Author's Note:

Thank you to my reviewers!:

Eric Draven 201

Silver-kitsune223

Mistress of Destruction

Pitfire52101

I love writing this 'fic. I love love love love it.

This chapter should be called "Chapter 2a" rather than "Chapter Two," really, because most of it is honestly going to be conversation and the plot will begin to actually pick up in the third chapter coming up shortly. But I felt that it was necessary to write this, if only to lay out what direction everyone was going, and to flesh out Vergil's new human character and persona…I realize he may seem slightly OOC in this chapter and I apologize, but I'm experimenting with him and how he'll change as a human. Also, I love making Lady a smart-ass, did you notice? I also loved her look and persona in her brief appearance in Devil May Cry 4; she is so smart-ass in the beginning that I thought it fit her character in this nicely…

Well, okay, enough babbling.

Enjoy, please review, and the next update should be coming shortly!


The V-Files: Or, Babysitting the Devil

Two.

If the Devil were human, what would he do with his life?

No, this isn't a philosophical question and it certainly isn't the babbling of a church group fanatic. It's real life—or, more specifically, my real life; the real, factual life of human sacrifices, demon-killing, monster shooting, world-saving routine. It's the kind of life where you can wake up, brush your teeth, and prepare to assault a nasty, blood-thirsty throng of 7 Hells with pure ammo before they devour you whole. Or the kind of life where you can be completely and utterly content with the normalcy of an apartment and a boyfriend, nestled in bed just before Satan plows through your apartment wall and attacks said boyfriend in naked rage.

So, if Lucifer was suddenly transformed into a human being, what would he do?

Well, currently, he is residing in my temporary residence in Allen's apartment, sulking like a five year old girl. I should have more right, I think, to assume his ultra-childish position; he is clothed, now, in a pair of Allen's black pants and tight-fitting turtleneck, his arms crossed before his chest, eyes narrowed into icy slits, lips twisted in what could be a cross between constipation and extremely deep thinking. His legs are crossed in reminiscence to a yoga expert—or, perhaps, Buddha, if Buddha were white-haired, in shape, and as violent as a crazed asylum escapee on steroids. This thought made me chuckle, slightly; a grim, dark chuckle, which, unfortunately, was not gone unheard.

I braced myself for an onslaught of bitching, yet to my surprise received nothing more than an irritated scowl. From my position on the couch, in Allen's modestly bare living room, I received visual word from the kitchen clock that a good half-hour had passed in which I've simply watched and endured the Sparda sulking like a baby. There weren't any tantrums, thank God, but perhaps even more VB (Vergil bitching) would have been tolerable compared to this cold, angsty silence.

Finally, I leaned over my half-temptingly warm couch (it was past two a.m., after all) and struggled to gaze into his stone face, to say something to sabotage the Sparda from his trance.

"Look on the bright side! At least we can do something about that awful white hair of yours; you don't want to look fifty here, unless you like them older and gummy; I was thinking a nice, deep brown, maybe black—what about you?"

I tensed myself for the retort, even physical violence as I gazed at Vergil's hawk-like eyes—

Then, nothing whatsoever.

"Atlas has nothing on you," I mumble in irritation at the squatting, statuesque devil in my room, before turning my head to face the couch's leather body, which seemed more vibrant and full of life at the moment. Incidentally I had skipped work because of my crisis, and I wasn't very eager to face the brunt of my psychotic boss's rage the next day. But then there was the problem of leaving Vergil in my home unattended, when he had already destroyed it before while unconscious, and then there was what I would actually do with him, having no idea if he could function in human life without a string of murders pinned to his name.

I stuffed my pillow over my head, as if to block out the world, and sighed.

The sane victim would contact Dante for help, dump the twin on his sibling. But, honestly, would I handle going back to my life of normalcy after visiting Devil May Cry? Could I resist the lure of my old, utterly inhuman lifestyle-and, when it all comes down to resistance, should I? Vergil was human now, apparently—somehow. That didn't necessarily have to equate him with Dante or the demon world, anymore. And even if it did, it wasn't where I belonged. I wasn't my father. I was his dispatcher.

