daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Prompt Post #4

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i've only just read all this and i love it so much and oh god please tell me there's more???

*fan girls all over the place*

Love this so much :D

=D Thank you!

^{OP here! And plot, yay! :D}

Along with a sense of annoyance at being awake and having been tricked into sleeping in the first place.
--- LMAO, oh Matt.

Behind him, Matt rolls over into Foggy's warm spot, the delight he feels in being there surging through Foggy.
--- Awwwwww!

Your name is actually Foggy? I totally thought that was a really weird nickname you came up with to try to avoid us finding you
--- LMAO, Tony, you asshole!

'Google. Didn't you know that your number is on your website? Or did you not know you have a website? I totally bet you didn't know you had a website. That's very-'
--- Who maintains this website? XD

All he can see right now is the ball Stark threw at Matt; combining with the fear heavyhurtwhatifmissed Stark'd caused.
--- Ooooh, I'd forgotten about that! STARK, YOU ASSHOLE.

'I'm so sorry about Tony. We usually gag him around new people.'
--- :D Oh, Bruce, darling. ♥

You do like him amusementdelightyoulikeeveryone. For a guy that wrecked dangerangerfear Harem he's surprisepityfear nice. Devilinsideunderstanding
--- Everyone decent likes Bruce, regardless whether they like the Hulk. :P

he replies with Asleepwhatfocusannoyedtiredangersleep, causing Foggy to laugh more because he can feel that it's a total lie and the reason Matt got so caught is he was too busy focusing on what Bruce had said to focus on his shirt.
-- LMAO, Matt, you are the dorkiest dork that ever dorked.

I propose a change to our business togetheruspartnersincrime plan. No glass or steel building.
Fine delightedlovepartners by me.
--- I really love these inphrases so, so, so much. :DDD Also, boys, BOYS, seriously, HOW DON'T YOU REALIZE YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER OMFG.

Fuck, I really, REALLY completely adore when they become one consciousness, omfg. <3

'We are sorry. We're... still getting used to things.'
According to Foggy, Stark raises an eyebrow. 'Speaking with one voice is better but plural pronouns aren't.'
--- Right, Tony, because people never speak for other people? Obviously they're both in this, so they'd both be getting used to it. XD

Ignoring Stark's 'Yes, singular pronoun!'
--- LOL TONY

'You're also the only person to have lived more than thirty minutes.'
--- HOLY SHIT

he was going to destroy the people of Hell's Kitchen until he got Daredevil to come out by getting someone he loved.'
There's a long silence before, 'Wait, he attacked you?' Stark stands and moves to poke at Foggy. 'I thought he hit your friend here. In fact I know he hit Murdock. How did that happen?' Matt can feel the suspicious looks of Stark and Banner and the calculating look of Romonov.
--- DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN OH SHIIIIIT, THINGS ARE GOIN' DOWN

:D :D :D Thank you, as always! Freaking marvelous installment!

No, not yay. There's so much plot now!

I headcanon Matt as NOT a morning person. That's Foggy's thing. It doesn't help that he likes to stay out late being Daredevil.

Tony, you arsehole. Theme of this part.

Karen. She's like, 70% of the reason they didn't go bust in the first month. The other 30% being Foggy and Matt are fantastic lawyers.

Bruce is a darling and I hate that he hates himself.

Yes, yes they do. Because even the Hulk can be a nice guy, if he's not pissed off at you.

Dorky Matt is my favourite thing; especially angry dorky Matt who's only had like, 3 hours sleep.

I'm glad you do! Hopefully soon. I'm going to have to swap some of my planned parts around because of the Avengers.

=D! I'm delighted! I wasn't sure it worked but I hoped it did.

Well, they do but rarely after creeping everyone out by speaking as one with two voices. And to be fair, Matt was deliberate in his word choice to make sure he used plural pronouns. He likes provoking Tony.

Like I said. PLOT.

Things are indeed going down. There's PLOT and there's a LOT of it.

You're welcome! *blushes* I'm, as always, glad you like it!

^.^

I love Father Lantom to bits, so I can't resist giving him the good ones.

Can I just say I really love your comments? It gives me a little clarity into what is working and reassures me that some of the foreshadowing is felt so I really appreciate it!

Glad you're enjoying, and I'll be uploading more very soon!

