True to Matthew’s word, things did, in fact, go okay. Better than okay.
Matthew Michaels became Matthew Michael Murdock, or Matt for short. Foggy put Harvard Law behind him and entered Columbia University. Once he got past remembering every five minutes that Matt was a demon, they got used to each other surprisingly quickly, and rooming together was a blast. Matt began smiling more and more, and by the end of their first year, he was laughing freely when they were alone. It wasn’t hard to start thinking of Matt as his friend not because he had to be, but because he wanted to be.
They graduated—Matt at the top of their class, the cheater—and went to work for Landman and Zack. It was mostly because Matt had some investigating to do within their ranks (and, Foggy suspected, some deals to make). Once he got the information he needed, they left the skin-crawling environment to open their own little firm, mixing local pro bono cases with the bigger ones needed to put them on the map.
They also got separate apartments for the first time since meeting, and that was honestly the hardest thing for Foggy to adjust to. He missed Matt, missed his company and his humour, but Matt insisted that it was the best thing to do. His real ‘business’ in Hell’s Kitchen had started picking up, so it would be safer for Foggy to keep a little bit of distance.
They didn’t need money, of course. Matt could create cash with a thought anytime he wanted to, and he certainly took advantage of the ability: tailored suits and silk sheets were a luxury he was happy to indulge in. Foggy insisted on living on honest wages, but given that he didn’t want Matt to use his powers to Charm customers their way, there were times he was certainly stretched thin. He wouldn’t accept Matt’s fabricated money (“You’ll throw off the economy, buddy”), but he couldn’t make himself say no to the food that would magically appear in his refrigerator or the waivers he got on late penalties for his bills.
That said, Matt didn’t always abuse his powers. He regularly forgot to eat, he didn’t always remember to heal his body, his real job seemed to involve a lot less deal-making and a lot more face-breaking, and it turned out that he really, actually was completely blind.
(“I told you my other senses were stronger than yours,” he reminded the first time Foggy tried getting them to watch a movie. “My vision is not one of them. A movie reads as a flat surface to me.” “Huh. Okay. Well, we’ll stay in and I’ll narrate for you. It’s Star Wars, man—you can’t live on Earth and not experience George Lucas!”)
When superheroes started popping up, Matt didn’t seem surprised, but the limitations to his awareness of the bigger picture were made clear when the Chitauri attacked New York and he was genuinely shocked. The workings of Heaven and Hell and the meaning of life weren’t things he discussed ever, and he’d known that other worlds with their own systems of existence were around, but he wasn’t omniscient; he’d had no idea they would attack until they did.
Matt became the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and they’d snicker when they saw the headlines. The snickering would vanish, however, every time Foggy got kidnapped—and he definitely got kidnapped. He was hurt a number of times, and hurt quite badly once in a blue moon. But Matt was a man of his word: he always showed up to save him, and he always took care of him afterward. With each new attack, there were more and more apologies, more remorse that he couldn’t just heal him instantly without blowing their cover, more gifts, more time spent together.
After Matt graduated to being called Daredevil—after rumours started going around about Nelson & Murdock being connected to the infamous vigilante—after figures like the Punisher and Elektra joined the local crime-fighting scene, they gave up on the protection of distance and moved back in together.
Seven years went by. Eight. Ten.
Foggy was happy.
**
One night, Foggy woke up to Matt looming in the doorway to his bedroom. For the first time in a long time, his friend looked like the demon he really was.
Fear began to crawl up his throat. “Is it time?” he rasped.
Matt nodded. “Let’s go.”
**
Foggy thought he’d been ready.
In truth, he’d probably just been in denial.
“Are you sure we d-don’t need to give a move-out notice?” he asked nervously. “I mean. I don’t want to screw our landlord over. I like our landlord. She’s not seedy. And K-Karen, we should call Karen one last time—”
“Apartment paperwork’s done,” Matt interrupted. “I nudged the landlord’s memory so she thinks we submitted it a month ago.” He paused before adding, “and there’s a reason Karen decided to move to L.A.”
“That was your influence?” Foggy asked, aghast. “You don’t like to Charm innocents!”
Matt’s shoulders drooped. “She’s really not that innocent. Hasn’t been for a few years. And no, it was not my fault.”