After what seemed like a second, I groaned tiredly, realizing I had drifted off. I pulled the pillow from my head and glanced about in the darkness. Vergil was still in his Buddha-esque pose, gaze boring into my blank TV screen with the determination of imitating a garden gnome. I sighed, again, watching his still white head and contemplating the extent of his…whatever he was feeling at the moment, having become what he so despised. I remembered Arkham's hissing, deformed face, just before killing him—and the thought of waking up one day to be such a creature made me shudder.

"Does it hurt?"

I shut my mouth in shock. I didn't mean to say that, didn't mean to ask something so personal, especially from him. I expected him to remain silent—but to my surprise, he actually nodded.

"Yes," He said, seeming to hesitate after doing so. It was the first thing he had said in hours.

"It hurts because it is strange."

I pondered the cryptic meaning for a moment before turning my head to meet his lowered eyes. His hair was like a curtain over his face, as if that were the only remaining protection from humanity.

"I feel so…weak," He said, his raising his hands and gazing with his head inclined towards his palms, "I feel everything. All these strange, rippling thoughts and emotions…always…naked, shameful, vulnerable."

"Like Adam," I reply, my head nestled between my hands in contemplation.

Azure eyes regarded me for the first time that night,

"If you wish to cite such fairytales," His voice was a sneer then, and I thought he hadn't lost his haughtiness, "Regardless, I must find a way to rid myself of this disgusting form. Perhaps I can consult the nearest demon, teleport to the realms to find a way to obtain my power…"

"If you did that, you'd get ripped to shreds. Anyway, I haven't seen a demon for over a year. The only ones here are burglars and rapists."

Vergil regarded me with a sneer,

"Stupid girl. Demons populate this planet in human form—surely the daughter of Arkham himself would know of such phenomena?"

"Shut up," I hissed, "You're pretty ungrateful for me letting you be a guest in my boyfriend's apartment after you beat him down, you know."

Vergil merely brushed this comment aside with a flick of his wrist, before continuing,

" Humans, animals—the Christians and superstitious were not so far off to label the snake as a demonic form. Many weakened demons who find residing in Hell to be an overpowering experience exile themselves to this world, changing shape as not to alarm the human populace to their presence. Even witches exist…in a way, not with the magic and broomsticks, yet with the ability to hold a psychic power as a result of a very, very thin supernatural linea—are you listening?"

I gasped and opened my eyes, realizing I had been drifting off to sleep. Vergil was giving me an agitated sort of death-glare, and if Yamato were in his hands I would have probably been threatened with the sharp edge of his blade. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed; he couldn't blame me for sleeping, it had been a long night, and I was filled with skepticism at his vainly hopeful words.

"Look, Vergil. I've been living in this area for over a year, and I haven't encountered any sorts of demons or supernatural undergoings or the tooth fairy in all my time here, and I'm an ex-Devil Hunter, so I should know, shouldn't I? Maybe this place is just that one exception, since it's so calm here, compared to New York or other big cities demons can hide in…"

I trailed off as the Son of Sparda raised a silvery brow in equal skepticism to rival my own,

"Maybe you haven't found them because you're not looking for them. Maybe you just want so desperately to be humanized, you keep yourself from anything to do with the demonic realm."

At first, I merely scoffed, somewhat taken aback by this insightful observation; then my insides thrummed with an almost violent jarring as I realized that the devil's words may be truer than I had thought. Could I be hiding from anything to do with the supernatural in this world, putting off the possibility that creatures and entities existed outside of Temen-ni-guru? Opening the tower had been easy enough for Vergil and…his accomplice hadn't it? So why couldn't it be possible that Devils lurked all around us, if in a weakened, pathetic sort of state, nothing comparable to Vergil's former glory or Dante's current strength?

It couldn't be.

Because I didn't want it to be that way.

I just wanted to curl up in a ball in Allen's arms, in the comforting normalcy of his touch, the normalcy of my daily routine…the warmth and safety of a life devoid of Devils and danger.

A life devoid of fear, the fear that had plagued me ever since I was a little girl.

I swallowed the sudden knot in my throat, looking up to find the white-haired Satan watching me with obvious, if not difficultly hidden, disgust. Dark mirth filled my veins as I fought the urge to laugh again; he was obviously examining the human girl who he was forced to reside with, never fully aware as of yet that he was, for the moment, just as equally disgusting.

I should have been the disgusted one—he was from Hell, after all.

"If I'm trying to be human," I finally replied, feeling the exasperation undulate through my strained voice, "Why did you fall into my life?"