Warning for violence and hints of past physical abuse

___________________________________________________________________________

The streets that Foggy loved so much had never seemed quite so welcoming or lively to Karen. Every shadow hid a potential assailant, every pedestrian that looked at her just a little too long became a threat. Foggy would have laughed it off, were he with her. Foggy would have goaded her into laughing along and regaled her with stories of his childhood growing up here, sprinkled with anecdotes meant to prove this city was not as rough as it seemed. She knew better. His love for Hell’s Kitchen blinded him, kept him from looking around long enough to see the city with heart he had loved so much was slowly rotting from within.

She lengthened her strides, tilted her chin up and dared anyone to walk too close, one hand tucked into her purse with fingers clenched around her house keys- far sharper than nails, and guaranteed not to break.

Her paranoia was justified tonight; she was going to kick a wasp’s nest and in the end she had decided not even to inform Foggy of it. He would have wanted to help, he would have sent Brett to talk sense into her where Ben could not. She just hoped none of those dire warnings actually came true.

The building before her loomed large and decrepit, straggling weeds forcing their way between the cracks in the sidewalk only to wither and die in the unseasonal heat. Withered ivy still clung to it, thorny and dry. Bars across the windows blocked some of the precious light that managed to seep through, dim and unwelcoming as it was. Her imagination, she knew, painted it as far more sinister than mere brick and mortar had any right to be.

Steeling herself against flights of fancy, Karen forced herself to climb the stone stairs and try the door- locked against unwelcome visitors, as she had expected. She glanced at the names pasted on the intercom beside it, trying to decide which among them sounded most likely to let her in. At this hour of the night probably none of them would, and hanging around outside waiting for someone to go in or out would only be asking for trouble.

She tapped a thoughtful heel against the concrete, digging in her purse as though looking for a key. Coming back in the day was not an option, not with her work in the office and the sure knowledge that if she took an extended lunch break like Foggy had, he would insist on coming along. Come back on the weekend and Ben was sure to follow. She knew what she was doing was reckless, and she didn’t want to drag him any farther in than she already had. If anything happened to him it would be on her conscience. God knew it was already heavy enough without adding a good man’s life to the burden.

But if this were as disreputable a place as it looked, surely it couldn’t be all that unusual, people entering at odd hours of the night? If she held her bag expectantly, tried for that eager, desperate look she remembered too well from earlier days… just another junkie looking for a fix.

Without giving herself time to rethink it, she pressed the lowest-numbered button.

She was buzzed in without so much as a cursory question.

Before she could work up the courage to step in, she felt an arm wrap about her neck and squeeze with enough force that her vision turned splotchy and dark. A sharp heel applied to a vulnerable shin bought her a split second of precious oxygen before a hand tangled in her hair and yanked her off balance, a steady stream of profanity assaulting her ears, incomprehensible threats she could recognize from the tone they were spoken in,

A short scream was all she had time for, not nearly enough to attract attention, even assuming this was the sort of neighborhood where anyone would dare to peek outside for the sound of a struggle,.Better not to waste her breath on it. She sank her teeth into the meat of her attacker’s bicep, choking on a pained cry when a second pair of hands pressed viciously into her jaw, forcing her to release her grip.

“You fucking bitch.” A fist connected with her side, deflected in part by her bag. She recoiled, trying to put enough space between them to at least spot a defining feature. The voice had not been familiar, but if she could just match a face to it- her keys raked across unprotected skin, just as a back-handed slap sent her to the pavement, elbow skinned on the stair’s edge. She screamed again when a rough hand tangled in her hair, drawing her head back for what she was sure would be a killing blow- one hit to her trachea and she would be down, defenseless.

Not again.

The snarl that forced its way past her bruising throat was inhuman, filled with such impotent rage her assailant’s grip faltered for all of a second. She wept when as her fingernails bent and broke raking across and through the material of his jeans, scraping exposed flesh viciously. A boot connected with her stomach, sent her writhing to the ground, unable to do more than gasp for breath, taking in dirt and rock but still deprived of air. Dimly she tasted bile gathering in the back of her throat, spit it at the foot that was drawing back for another blow.

Her teeth cut into her cheek when it landed, sharp iron flooding her mouth. She couldn’t do more than writhe, trying desperately to force herself up off her knees, arms still clasped defensively around her ribs, braced for the next blow she knew was coming.

