Title: Circles

Rating: T

Summary: Nero feels as though Dante can give him all the answers. What will he do when he realizes he can't? Dante/Nero

A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.

I'd give you my heart

And let you just hold it

I'd give you my soul

But I already sold it.

Circles

The loud bass of one of his favorite songs blared in his sensitive ears, cutting out all noise as he focused on packing his bags. His three weeks at Devil May Cry were up. The journey back to Fortuna would take a few days, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Getting there would be a breeze, and if he rushed, it would probably take half the time. Dying of boredom once he got there, however, was definite. With Kyrie spending all her time helping to rebuild, she could hardly spend time with him at all. No one else bothered with him there even after his heroic efforts. It was funny, but the only place he really felt at home was…

Here with Dante, a freak like me.

Footsteps down the hall made him pull out one of his headphones. Sensing vibrations had been an early learned lesson, an important one once he realized how much fun it was to fight with music blaring in his ears. Trish casually leaned on the door and knocked with the backside of her fist. Nero turned around as if he'd just noticed her and shot her a resigned smile.

"You leaving already?" she asked, taking a few steps inside. Pausing, she toyed with one of the blades on his shelf.

Nero snatched it out of her hand and shoved it into the backpack. "Yeah," he paused to glance out the almost boarded up window, "I figured I'd get a head start. You never know what kind of demons you'll run into in a city like this after dark." The sun was just beginning to set. Technically, he was supposed to leave the next day.

"Oh, yeah," she said slowly, sitting on the bed just beside his backpack, making sure to give him a lovely view of her exposed breasts. Blonde hair settled on her back, and she smiled as he glanced politely away. "You know," she started, trailing her fingers over the bed, "with you gone, I might finally be able to put this room to more practical uses. Unless, of course, you're coming back?" The question was poorly disguised, and she shot him a look that seemed more accusing than inquisitive.

He snorted and pulled the zipper. "Do what you want." The room had been a storage facility until he showed up. Trish and Lady hadn't been happy about moving all of their stuff, even if it was temporary. Boxes still littered the small upstairs apartment, overflowing with clothes and weapons. Nero hadn't touched any of it.

Slinging the backpack over his shoulder and pausing to grab his sword, he started for the door. Trish beat him there and blocked it by bracing her arms on both sides of the frame. "You do realize that Dante will be angry that you left without saying goodbye?" Her long, white fingers were trailing up his chest as she spoke like little spiders. He brushed them off and made to walk through her unless she moved.

"He's a big boy. He'll live." Trish moved out of the way, but she followed him down the hallway.

She clucked at his back. "It's a little rude to leave while he's out on a mission, isn't it?" Rushing, her heels clicked as she barred the door to the stairs in the same way. Nero beat back the desire to make a snarky comeback. Though his camaraderie with Dante had improved, he'd never hung out with the girls much and didn't want to be rude.

"Dante doesn't care if I stay or leave. He's said that before," he replied as he casually ducked past her and walked down the stairs to Devil May Cry. The tattered shop smelled like spilled beer and pizza, a relatively familiar smell after a few weeks. He realized he'd almost miss it. Trish tapered off as he got closer to the door, drifting toward the pool table to knock off an old pizza box. Nero continued to the door.

"Bye, then," she waved though he didn't see it, sounding rather chagrined. He ignored her and rested his hand on the door only to have it open before he could turn the handle.

Nero's fist curled in frustration, and he hung his head as Dante yanked open the door with a shout. Demon blood stung his nostrils, the smell nearly overwhelming so close up. The hint of aftershave and obvious sewer water made it much worse. At least none of the blood was Dante's. The demon slayer pushed past him to head toward the fridge in search of something to eat while Trish wrinkled her nose.

"Christ, what the hell did you fight?" she demanded.

Popping open a beer and kicking the refrigerator door shut, Dante grinned. Crimson blood spattered his face, and his eyes were alight with excitement, nearly tinged with red. "Hundreds of hellhounds were all over the park. They just spawned over and over again." He took a gulp.

Trish crossed her arms over her chest. "So why do you stink?"

"Got thrown into the sewer a few times," he replied. He shot a glance at Nero, knowing that he would understand, thrill chaser to thrill chaser. "You should have seen it, kid."

