lack of the funny thoughts.

Anyway, thanks everyone so far, for all of the support you guys have shown me.

I'd just like to say that this chapter is a very very special one to me, because it actually celebrates the birthday of my first ever OC, Arson. On the 8th of February, he turned five years old. I've had this character for five years and he still isn't exactly dead. So this one is for him.

Chapter 5 for a 5 year old character.

Don't worry though, because after this chapter, Arson won't be reappearing in the fic again. (grins)

Anyway, read, review and most of all ENJOY!

Chapter 5

Dante sat at the kitchen table, irritated and annoyed. His driving lesson that morning had gone even worse than the last, this time he had run over a fox, which had promptly flown away in what looked to be a spaceship whilst screaming obscenities and crying out for someone called "Falco" to help him. He looked towards the date and then frowned when he realized that the day on the calendar had been circled. In tiny miniscule handwriting that didn't belong to him, it said "Birthday".

Dante sat back in his chair and sipped at his morning beer, confused. Who's birthday was it again? It certainly wasn't the rats that lived under the kitchen, their babies had been born only yesterday so it couldn't be that at all. Nor was it Trish's birthday because of the fact that Trish didn't have one, what with her being "created" and not "born".

Besides, her creation day was hilariously enough on the 4th July.

Dante didn't know why exactly this was hilarious but he decided that it was and so it had become that way. For ever.

He took another large gulp of his beer (he had run out of coffee) and tried to rack his brains for some reason for there being a birthday. Sadly he could only come up with blanks. He grinned at that thought. Thank God he'd seemed to be firing blanks with all the women he had slept with. Not a single one had become pregnant by him. Though it really should have happened by now; Sod's law stated that it just should have happened.

Suddenly, Dante was no longer pleased about his childless state and soon found himself becoming increasingly worried. What if there were never going to be little Dantes running around rampant and chasing women and breaking hearts left, right and centre? What if he would never ever be able to teach them all he knew about how to dodge older protective brothers and mad fathers who thought they were colonels and called woods "jungles"?

He glared at the calendar again, balefully. Bloody useless waste of space. And paper. And money. In a rage, Dante hit the calendar off its peg and blinked as he was confronted by a rather large hole in the wall. He peered into it and looked about guiltily, remembering suddenly how it had come to appear there in the first place.

Not long after he had stuck his sword through the television set, he had been forced to go into the kitchen to eat out of the pure need for comfort. There had been no pizza left in the fridge, nor had there been any chocolate. But then he had seen it; a single can of the most glorious, the most perfect and mouth-watering snack of all time. Creamy and oozing with pure comforting goodness, it called out to him in a way that was completely irresistible. The green border screamed out to him like a beacon, and the glimmering picture of the wonderful treat inside whispered sweet nothings in his ear, making his stomach growl impatiently.

His stomach had ached maddeningly, his whole body had craved it and his entire consciousness (which is, even to this day, about the size of an extremely small and heavily wrinkled pea) told him that if he ate this wonderful meal, all of his troubles would go away. And so, with all the madness and savagery of a dieting woman with no will power whatsoever, Dante had reached for the can and had energetically set about trying to find a clean bowl to heat the contents up in. But then he was rudely prevented from doing anything more to further his cause.

Yes, a terrible thing had happened at that point.

The top of the tin had not possessed the wonderfully intricate mechanism known as the "pull ring opener thingi". Yes, that's right. The tin had been sitting on that shelf for only Sparda knew how long and as such had been an old fashioned tin, one that required a can opener.

Dante had stared at the daunting barrier for a good while before swallowing his nerves and narrowing his eyes, deciding to treat this new development in exactly the same way like how he would treat an enemy demon. Not that he had really met any friendly demons but still. He had given vent to a feral growl, eyeing the can balefully as he rummaged about in the drawers for a can-opener. He had found something and had stared at it, fear beginning to shine in his eyes again. He had been forced to wonder as he stared at the implement in his hand. Was that a can-opener? He hadn't been sure but his stomach had told him that he had to try at least. Time had been of the essence and he had felt as though he was going to faint from lack of comfort eating.

So he had grabbed the odd implement and smacked the tin about with it, doing nothing but denting it and beating it out of shape. But the tin was an obstinate little shit and had refused to spill its goods. In a fit of blind rage, Dante had thrown the implement out of the window, smashing the glass in the process and decapitating a magpie that had been about to devour an earthworm known by all and sundry as Jim.

Then Dante had screamed, still pissed off with life in general and had thrown the can at the wall, the anger quickly being replaced with horror as the tin formed a hole. Dante had peered down said hole and had been left with no choice but to lament over the loss of his only remaining tin of macaroni cheese.