She was not meant to survive this. They were going to beat her to death here in the street, and her unable even to plead or curse them.

It was the first laugh that broke her, a joyous shout that drowned out the sound of her first desperate gasp of air when one of them kicked her hard enough to send her tumbling to her side, dazed and in agony, fury and fear clawing at her insides in equal measure.

“How dare you?”

It was no more than a whisper, sustained by the last bit of air in her lungs. Her mouth protested the movement with a stinging sensation she knew would blossom into pain if she focused on it. Her arms nearly gave beneath her as she pushed herself up, swallowing her blood rather than giving them the pleasure of seeing it. She hoped whomever found her would find the skin beneath her nails, minute traces of DNA that would leade them back to these fuckers. She hoped Brett wasn’t half as good a cop as Foggy thought he was, that maybe they would both end up thrown into the filing cabinet rumor said the downtown department had to replace every three months for all the accidents they kept having.

Neither moved toward her when she forced herself to her feet, tears seeping down her cheeks to dot the concrete no matter how she tried to stifle them. She had been here before, had never thought to be here again. Last time she had sworn it wouldn’t be like this, that she would be braver and make them pay. That hadn’t happened. Turned out that frightened little girls grew into frightened women after all.

They spoke in a language she couldn’t understand, and though their faces were concealed from the light by the brims of their hats, she could make out the curve of smiles.

“I hope the fucking Devil takes you.” If they were going to be her last words, at least they should be memorable. And in this city, that meant something.

The smiles disappeared at last; she braced, tensing for one final, desperate lunge when one of them finally took a step toward her, light glimmering on the wicked edge of a knife he pulled from the folds of his jacket. She nearly strangled on the whimper that rose in her throat-

The light above her flickered and fizzled, sparks falling before her in a bright shower just before darkness took them all. The panicked moan that drifted through the air was not hers, neither the stream of broken profanity, mixed English and Russian? She lowered herself back to the sidewalk, beyond caring but unfortunately not beyond feeling. Their running footsteps echoed in her ears, their final words just before they dissolved into screams. Karen couldn’t even lift her head, didn’t flinch when she felt something move past her, more of an impression than any actual movement.

The shadows gathered about her, smothered the unmistakable sounds of her assailants’ death rattles mere feet from her. Every part of her was afire without the protection of an adrenaline rush. She coughed, curling in on herself like an infant, protecting her vulnerability. She didn’t register when the light flickered back to life, the streets all around her conspicuously empty of life. Just her, lying on cool stone in the hope that it would stop the burning-

Footsteps approached, slow and measured, a peculiar swish accompanying the sound that she could not recognize. Mustering her strength she forced herself back to her knees, using the lamp-post’s leverage to regain her feet, scrabbling at the catch of her heels until she could finally kick them off. She wasn’t steady, but she was standing when the owner of the footsteps approached, leaning over the edge of the curb wondering if she were going to vomit into the street.

A soft thunk drew her attention back to her surroundings, sent adrenaline rushing anew through her system-

Her purse. She glanced at it, taking in the cane that had tapped against it, the puzzled frown of the man that stood before it, kneeling to gather it up into his hands. He didn’t quite look at her when he spoke, glancing instead at the pole slightly to her left, “Ma’am, are you all right? You dropped this and-”

“Mr. Murdock?” Her voice was hoarse, but she could hear the shock threading through her tone, could see the frown on his face deepen at the greeting.

“Yes? I’m sorry, have we-”

“Karen.” She choked out.

His brows flew up, questioning frown replaced with lines of worry- “Miss Page, are you all right? What happened?” He stepped nearer, reaching out to her slowly, pulling away quickly when he felt her flinch back.

“Muggers, I-” She couldn’t go to the hospital, but she hurt-

“But your purse- you’re hurt. I have a phone, we should-”

“No! No.” Even her shout was little more than a murmur of sound, and her head pounded with the effort of it.

He gathered his cane near, hands twisting about it reflexively, “Please, Karen, you sound like you’ve been hurt very badly. Let me at least call a cab- you should be going to the hospital. I can come along, we’ll file a report-”

“No, please, just- my purse. I need my purse.”