Nero gave him a smile but didn't comment. Trish beat him to it, anyway. "Nero's leaving us, Dante," she said casually, swaying toward the desk. "He's going back to Fortuna. It's lucky you showed up or you might have missed him." Her sly wink in Nero's direction did little to soften his scowl.

Dante frowned, setting down his beer. "And you were going to leave just like that? That's gratitude for you," he said to Trish. "Kids these days don't care who they hurt, do they?" Unhelpfully, Trish shook her head as though she pitied Nero.

"Look, you said I could leave whenever I wanted," Nero turned around, adjusting his pack. "Three weeks is up, and I promised Kyrie."

"He has to go take care of his girl," Trish cooed, leaning casually against the desk with her hip. Her luscious lips came together in a pout. "All the way back to that dreary city."

Dante looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something but then the emotion left and he shrugged, flopping down into his chair and propping his muddy, leather boots up on the weak desk. Grabbing a magazine, he began to casually read. He flicked his wrist in a silent farewell, last two fingers down while his thumb and other two fingers stayed up, the exact same way he had after the battle in Fortuna. Nero snorted and turned to leave.

Unsatisfied that she hadn't caused a sparring match between the two demons, Trish planted herself on the desk and shoved Dante's boots off just as Nero was closing the door. She waved her hand and shot him an angry, questioning look. "What, you're just going to let him leave? So he can go back to that girl and live with those close-minded people?"

Dante shrugged. "It's his choice. What do you want me to do about it, tie him to a chair and let you feed him every once in a while like he's a dog?" Straightening his magazine with a flick, he began reading again before her palm smacked it to the floor.

"That arm is a time bomb, and you know that," she hissed. "It's already up to his elbow, what if it spreads further? Are you going to be okay taking him out if he becomes a full demon? Someone has to teach him how to control it or he's going to become a beacon for demons." She was baring her teeth, and her fingers twitched toward her gun. Dante wasn't moved. He blew a few strands of hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms.

"So he'll come back," he said, a bit blasé. "Or he'll kill that girl and then come back."

Trish snorted. "And you're just going to let him do that? Lose control and kill the only person he loves?"

Dante leaned forward. "Yeah, now get off of my desk." With exaggerated annoyance, he slammed his boots down on the rickety piece of wood and snatched his magazine off the floor.

Flipping her hair and standing up, she made a disgusted noise. "I can't believe you."

Throwing back his head, he groaned. "What do you want me to do, woman? So he kills a few people. He'll bounce back." When he turned his attention back to his magazine, he frowned and then glared. Tossing it on the desk, he stood up and made his way toward the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" Trish demanded.

Dante whipped around. "Look, I'm covered in blood, torn to shreds, sore as hell, and exhausted. I've got a woman chewing my ear off about some kid, and Lady yammering at me about some other problem. I'm going to take a god damn shower." He stormed off, boots loud and obnoxious on the wooden floors. That didn't stop him from hearing Trish's words.

"He's not you, Dante," she said softly. By the time he turned around, the front door clicked shut, and he buried his arm into the plaster wall with a curse.

….

"Damn it, they just keep coming," Nero remarked to himself, loading his guns swiftly while the demons screeched and drew closer, their plume and feathers suffocating him. One of them snapped with its beak, orange moving like fire in the dark night. Nero whipped around and aimed a bullet right into its skull. It fell to the ground, and the others stepped over its dead body. Above, they swarmed like real buzzards simply waiting for their prey instead of searching. He would have to worry about those later. The closing ones on the ground had his full attention, and the claw marks on his back were beginning to burn with poison.

The guns fired off at a constant rate, picking them off one by one. Nero remembered Dante talking about hellhounds in the park and how they just kept spawning. He wondered if it was the same thing. Rain poured down in rivulets over his face, wet hair getting into his eyes as he tried to keep them at bay. Blood from a cut over his eye bled down, mixing with the rain and blinding him. He wiped angrily, trying to keep his guns firing. Their claws were too sharp for him to use his sword. It was how he'd gotten wounded.