Needless to say, the mailman had been more than confused when he saw the beheaded bird in the garden the next morning, the head lying next to a bloodied spatula. Wisely, the poor man had decided to say nothing about it, merely telling himself that he was simply seeing things.

It had obviously not been the case of him "seeing things" for five minutes later, he had been run over by a pissed off woman on a bike who had screamed something about a damaged cycle and had tossed a calendar (it was the closest thing she had been able to find) through Dante's broken window.

Dante stared at the circled date again.

…

Was it Lady's birthday?

…

Did she even have a birthday?

…

Well, if she didn't have a name then it was logical to think that she didn't have a birthday either!

Pleased with his brilliant deduction, Dante turned back to the matter at hand and glared at the circled date as he covertly replaced his calendar over the massive hole in the wall. He sighed and chewed at his lip, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of foreboding.

Then he frowned and sniffed, getting a whiff of something that was unfamiliar yet smelt altogether delicious anyway. He sniffed again before hunting about curiously for the source of the wonderful smell. Much to his confusion, it soon transpired that the aroma was actually coming from under the stove. He got down on his hands and knees and peered down and through, into the hole under the cooker. He scowled as he truly noticed it.

It seemed as though there were a whole heap of holes in his home that he had to get fixed, like the one in his bathroom floor when he had panicked and had seen a huge spider. He had tried to stomp on it, but the floorboards had been weak and his foot had crashed right through it. There was also the hole in his bedroom ceiling where his head had gone through when he had been jumping on the bed on the day before in a fit of hyper-activity. That also had to be fixed. The hole, not his hyper-activity.

But what he saw down this particular hole at first amused him, and then, later on, disturbed him. Badly.

At first, he giggled, yes giggled, when he saw one of his friendly kitchen rats doing what looked to be like some kind of exotic rat dance of doom. Then he realized that the smell was coming from the rat itself. Dante stared in horror before fishing out the "dancing" rat, only to find that its dancing was actually twitching and that its body was incredibly hot, which in turn caused Ifrit to roar happily and excitedly.

The rat had been totally charred to a crisp, due to the fact that it had chewed through the wires of the electric stove. Dante didn't actually care too much about the stove; he couldn't really use it anyway because there were too many scary buttons and dials for him to turn and twist.

No, the reason why Dante had cause to worry was because of the fact that the slayer had briefly wondered whether barbequed rat would taste as good as it smelt. He put the rat in the bin and washed his hands, remembering his mother's approach to manners and cleanliness. Because let's face it, for all his bad boy attitude and his bad boy act that he put on around women, Dante, the son of Sparda, was really a hopeless Mommy's boy.

He was briefly distracted by the sound of a rather depraved chattering noise. He glared towards Zone's cage.

'Quiet! It's not funny! And it's not nice to laugh at the death of one of your cousins, Bobo!' The insane and somewhat twisted hamster fell silent. Not because he was feeling particularly repentant, but because he was trying to give Dante the silent treatment. Rats? Cousins? Those lowly things? Like hell!

An intelligent man might have been able to recognize that the charred rat was actually Sparda's way of trying to warn his son, trying to give him a clue of what was about to come. The more melodramatic man might have even gone so far as to say that it was an omen. But sadly, Dante was neither type of man and Sparda could only stare down at him, shake his head pityingly before deciding that maybe he should just stick to being truly dead and ignore his moron of a son from then on.

Therefore, it came to no surprise to the legendary demon to see the look of intense shock and fear that came onto Dante's face as the doorbell rang. Zone looked up at Dante and then ran on his hamster wheel, for no other reason other than that he was bored. Dante immediately began to hiss and snarl and make other various irritating sounds before attacking the door, knocking it to the ground as it gave way under his weight.

What he saw struck him with delight and fear.

'MOMMY!' he bellowed and threw herself upon a blonde haired woman who had all the decency of a low rent hooker. Yes, it was none other than Rachel Greene. Or so Dante thought as some facts began to make themselves known in his mind. Rachel from Friends did not dress cheaply, nor did she have azure eyes. Nor was Rachel Greene his mother. How could he have forgotten? …But then again, his mother hadn't dressed like a whore either.

'Oh…Hoebag,' he said, by way of greeting. Trish glared at him and stepped inside, dragging someone else inside with her. Dante peered at the newcomer and frowned. The kid seemed somewhat familiar yet at the same time he couldn't recognize him.

'Who are you, Dinkus?' he snarled. The boy looked at him and then started to snivel, his bottom lip wobbling.

'You don't remember me? At all?'