He offered it to her slowly, extending his hand again as though asking for hers in return. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay standing without it, and he looked so perfectly unassuming-

Unthinking, she rested an arm against his, allowing him to bear a little of her weight, only now beginning to tremble in every line of her body.

“Please, at least let me call a cab to get you home.”

Karen nodded mutely, remembered herself and quickly squeezed his arm in assent, bleary eyes scanning the ground for her keys.

She didn’t speak a word as he fished the cell from his pocket, didn’t ask what business he had on this side of town or how he had known her voice damaged as it was. Those questions did not occur to her until much later. She turned inward, allowing him to shepherd her along gently, drawing her back into the shelter of the light while they waited. She hardly noticed when he left her side, locating her keys with unerring accuracy and slipping them deftly into the purse clutched protectively in her arms.

She rested instead, withdrawing comfortably into the familiar armor of shock.

___________________________________________________________________________

Just a short part today, and late at that! More to come soon, promise!

Useless in this case, but not forever. :P

*Spoiling next part shamelessly*

Thank you! I've thoroughly enjoyed writing it so far. :)

Lalalalala, that may or may not be addressed in the next part :P. Karen gets her turn with the Devil too.

And Wesley isn't dead... yet, but the Devil will certainly profit from it when it does happen. Karen might not. She might really not.

Well Tony, Matt saved him xD. I thought you knew that

Foggy was super unclear as to the series of events that led to Matt being injured. He talked his way into Avenger Tower because he had enough evidence to prove it was Hydra and well, Matt was clearly being effected by something. But the actual series of events; beyond there being two lawyers that were attacked... well Foggy wasn't too clear about it and now that's coming back to bite him.

=)

Matt for sure knew what was gonna happen and Karen STOP GETTING YOURSELF IN TROUBLE WOMAN!

(Prompter here)

Oooooo, Foggy preparing to die, omg. *bites nails*

She had seemed a bit betrayed when he told her that he was going to have to stop taking all of these pro bono cases and leave the city soon, but had finally accepted this decision at his insistence. He didn’t quite tell her what exactly what was going on, but when she pushed he had admitted that he might have gotten involved in some more unsavory characters who wanted him gone after a certain date.
She gave him a look that told him she understood that situation a little bit too well for comfort, but finally dropped it.
Lucky Foggy, picking someone who actually understand that sort of thing, at least a little.

And really, if you thought about it, Foggy getting ready to leave didn’t hinge completely on breaking connections. Part of all of the networking that Foggy was going was seeing just how many of the associates he made were among Matt’s “people.”
Foggy felt that it would be important to have friends on the other side, for when he got there.
Foggy networking with demons is the best thing.

However, all of these new bonds paled in comparison to how close he and Matt had become.
*cackles evilly*

After The Cocoa Incident it was like a flip had been switched in Matt. He suddenly became a lot more… sincere, was the best word that Foggy could think of. Before, Matt had been dorky and wry and all together an absolute treat to be around, but all too often lost in his own thoughts and a tad distant. Now, while Matt was most definitely still dorky and an utter delight, most of the reservations he had toward Foggy seemed to have been chucked out the window.
Matt the adorkable devil is wonderful.

For starters, if Matt had been a little but spotty on ideas of personal space before, now Foggy was sure that he was just straight up ignoring them. Mind you, Foggy didn’t mind this change one bit, but he couldn’t help but be bemused every time Matt do stuff like flop across Foggy’s lap if they were sharing the couch or leaned into Foggy if they were ever side-by-side, public or private alike. Even funnier were the flimsy excuses that Matt would sometimes throw out (“I’m cold,” “this’ll help tie me to this plane for a while,” and “vessels are confusing” seemed to be the more popular ones).
*sporfles* Oh Matt. Oh dear.

“So, you can hear them. At this distance?” The accusatory tone hadn’t left Foggy’s voice and it made Matt squirm more than he’d like to admit.
Heh heh heh. The Devil’s got a kink.

“…I keep leading you around and telling you where stuff is.”
Matt quickly picked up on the unasked question here. “And I appreciate that. I really do. It’s… a relief. All of the… data I get is often overwhelming and filtering out the unimportant input sometimes takes more concentration than I can spare.”
Glad they addressed that.