Bravely, one of the demons began flapping its wings and dove down. Nero ducked and rolled to one side, putting three bullets in it before the corpse hit the ground. Shaking his wet hair of cold rain, he stood up and reloaded. "Come on, you sons of bitches." Three of them let out deafening shrieks and went for him in a flurry of black feathers.

The first slammed right into him, knocking him back a few feet while he caught his balance. He twisted around and smacked the thing with the butt of his pistol, lashing out with a long leg and catching it in the breast. Screaming, it fell backwards into a puddle while the second attacked. Nero let off two bullets into its skull and then crushed it underfoot when it fell. He turned to put the first out of its misery when he was swept off his feet, talons sinking into the tender flesh of his shoulders. The ground became smaller, and he cried out as he realized the creature had taken off with him. Cursing, he began to writhe around, kicking and flailing midair to put the bird off balance.

They didn't get more than a few feet into the air when Nero managed to yank one of his shoulders free, at the cost of a lot of torn flesh, and shoot the demon in the throat with his pistol. Trachea exploding into bits of blood and gore, they fell fast to the ground, stinking blood getting into Nero's hair and onto his clothes. He growled in aggravation and turned to face the rest of the hoard. His demon arm pulsed with excitement as another rushed him.

This time it didn't even get close. He reached out, claws clamping around its neck and snapping the fragile bone in an instant. Before even letting go, he whirled and caught another under its eye, sending it flapping madly into the air. More feathers fell on him, sticking to the blood and turning him into a bird himself. Dropping the stinking corpse in his hand, he barely had time to throw up his arms for protection as a demon from the sky descended on him.

It knocked him to the ground, and the sharp tip of its beak came crashing down toward his face. Instead, it was met with the tough, leathery flesh of his demon arm. The arm effectively blocked the fatal blow, but Nero still felt the pain and flinched, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. The bird went for him again, but he grabbed his pistol and shot the orange leg out of under the creature. Falling on top of him, the demon was still trying to fight, mad from pain. Nero's hand darted out to crush the beak, kicking the frenzied thing off of him.

He wiped his hair out of his eyes, blood flowing freely in his arm, back, and out of his head. He was beginning to get dizzy and tired after only a half an hour of fighting them. Weeks with Dante had made him soft.

"Come on, daybreak, where are you?" he whispered, checking his bullets. Panic wasn't called for yet, but his patience was being tested. Fighting a hoard of demons he could handle, but he was tired from lack of sleep and anxious to get home. That had led to mistakes and injuries. He healed fast but not as quickly as Dante.

I should have stayed another day.

When another descended from the sky, Nero's talons clenched around the orange foot and whipped it around, sending it flying into another. He ducked when a beak went straight for him, lashing out again and again and firing his pistols until it dropped dead. Emptying the last of his ammo into a bird that was quickly devouring the flesh of one of its fellows, he slid them into their holsters and whipped out his sword, revving it up until it was red hot. A few of the birds stumbled back, surprised, but it mostly egged the rest on. They came for him so quickly he barely had time to stop swinging his sword. Blood and bits of meat flew everywhere, slopping to the ground, some of it disappearing into the grass. The feathers made everything madness, circling around him like a black cloud, but he kept fighting.

One of them brutally attacked his hand. The claws lashed out in an attempt to take his sword away, but he held on. Claws sharp as knives sunk through his skin and straight out into the other side, tearing tendons, veins, and scraping bone. He had to let go or else lose his hand. Yanking back, he stumbled into the side of a building, swearing as blood dribbled from his maimed fingers. Cackling, the bird soared up and away, taking his sword before he could stop the stars bursting in front of his eyes.

A second later it came crashing to the ground with Nero's sword through its heart. Only six were left, two circling above and four on the ground making more noise than Nero would have thought possible. He could have handled them, but when he glanced up to see Dante free-falling off a building's lip, he wasn't quite as angry as he would have liked.

Dante landed right next to him on his feet, whipping out his both of his guns—ebony and ivory—and spraying the area with bullets. Breathing deeply, Nero approached the demon corpse and grabbed his sword, jerking it out of the corpse. Quickly, he glanced up only to see Dante's bullets take care of the last one. When he was finished, he spun them around and put them away, flipping his deep red coat and staring at Nero with a raised eyebrow.