'Nope. But you're wearing green so I'll call you Booger!' The boy, or rather, teen did not seem impressed by this in the slightest.

'I'm not called Booger!'

'Yes you are!'

'No I'm not!' the teen cried again, looking close to tears. Dante laughed nastily and poked him in the ribs.

'Yes you are! You're stupid!'

'No I'm not…' he bawled. 'I'm not stupid…' he whimpered. There was a pause where Dante, being the immature demon spawn that he is decided to blow a raspberry in the kid's general direction. This stung the teen into retaliation. 'I'm not stupid! I'm not stupid! I'M NOT STUPID!'

And with that, he burped. Now, this wouldn't really have been much cause for concern had it not been for the fact that when the kid gave vent to this somewhat distasteful and unsavoury sound, he also let out a spark of flame too. Which landed on a chair. That was made of wood. The net result of this small mishap was that Dante no longer had a fourth wall to his seating area, but he had gained a wonderful alternative to using a stove. Setting fire to things. Less hassle, less work and most importantly, no dials involved at all! Sure there would be damn plenty of mess but it wasn't as if anyone was going to actually notice the addition to the garbage that was already strewn all over the agency.

But these thoughts were not important right now, Dante told himself. They would have to be filed away so then he could consider them later. The idea that he might actually forget his wonderful plan never occurred to him. It appeared as though Sparda's brain had gone to Vergil, but his haphazard cooking skills had been inherited by Dante. As well as his mother's god awful memory.

Dante glared down at the kid and puffed himself up, looking for all the world like a snowy owl that had had a large red-hot poker shoved up its ass.

'Whoooo…Aaaare…Yooooou?' he asked, in a passable imitation of the crazy and somewhat scary caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. The kid blinked up at him owlishly before gasping as Trish suddenly took out a special treat from her pocket. It was nothing other than a strawberry. Dante caught sight of the delectable red and seedy fruit and knew immediately that something bad would happen if Trish decided for some bizarre reason to feed it to the teen. But the boy seemed suddenly to notice Dante's worried expression and turned his somewhat crappy and short-lived attention onto him again, his eyes filling up with tears.

'You really can't remember me?'

'No.'

'I AM THE GREAT MOOTAH!' The teen glared at him, brown eyes bulging, making him look like a psychopathic escaped convict. Trish rolled her eyes and decided to get her head out of her ass and explain things properly, in a way that the idiot son of Sparda would be able to comprehend.

'In other words, he's Arson. Your grandson.'

Dante blinked in astonishment and blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

'Grandson? I'm not that old!' Then he spluttered as a second and more important thought made it's slow demented way into the pathway to his brain. It took a while, about five minutes, before the thought rang the doorbell of his brain and went inside.

He stared towards the fire-breathing teen and smiled widely at him.

'Grandson?' he repeated with a kind of manic zeal. 'Grandson? You're related to me? Trish sighed and was about to explain when Dante started cackling. 'You mean my faithful balls are still working and aren't firing blanks? They're still functioning? They're still doing their job?'

'Yes!' Trish replied in exasperation. Arson was beginning to look terrified and if Trish was going to be truthful about it, she would have had to admit that she couldn't really blame the teen for being scared witless. Dante stared at the both of them uncertainly.

'I'm really not firing blanks?'

'No!' Trish hissed, her eyes flashing amber. 'You're not!' Dante looked joyfully towards Arson and then gathered him up to his body, screaming into his ears.

'FRUIT OF MY LOINS! SEE HOW I GREET YOU!' Arson shrieked and kicked out in protest, looking horrified. Trish whapped Dante on the back of the head with a rolled up newspaper and glared at him frostily.

'The only blanks you've been firing are blank cheques! To repair companies!'

'What?' Dante gasped theatrically. 'But I've been giving them cheques all this time!'

'Apparently not.'

'B-but…'

'I suggest you take it up with the bank,' Trish growled. Dante quailed; it was clear that Trish was suffering from PMS. He wondered briefly which evil he should try and face, the bank or Trish. Then he had a brilliant idea.

'I'm scared! Come with?'

'FINE!' Trish roared. And with that, the two grabbed their coats and left, on their way to fight the most dangerous demons of all. Accountants.

Sadly, they had forgotten a very very important thing. They had left Arson. In the building. Alone. And they had both completely forgotten that it was the fiery teenager that had been the cause of the formidable circled date on the calendar.

Arson sighed heavily before peering about, wondering what he could do to amuse himself. Then he saw it. He smiled gleefully and crept towards it, this wonderful, discarded, gorgeous heavenly object that had been left to lie on the dust-covered floor. He grinned and picked up the thankfully undamaged strawberry and cuddled it carefully against his chest. When he was satisfied that the strawberry knew that it was loved, he immediately popped it into his mouth without preamble.