It's been over a month, so I'd say it's a "no" anon.

for you:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/4499580

After the reveal of Matt’s powers, little changed between Matt and Foggy. The human almost found it odd how he’d be rolling with the punches so well recently, but knowing that Matt appreciated the habits Foggy had picked up for his sake softened the blow.

Really, the most unnerving thing to Foggy was the fact that Matt could essentially be used as walking, talking lie detector (which Foggy figured out via a tiny little fib about how many “Nickleback” albums he owned because shut up it was a phase, I will fight you if you snicker one more time Matt, I swear to your dad, square the fuck up), and even that seemed minimal.

So the world continued to turn, the Earth continued to rocket through space around a giant ball of burning hydrogen and somehow, without Foggy realizing it, it got to be two weeks until his Contract was up. His landlord knew his move-out date, all of his cases had wrapped up, Karen had started her training with the Bulletin, and Foggy had no idea what to do with himself.

So naturally, he called up Marci and demanded that they get plastered together at Josie’s.

She accepted the invitation with more unholy glee than Foggy felt comfortable with.

That night found him drunker than he had been in a long time, giggling at Marci retelling the story of one of the more recent cases she had taken.

“…And then he comes in and sees that I’m the one handling his case and the look on his smug, fat face! Oooh!” Marci’s laugh bordered on straight up maniacal. “I doubt he’ll ever catcall someone like that ever again. Now I have ‘im by the balls!”

By then, Foggy had to plant his face into the bar in order to stay in his chair he was laughing so hard. “That’s righteous!” he gasped, “Oh god, you’ve gotta wring everything you can out of him! You- The- It’s like the universe wants you to!”

The two broke down into snickers once again, oblivious to the arched eyebrow Josie sent their way over the glasses she was polishing. Marci poured them another drink from the bottle Foggy had convinced Josie to leave with them.

“To revenge!” Marci crowed, and behind her a few figures raised their glasses with her.

“To justice!” Foggy echoed, pushing himself up to his elbows to reach for his glass. They both slammed back their shots.

“You would drink to that, Nelson,” Marci chuckled once she had plunked down her glass, absently watching it wobble before landing right side up. “In all of your martyr-y glory.”

“What can I say? Love and justice are my jam.” Foggy shrugged, “I’m one magical cat away from being Sailor Moon.”

Josie, who had passed them to get to another patron, choked back a snort of laughter at that.

“See!” Foggy yelled after her, “Josie thinks I could do it! I could totally rock a miniskirt! Have you seen my thighs? They’re spectacular!” The rude gesture Josie threw back was enough to make Foggy break out into hysterics.

“Aw man,” Foggy said, scrubbing at his face as his laughter eventually faded, “I’m so glad I’m not drinking alone right now.”

“Most people would be, this close to their time being up. You’re suspiciously bender-free.” Marci’s dry observation almost made Foggy start giggling again.

“Why would I? I got everything I wanted from this: food on the table, more cases under my belt than lawyers twice my age, I feel better about where I stand with myself. And even better, I got to really help out the people I grew up around, and-” Suddenly Foggy’s smile slipped off his face and he went silent for a long while. “And I got friends. I got Matt and Karen. I got to spend more time with you.”

Foggy paused again, and Marci chose to bite back the arsenal of comments she could whip out about how awfully sappy this was. Finally, the human let out a sigh and laid his head down on the bar again.

“I got so much. I wish it could have lasted longer.” Foggy’s voice was small; it was a small miracle that Marci could hear it over the clamor around them. “I never really had friends before-”

“No.” Marci’s interruption was immediate. “Not doin’ this Nelson. I will never be drunk enough for the trail of self-pity you’re about to start blazing.”

“Marci,” Foggy whined, “I’m about to be tortured for all eternity! Let me have my pity party!”

“You’re not going to be tortured,” Marci deadpanned. “Where the hell did you even get that idea from?”

“Years of popular culture and listening to Matt talk about his job.”

“Well did Matt say you were gonna get tortured?” Marci’s voice turned downright saccharine.

Foggy scrunched up his face at the condescension, but answered honestly. “No. But that happens to people who make deals all the time.”

“Because demons are… demons, it’s what we do. You aren’t put to the lash unless the demon you’re dealing with wants you to. Hasn’t anyone told you this?”

“Yeah,” Foggy mumbled, “But this is Matt. He’s got a reputation. What would letting a human get off easy look like?”