"A little late for the party, aren't you?" Nero groaned, avoiding glancing at his maimed hand. Dante snorted and crossed his chest, kicking over one of the many corpses that littered the ground.

"I figured you could handle heading home by yourself," he taunted. "Guess I was wrong."

Panting, Nero sank to his knee. "Go to hell," he spat. "They overwhelmed me. I could have and would have handled it if you hadn't come along." Staring down at the ground, he clenched his teeth as a wave of pain spread through him. Movement was coming back to his hand, but the gashes were long, and it wrapped and packed tight for the trip home.

"Oh, well there's gratitude for you," Dante said absently, leaning over to open the mouth of one of the birds. "These things don't usually appear in such a huge number. I guess Trish was right."

"Trish?" Nero panted. "Right about what?" He shot the older man a confused glance laced with pain.

Shaking his head and standing up, Dante dusted off his hand and approached. "Later. Right now, you need help." He eyed the tattered state of his clothes, several feathers stuck to his pant legs and arms, and the blood staining his skin.

Sneering, Nero forced himself to his feet past the pain. "I'll live. Go back to the shop. We're done here." Sliding his sword into the strap on his back, he started limping toward Fortuna, past Dante.

"Come on," Dante scoffed, spreading his arms, "you aren't getting five blocks like that."

The human didn't turn around. "Watch me," he growled, menace and venom dripping from the words.

"You're just going to head home looking like that? What'll Kira say?"

Nero kept going, walking around the corpses. "Her name's Kyrie," he called back.

Shaking his head, Dante kicked another one of the birds and took a few steps toward Nero, following him almost. Sometimes the younger boy reminded him so much of himself it was frightening. Young, strong, impulsive: he was everything a kid shouldn't be if he didn't want to make mistakes. Nero hated making mistakes. Softly, just as Trish had done, Dante said, "You aren't superhuman, kid."

The words made him stop. Maybe it was the familiar nickname or the kind and pitying way in which he said it that made anger bloom in his veins. Blue tinged his eyes, and slowly came to a halt. "No, I'm not you, am I?" he glared at the buildings ahead of him, waiting for Dante's response from behind. Tenseness radiated from his shoulders. He was ready for a fight. Suddenly he whipped around, anger cresting. "I'm not the great son of Sparda, am I? I'm just a fluke, a freak, a mutant. Part human, part demon," he held up his arm for emphasis as he got closer, taking in the cool mask of Dante's face.

"That's not what I said, kid," Dante replied calmly. "You're letting your temper get the better of you."

Nero shook his head and turned around. "I don't need this. I don't need some pointless father figure."

For once, his anger spiked, and Dante grabbed Nero's forearm. "That's not what I'm doing, and you know it."

"Yes, it is," Nero fired back, ripping his arm away. "You're just like they are. I came to you here in your shop because you said you could teach me how to control it, but you don't know anything!"

"No, that's not what you wanted," he spat back. "You wanted it gone, not controlled, and I'm not a miracle worker." His eyes were tinged red, the smell of pungent power in the air, almost lost in the rain. Nero was hardly deterred. He attacked him, running with his sword full power. Dante caught the blade in his hands before Nero could do anything and sent the boy stumbling to the ground.

His wounds stung as he smacked the cold dirt, the rain making it muddy. Dante stopped him before he could get up, kicking the sword to the side and planting a boot in the middle of Nero's bloodied chest. Crossing his arms, he stared down. "You want all the answers because you're young. Well, I was just like you. I don't have any. I can give you advice. I can teach you how to fight, but as for life? I'm learning just like you are." He leaned down. "You're lucky, kid, even if you can't see that. You have Kyrie who loves you. You're not cursed like I am, born this way. You're still human, even if it's only a little bit."

Nero snorted, slightly subdued. "This is just like the time in the tower when you were trying to take Yamato."

"Yeah," Dante chuckled darkly. "You weren't listening to me then, either."

The rain was landing on his face, washing way the blood, dirt, and grit of the night. Even the cold hardness of Dante's boot on his chest didn't feel so bad. The older man wasn't putting much pressure on him. The cold cooled his blood and his temper; his wounds were beginning to knit back together. He touched Dante's toes.