He giggled and danced about madly with all the grace of a rhinoceros in heat. In other words, with no grace at all.

He gasped as he was suddenly interrupted by a strange whirring sound. He looked about excitedly and then cooed, his eyes turning wide as he saw the source of the sound. He crawled towards the hamster cage and peered in, only to see Zone staring back at him fearlessly, with something akin to a confused glare on his rodent face. Arson blinked and then picked up the unsuspecting hamster.

'Hello!' he bellowed, deafening the poor hamster. Zone wriggled about, desperate to escape, but it was no good. Arson had him held tightly in his fist. Arson brought him to his face and started cuddling happily. 'You're a good little rat, aren't you? Yes you are! YES YOU ARE!' Then he caught a whiff of the hamster. The teen wrinkled his nose and looked faintly puzzled. Whatever the hamster smelt of, it certainly wasn't strawberries. He took another good sniff and then pulled a face.

Zone wasn't exactly pleased with his smell. Dante didn't take very good care of anything. His agency was a mess, the food in his fridge was non-existent and the floors of all the rooms in the building could barely be seen. In short, everything was a shambles and it had been that way for one hell of a long time, much to Zone's irritation. At first, it hadn't really bothered him that much. But the days went past and the bedding in his cage grew steadily filthier and filthier, much to the hamster's distress.

After all, he'd been hoping to do away with the awful stereotype that all mad tyrannical geniuses had poor personal hygiene.

Yet Dante's stupidity had thwarted the cunning and as a result, Zone stank to the high heavens. Yes, even in death, Eva's sense of smell had been offended. Badly.

Arson himself was quite intelligent but now that he had ingested a strawberry this intelligence had melted away, leaving nothing but a hapless little pup of an angel-devil hybrid. Yet even in this somewhat dysfunctional state, Arson was still able to smell Zone.

He too, like Eva, was offended.

'You need a washie, Mr. Hammie!' he told the hamster, trying to be nice about it. 'You need a washie, Mr. Hammie. Because you STINK! You smell really bad and it's making me not like you and I do want to like you. But you're disgusting and gross and you smell of fart and sawdust!'

Zone, unsurprisingly, was less than pleased at this statement. Arson blithely smiled before walking towards the kitchen, grinning as his gaze settled on the object he had been searching for. Though Arson was drugged and was high on strawberries, he was still surprised at the fact that Dante had actually gone out of the way to buy one of these rare and elusive items.

A washing machine.

Zone saw the look of purpose in Arson's eyes and squealed with terror. Arson mistook the hamster's horrified antics for excitement and beamed down at him.

'Yes, that's right Mr. Hammie! You're finally getting a bath!' Zone started struggling and started trying to bite him. Bit Arson only had to tighten his fist slightly to crush his futile resistance. He also nearly crushed the hamster too for that matter. He started walking towards the sparkling washing machine and then grinned as he saw that the drum was empty.

Without any thought (mostly because he was more or less incapable of any rational thought) he shoved the hamster inside. Zone turned immediately and made a bee-line for the exit, claws scrabbling wildly against the metal surface of the drum as he tried to make his great escape. His heart hammered under his fur as he got closer, closer and closer still to the circle-shaped doorway. Then he crashed into the glass with a loud, pained squeak. Damned clear plastic doors for tricking him!

Arson watched him happily before getting up from his crouching position. Zone crouched as close to the door as he could and peered up at the deranged hybrid warily and nervously, wondering what the hell else was going to happen. He had managed to piece up enough information regarding washing machines to know that the hybrid had to press buttons in a certain order to actually get the machine to start working. Yes, sometimes it really was a blessing that Dante used instruction manuals and shredded them up to serve as Zone's bedding. It was just that he didn't take out the OLD bedding.

The hamster grinned inwardly to himself, sincerely doubting that Arson had any idea how to operate the machine. And even if the hybrid didn't know, then there was no actual way of him finding out due to the manual having already been shredded and shat upon.

Sadly what Zone didn't know was that Arson could read. Another thing that the hamster didn't know was that the buttons on the washing machine were self-explanatory if you were a human and had an IQ above Dante's. Which explained why Zone, for all his cunning and intelligence was unable to figure out what the buttons did.

Thus it comes as no surprise when one is told that the tan coloured hamster nearly jumped out of his skin when the washing machine gave vent to a groaning rumble. Zone's eyes widened as he could hear a trickling sound echoing from all around him.

And then he realized that his paws were wet…

Yes, it really did appear as though the tyrant hamster was certainly getting the wash of his life…