Those Who See

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: Ari's not a normal kid.
Word Count: 660
Rating: Teen

          “Did you find the TV, Ari?”  The kid’s waiting for him by the front door, which really isn’t safe and adds to the guilt factor.  Xander’s really starting to feel bad with how many times he’s had to ask the little lioness to go away while he did his magic, but at least he’d had a mission to give her that last time.
          “It’s not working very well.”  She’s pouting now. 
          “I could try to fix it, but, uh, my electrical skills are a little weird.”  He’d pretty sure the mom would kill him if he tried to bare-handed fix it in front of an impressionable little kid.  Even if it didn’t stick. 
          She grabs his hand and stares at him, fascinated, thoughts of watching animated movies forgotten.  “Does that have to do with the devil blood?” she asks, and looks alarmed as he looks alarmed.  “Did I ask a bad question?”
          Okay, quick, damage control on aisle 11.  “Not a bad question, no, just…took me off guard.  Don’t be too loud about that around most of the cops, okay?  They’ll just get scared and not do their jobs.”  And possibly arrest him depending on how bad they panicked.  Most of them are probably like Alisha, but it only takes one or two bad apples to spoil his day.
          She purses her lips, thinking, then nods.  “But why?  You’re a good half-devil.”
          “Okay, how do you know that, kiddo?”  Because that’s the second really important thing.
          “Bad devils or demons don’t paint their nails,” she states matter-of-factly, and he’s, like, ninety percent sure she’s wrong, not that he’s going to try to disabuse her of that notion—“…or worry about whether I feel unsafe.”  Okay, that’s a little closer, enough to make him feel a little more comfortable agreeing.
          “That’s pretty smart, Ari, but that wasn’t what I was asking.  How do you know about,” he lowers his voice, suddenly aware that they’re still standing in the middle of the entryway where anyone can see them and—kitchen, he’s hungry, kitchen is good, he starts heading her that way, “…the devil thing?”
          “I can see it.  You’re like a spiky dragon.”  Okay, that is relevant news.
          He swallows, and of course she notices.  “What’s wrong, Mister?”
          He could lie to her, but she’d see right through it, because apparently she’s a lot more observant than she looks.  “You know most people can’t do that, right?” he clarifies, and she nods.
          “I wasn’t supposed to talk about it at school, when I went.”  That’s a good classification of Things to Not Talk About.  “But you’re saying you can’t even do that?”
          “That’s what I’m saying; I can feel it, but it’s not the same as seeing it.”  Mmm.  Bread, peanut butter, and jelly.  They’re dining like kings tonight (ignore the fact that it’s the afternoon), and even he (probably) can’t mess this one up.
          She processes that one, pulling an adorable little thinking face even as she sits at the seat.  And then she comes to the weirdest conclusion.  “Are you scared of me?”  The idea hurts her, and he whips around, smearing grape jelly (no strawberry, unfortunate) across his hand as he does so.
          “What?  No!  I’m just…worried that’s why your Daddy wants you.”  If anything, he’s scared for her.
          “Oh.”  She takes that in.  “I’m sorry.”
          An apology is the last thing he expected, and he nearly gets another grape streak.  “Nah, don’t apologize.  It’s just how you were born, right?  You didn’t want your Daddy to get mean, or to have to run away with your Mommy.”  Any more than he’d asked to be the child of a devil and a human.
          “I get it.”  She sounds so happy.  He presents her with a sandwich, and she eyes it with skepticism.  “Mommy always cuts it in half.”  So he had managed to mess up something so simple.  Typical.
          And then, the most critical of questions, “Diagonally or vertically?”