"Get off me," he said quietly. Dante relented, stepping off.

Sitting up first before getting to his feet, Nero didn't say anything for a moment. His head was fuzzy, and the blood loss was making him lightheaded. Sharp pains stabbed at him with every move. Just before he opened his mouth to say something, he collapsed. He wasn't awake to see Dante catch him.

It was a few hours later that he did actually wake up. He sprung to life off of a bed much more comfortable than his own back at the shop. It smelled of soap and fabric softener. Cinnamon and blood left a strange taste on his tongue as it permeated the air. His muscles pulled, and he held his stomach. His wounds seemed to have healed, but the soreness and bruises remained. The stench of blood was coming from him.

Dante sat up. "Welcome back to the world of the living, kid."

"What time is it?" Nero groaned, rubbing his hair which still seemed to be damp.

"It's only been twenty minutes since you passed out. It's around midnight."

"Aaah," Nero sighed as he relaxed into the bed, throwing an arm over his bare stomach. Dante had taken off his shirt and boots. His tattered pants still remained, but probably only because Dante knew he would have thrown a fit. It was strange not staying in a place where there was pizza and fighting downstairs. He almost expected the phone to ring. A weight settled on the bed, and Nero realized that Dante hadn't been wearing his coat either.

Dark eyes settled over his blue eyes, firm stomach pressing into his own. Nero moved his arm behind his head. "You only got one bed," he noted softly. A thumb came up to stroke his cheek.

"Why get two?" Dante asked, hot breath ghosting over Nero's neck as he nuzzled the boy's jaw.

Their eyes met as Dante tilted the boy's jaw down, lips hovering above his. "Because maybe I didn't want to have meaningless sex tonight," Nero said seriously, eyes shifting back and forth to read even the slightest change in Dante's face. Their romance was nothing but a fling, a casual convenience for angry and powerful sex best hidden away from women. There was a violence to it instead of the love that should have been there. Maybe, if they dug deep, there was a bond. Nero never wanted to look beyond the surface. He assumed Dante didn't want to scratch much deeper either.

"So what did you want?" the older man asked, strong hands rubbing Nero's sides and sending shivers up his spine. "Did you want it to mean something like it does with Kyrie?"

"No," was his immediate response. He didn't want the love or the sweetness he felt for Kyrie. He wanted the passion and the sex and the strength of it all. He wanted dominance and hard, painful bonds that could never be severed. "I want it to continue." Most of all, he didn't want to lose what they had, whatever messed up sort of thing it was.

"It can do both," Dante replied, same hand snaking up his side to stop at his neck, the fragile and vulnerable bones and tendons beneath flexed as the kid swallowed. Once it had made him nervous. It didn't anymore.

"What are you asking for? What do you want?" Nero demanded, hand closing around the wrist. He didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until hot breath at his ear made him open them.

Dante whispered, "I want you, kid," before meeting his lips in a devouring kiss so drenched in passion only a devil could have given it to him.

….

Afterward they were sitting in the tub. Wherever the long, aching wounds had been, only deep red lines remained as the skin knitted back together. Nero was leaning forward, arms around his knees as Dante sponged away the blood from his back. A few cuts still remained and stung with the soap. The kid didn't complain. Of course, when did he ever? Dante tried to be as gentle as possible, hardened and callused hands unused to such things. If Nero minded their touch, he never said.

"Do you want me to come back to the shop?" Nero asked quietly, the sound of the water dribbling back into the tub the only other sound in the bathroom. Dante slipped his hand underwater and kneaded Nero's side, careful of the horrible, yellow and black bruises that marred his shoulders and lower back. Some were more recent than others, caused by Dante's haste and brute strength. Whatever he did always seemed to cause the kid pain, physical or otherwise. Sometimes babysitting Nero was worse than taking care of a girlfriend.

Dante shrugged, wiping softly at a slightly unhealed gash at the base of his neck. "It's your call, kid. Kyrie might need you."

Nero tensed in pain, but relaxed when Dante kissed his shoulder, light and easy, reassuring. "Kyrie doesn't need me," he said. With the rebuilding came a lot of responsibility for the young girl. She didn't just sing in chapels anymore; she rebuilt them. She spent all her time picking up rubble and raising funds for new things. How was he supposed to help when everyone in Fortuna distrusted him? No, the only place he belonged was…

With Dante.