“Like something you’d normally have to pay to see.” Marci leaned out of the reach of the attempted shoulder punch that earned her. “But in all seriousness,” she continued, “Matt has enough of a reputation built up that whatever he does with you probably won’t touch him. No one would dare.”

“He’s not that bad,” Foggy said, half-joking, “He’s a bit of a dork once you get past all the fire and brimstone nonsense.”

Marci turned to him, eyes cold in a way Foggy hadn’t seen before. “You didn’t see him during the 1300’s. That ‘nonsense’ has a very real kernel of truth.”

Foggy hummed, reaching for their shared bottle and pouring himself another drink. “I guess you had to be there.”

Marci didn’t reply.

“Hmmm.” Foggy poured her a drink to give her some time to shake herself out of the funk she got herself into. “So, do I even have to go to Hell after this deal is up? Or did I break my lease agreement for nothing?”

Immediately as Foggy was done pouring, the demon knocked her drink back. “Hmm? Oh don’t worry Foggy bear, all Contract-holder souls go to Hell after their time’s up. If a soul belongs to something that can’t naturally exist on a certain plane, it can’t either unless there’s black magic fuckery or divine intervention bullshit involved.”

“I thought you guys were firmly pro-black magic fuckery. Like, it’s your shtick.”

“Sometimes. Mostly it’s humans and other deities that go that route.” Marci snorted, “Demons tend to be fairly straight forward once you get past the lying.”

Foggy rolled his eyes, before throwing back his drink, wincing at the sting of cheap alcohol (read: the only kind Josie stocked, bless her). “So what’s it like, the ride down?”

Marci shrugged, “Never liked anyone enough to ask. Go ask Matt.” She shoved her glass at Foggy, demandingly. “Hit me again. It’s weird calling him that.”

The human grinned, “That I can do.”
—
It was the day after Halloween. Foggy had gotten ahold of Matt, using a trick that involved a mirror, a bowl of water, and a pint of pig’s blood from Ms. Sa’s grocery store, with an invitation to binge on B-horror movies and marked down Halloween candy. All of last week, Matt had been cleaning up the clusterfuck that always arose around that time of year (a bit literally in the case of one Icelandic cult, humans could be so nasty), so he jumped on that offer as soon as it came up.

It seemed like as Foggy’s time got closer to being up, Matt’s schedule became freer and freer to spend time with Foggy. However if anyone had anything to say about it, they didn’t let it get to Matt’s ears.

Regardless, this particular night in was going just fine. The two had made their way through three bags of mixed mini candy bars, though if they were completely honest, it mostly Matt. They had settled down onto Foggy’s couch, (one of the few bits of furniture left in his apartment after he’d given a good chunk of it away a few weeks ago) Matt stubbornly draping his legs over Foggy’s. On screen, the a SyFy original movie that Foggy could find with audio description played, and aside from the occasional request for the candy bowl, the two had fallen into a comfortable silence.

That is, until Foggy decided to raise a question of incredible delicacy with the level of tact that he so favored with friends. “So, how the hell do I prepare for… Hell?”

The question came out of nowhere and made Matt snap his head towards Foggy. “What?”

“You know, in… six? Yeah, six days I’m going to be on the biggest, sulfury-ist waterslide imaginable straight to your humble abode. I wanna know what to pack. What do I gotta do to help get this rolling?”

Matt was floored. What had the world come to when a human asks the Devil how they could help him take them to Hell? It was ridiculous, half-brained, and… dreadfully considerate, as per usual for Foggy.

“When the day comes, it’s… easier for me if you to try and recreate the summoning right before I— before ownership transfers.” Matt answered slowly, his face unreadable.

Foggy hummed, “OK, buddy. What else? Should I pack PJ’s? A toothbrush?”

The odd look on Matt’s face stayed. “Hell will have everything you need, but, I’ve never tried taking someone with… luggage. I can try, but I doubt it’ll survive the trip. It can get rough, even when I’m not trying to be—” Matt waved his hand, obviously looking for a word.

“Hell-bent on terrifying your passengers?” Foggy offered.

Matt’s paused, face sour at the pun, but eventually he sighed and nodded. Foggy snickered at this, even after Matt threw a few balled up candy wrappers at him in retaliation.

“You’re too laid-back about this,” Matt muttered, “It’s unsettling.”