The ex-devil obviously hadn't been expecting that; he cocked a head in mild surprise and consideration, before shrugging his broad shoulders, mirroring my gesture a few minutes ago…a habit common of the flawed beings that us humans were.

"Perhaps whoever stripped me of my power knew where they were sending me. Perhaps they do not intend me to die within Earth, but have some sort of plan…whatever it is, it is disgusting and vile, and I will snap their head from their neck and drain them of their blood in due time."

I watched his face twist into an angered, dangerous snarl as he spoke, his hands balling up into fists, his brows furrowing in determination. Yes, Vergil could very easily become some form of mass murderer if I had ever decided not to take him in with me, and the realization sent an involuntary shudder through my spine. Of course, his morals were wretchedly twisted; but for devil morals, they were in an entirely different perspective than now, when in human terms, disemboweling another as an act of vengeance seemed a bit radical.

But I just nodded, realizing that the sooner we found some sort of way to satisfy the new human and send him back home, the sooner I could rid myself of this horrendous experience and pretend it was all just some terrible nightmare, returning to my actual life.

"What is going on in that pathetic little mind of yours, woman?"

"I'm thinking of what you said," I lied easily, before feigning a yawn to indicate that it was getting very late, "About fortune tellers and the like—"

"Witches," He corrected with an air of superiority, nodding.

"…Fortune tellers, that's what they're called here, and we have nothing but fakes outside of the New York area. Well…probably in the entire world, really, because that's all just a load of garbage, reading with tea leaves and crystal balls—"

"And the fact that I am the son of the Devil is not equally peculiar and unbelievable?"

Damn it. He had a point. I felt my teeth grit together and I eyed him severely,

"…Yes. But you're not, anymore. Maybe when you came into this dimension you became human because everyone here is human and you had to fit in."

"Ridiculous," He replied easily, narrowing his eyes at me, "I know for a fact someone manipulated me to be this way. And I am going to find out whom, woman, even if you don't intend to help me. I will interrogate every pathetic little scum human I see on the street, torture them into speech in any way possible, rip apart their possessions and frighten their children—"

"Okay!" I gasped at his psychotic determination, raising my hands to nearly plead with him, "Don't do anything like that, not here! They have laws preventing those kinds of things, you know…you wouldn't want to be locked up in a human prison, I assure you."

To my surprise, Vergil did not reply. Suddenly, he was pulling himself to his feet, towering above me for an instant before launching unexpectedly towards the kitchen. In an instant a loud clattering came from the inside of the room and I yelped in surprise, pulling myself to my feet and following him in a fatigued sort of daze,

"What are you doing?!"

Vergil was crouched over the table, his long arms wrapped around his stomach, face scrunched in an expression of sheer pain. My heart leapt in my throat as I watched him, feeling both stunned and worried that somehow he was hurt, wounded from the fall, dying…should I call the ambulance? What should I do—

"My stomach…" He gasped, and I turned towards him again, having whipped around to rush for the telephone, "…It…it hurts…"

Then the realization struck, and I nearly doubled over in both relief and twisted amusement.

He was hungry.

"Vergil…have you eaten?"

Blue eyes met my own, blue eyes that looked as if they were behind bars on Death Row,

"…Eaten? Why would I do such a thing, save for strength—"

"Okay, well, we weak little humans have to eat. I'll just…I'll just order a pizza or something, and hopefully you won't drop dead of starvation within the hour."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as Vergil groaned and beat the kitchen table with a fist in agitation at the pain in his stomach. He was lucky he didn't somehow switch species and gender; cramps would have been an incredibly interesting thing to witness his reaction to.

The thought made me giggle as I ordered a large pizza with extra cheese, olives and pepperoni. I didn't know what Vergil liked, but really, why did it matter if he was supposedly dying of starvation? I had a feeling the savage beast in my kitchen would scarf up anything I gave him. I retreated back into the kitchen, seriously fearful of leaving him alone at any moment, before realizing that, like the faithful dog, he had found today's newspaper rolled and shoved carelessly to the side of the room, and had it opened up with each large, wrinkled page spread almost neatly across the tabletop. One, in particular, displayed the advertisements, in which I could clearly see the image of a crystal ball and a woman's smiling face.

And Vergil was quite uncharacteristically smiling back at that face with a hopeful twinkle in his all-too human eyes.

Shit.