"Of course," Dante said as if he had just thought of it, dropping the sponge and hooking his arms around Nero's waist, resting his chin on the boy's shoulder, "we do make a good team."

Nero snorted, touching Dante's wrist around his stomach. "Is that a compliment?"

Dante shook him slightly. "Not if you're going to be difficult about it."

He only got a hum in response as the kid leaned back against his expansive chest. They were relatively similar in size, but Nero was less muscular and more wiry, thin and quick. His demonic arm pulsed warm and familiar against Dante's skin. It didn't put him off in the slightest, though he figured it probably did to others. They were humans after all, and Dante often triggered into his other form, leathery, magic skin similar to Nero's arm. Besides, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd had sex with Nero. Dante was well acquainted with the boy's body.

"This isn't what you were looking for, is it?" Dante asked before he could think about it.

"No," Nero chuckled darkly. "When I came to you, I wanted control so I could be around Kyrie without being afraid of hurting her so much. I didn't think you'd—"

"Be so charming?" Dante cut him off with a grin.

"—want to have sex with me."

"Aah," the older man sighed, "but you agreed."

Nero glanced at his demonic arm, clenching the fist. "Yeah," he said somewhat softly. Lifting the other hand out of the warm, swirling water, it was mostly healed but still sore. Angry red lines criss-crossed it, and the gaping holes were just closing into gashes. Dante healed so fast sometimes that Nero could watch the bones moving back to their places. It was a difference of blood, he figured.

"You're distracted, kid," Dante accused.

"Sorry," Nero sighed. "Were we having a serious conversation?"

"Did you want to?"

He thought about it before replying, "Not really." So Dante stopped talking and began washing his chest with the forgotten sponge once it was retrieved. He laced his fingers with Nero's pulsing arm, rinsing the wounded, red skin. It was a strange sensation as no one else had ever been so gentle with it before. Even Kyrie had never touched him quite so softly, as if he were made of glass. She knew what he could withstand. But so did Dante, and that was what perhaps made it mean so much more.

"You do want to talk about it," Dante said after a moment, reading his body language.

"No, I don't," Nero lied. "Isn't it a general rule with sex buddies that as soon as one side has feelings, then it's over?" He was positive that it was especially the case with Dante.

"Yeah, that is the general rule," Dante whispered against his wet skin. "But, then again, we're not a general pair, are we?" After a pause, he grinned against Nero's neck. "Wait a minute, kid, are you saying you've got feelings for me or something?"

"Stop talking," Nero groaned as Dante kissed the closing gash on his neck.

Dante laughed and did. In fact, they didn't talk again until morning.

…

Dante was pulling on his coat while Nero strapped his weapons down. "Are you going to escort me to Fortuna?" Nero snorted impetuously.

"So you're not coming back?" Dante asked, turning slightly to see the boy pulling on his boots. For some reason, it felt like a one night stand. The same tense air hung about. Dante didn't want to see him go, but there was no reason to bring him back. It would only make him miserable.

"I need to talk to Kyrie," Nero said quietly.

"About what?" Dante inquired, standing up and crossing his arms.

"I need to talk to Kyrie," he said, balancing elbows on his knees, "about staying at Devil May Cry for longer." With a sigh, he glanced at his arm. "I need your help." His throat burned as he swallowed his pride. Dante gave a crooked smile.

"Sure thing, kid." Nero stood up and ruffled his hair, feeling slightly less sore after the relaxing bath and massage Dante had given him. All of his fingers seemed to work in his wounded hand. No permanent damage had been done. When he stood up, he didn't expect the passionate kiss placed upon his lips. Dante seized handfuls of his shirt and claimed his mouth, tasting of sweets from this morning. When he pulled back, Nero was dazed but withdrawn. He pulled away and grabbed his pistol from the side table.

His hand hesitated on the door. "We can't…" he turned to face him, "we can't be together."

"I know," Dante frowned.

"I belong with Kyrie," Nero said.

"I know."

He paused again just outside the door. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

Thanks for reading. Review please.