“Hey,” Foggy responded, still chuckling, “I’ve had this coming for years. I’ve made my peace.”

“You don’t even know what Hell’s like. You could be in for an eternity of pain.”

“True, you could tell me about it though.”

Matt blinked, but nodded slowly. This… was the first time where Foggy had openly suggested Matt talk about Hell. He had always just assumed that the human was going the ‘ignorance is bliss’ route.

“It’s... well, for humans, they can either go to the torture racks or Purgatory. Comparatively, not a lot of human souls are made to spend all their time on the rack, only ones that are under Contract with demons who want them there or are truly corrupt go there for all eternity.”

Foggy cocked his head, mulling this over in his head. “So the rest go to Purgatory?” At Matt’s answering hum, Foggy prodded, “So what’s Purgaotry like? I’m guessing that’s where I’ll be.”

“It’s uh, I guess you could say it’s a lot like New York.”

“You’re kidding.” Foggy’s voice was caught between exasperation and laughter, but changed into outright laughter when he saw the pinched look on Matt’s face. “You’re not kidding! Holy shit!”

“It’s bigger,” Matt muttered, “and more crowded in the newer sections. The taxes are higher too, but it’s easier to find a job since there’s so many people that start their own businesses down there.”

This only made Foggy laugh harder. “Taxes and private business,” he wheezed, “Are you telling me there’s capitalism in Hell?”

Matt shrugged. “It’s Hell,” he offered up for explanation. It took Foggy a good while longer to compose himself after the laughing fit that set off.

“Aw man,” he giggled, “I’ve been laughing a lot lately for being this close the death. Ah, that reminds me.” Foggy nudged Matt with his feet. “Should I call an ambulance for my body?”

Matt cocked his head, before realizing what Foggy was getting at. “Oh, no need. You should be able to keep your body for yourself.”

“Do you tell everyone that?” Foggy teased, nudging Matt again. “Or are you just lying to make me feel better?”

Matt pinned him with a surprising direct look, the kind that made Foggy have to remind himself that Matt was super-duper blind. “Not about this,” Matt murmured, “Not to you.”

Something about the phrase made contentment curl low and warm in Foggy’s belly. “Thanks,” he murmured back, reaching out to pat Matt’s knee fondly, “It means a lot.”

Matt’s eyebrows arched at Foggy’s thanks, but he seemed to take it in stride before settling down further into the couch and pulling the bowl of candy into his lap.

“Other than that,” Matt continued, “There are demon quarters. It’s technically part of Purgatory but…”

“Like the difference between Hell’s Kitchen and SoHo?”

“That’s… actually pretty accurate.” Matt replied, knowing how fond some of his demons could be about boutiques of all things. The two fell back into a contemplative silence.

“So where am I going?” Foggy eventually asked, quieter than he had been that whole evening. He had promised himself he wouldn’t ask and just take what he was given, but he was too damn curious.

Matt groaned, he knew this question was coming. “I… You’re not going to the racks. I have a place picked out for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Foggy sighed, “I get the feeling you don’t do that for everyone.”

Matt’s face went blank. “No I don’t.”

Foggy knew by that particular expression he would get nothing out of Matt if he pushed the issue, so instead he said, “You’re going to have to visit me, lest I get lonely. I get the feeling you’re usually pretty busy.”

Matt’s smile was warm enough to drown out the millions of other questions Foggy had brimming behind his teeth.

“Yeah,” he huffed, “I’ll make time.”

I'm sorry if it seems like I'm just holding off on taking Foggy to Hell! It'll happen! I promise! My playlist offer from last chapter still stands!

(A!Anon) With the Wesley incident, I found it very probable that Karen would probably make that connection with Foggy's sudden absence. I'm glad you liked this chapter though! Dorky Matt has become my favorite to write.

Just saying, as a disabled person who doesn't look disabled, I get all kinds of nasty comments and looks when I use handicapped parking. It doesn't even stop when I pull out the little placard.

still loving this!

This is so good!

(are you posting this on the WIP Fills post? I can't find it on there.)

(A!anon) :DDDD Thank you!!!

(A!anon) thank you!!

Oh crap I completely forgot to do that (9 chapters in, yikes I'm a dingus) >A< Thank you for reminding me!!!

HELL YES SOMEONE PLEASE

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