“I wasn’t going to ask if it was,” Foggy muttered. He totally was.
“And this was safer for her than staying in Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt continued. “Believe me, things will get worse here before they get better, but—there’s more balance now. More heroes to skew all of the trash climbing out of every corner. More humans taking initiative.”
“Dissenting from the indifference,” Foggy murmured, wringing his hands.
Finally smiling again, even if it was fleeting, Matt nodded. “And the apathy. And the fear, the hatred, and the mistrust.”
Foggy nodded back, more a mimicry of Matt’s actions than a conscious gesture. He took a deep breath and was alarmed when a terrified squeak came out against his intentions. “Oh, god. Is it going to hurt?”
“Only the moment I detach your soul. It’ll be like the prick of a needle,” Matt soothed. “Only about twenty times stronger.”
“I hate needles,” Foggy groaned.
Matt looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. It could be worse. You’re not trying to run from your contract, so the Hellhounds aren’t involved.”
“The… you actually have Hellhounds? You sic Hellhounds on people?”
Matt froze. “Uh. Nope. Of course not.”
Foggy glared at him judgingly. “I’m glaring at you judgingly.”
Matt cringed a little. “Not… generally?” he offered carefully. “Only for the really evil souls?”
“Trying to run from a terrifying promise of death doesn’t automatically make someone really evil!”
“It’s usually the really evil people who think they can escape it,” Matt clarified. “I swear I don’t send Hellhounds after the average contract.”
Foggy squinted at him. “You don’t. Other demons do.”
“Of course not.” Matt smiled too brightly.
Bullshit. “You are such a bad liar!”
Matt deflated. “Only around you,” he mourned. “We’ve spent too much time around each other. You put my guard down. I’m going to be a laughingstock when we Descend.”
Descend. With a capital D. Oh, god. Foggy was actually about to go to Hell.
His knees gave out, but Matt caught him before he could hit the floor. He didn’t show off his inhuman strength often—in part because he’d been convincingly playing the role of a squishy human pincushion for a decade now, and in part because he thought it was funny to watch Foggy trip or drop things or fall off ledges—but it seemed like the entire façade really was ready to blow.
They sank to the floor together. Foggy wished it was carpeted so he could have something to cling to for just a minute. “What’s—can you tell me what happens next?” he asked. “Can—what’s—is my soul going to be absorbed?”
Matt started. “What?”
“Or is the eternity of torture thing literal?”
“It is, but Foggy—”
“Am I—I’m not going to see my dad, am I?”
A look of panic crossed Matt’s face, and he reached over to wipe at the tears that had worked free. Warring with himself for a moment, he gave up and wrapped Foggy in a hug. “Nothing bad will happen to you,” he asserted firmly, squeezing. “I won’t let it. Don’t worry. I told you, I take care of what’s mine. Nobody and nothing will hurt you.”
Foggy clung to him, knowing it would be the last time he’d ever feel the obnoxiously, adorably pretentious silk of Matt’s shirt. Giving up on trying to pretend to be brave, he tucked his eyes against Matt’s shoulder and cried.
And cried.
And cried.
When he was all cried out, he drifted back into awareness to feel Matt rocking him back and forth. “Am I dead yet?”
Matt snorted, the puff of air brushing over the top of his ear. “I wasn’t going to extract your soul while you were crying on me,” he drawled, although his expression was still one of concern. “Are you okay now?”
Foggy swallowed. “As okay as I’m going to be.”
“Foggy. You’re going to be fine,” Matt repeated. “I promised, right?”
Yeah, he’d promised. That was the most Foggy ever got out of him the few times the topic of the end of the contract had come up. But he also hadn’t forgotten that the contract was based on false promises of a good future.
“Foggy,” Matt called again, softer this time. “Don’t be scared. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll take care of you. You trust me, right?”
With a choked laugh, Foggy nodded. Matt was a demon, a being whose real name could make his ears bleed from the unearthly sounds, a being whose existence was to convince suckers to sign over their souls to him.
It didn’t change a thing.
“God help me, but I do. You—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Foggy whispered.
Matt smiled. “Then let’s go.”
**
It ended like it began: with a kiss and a sharp burst of pain and a pulling sensation—
**
Cold.
Hot?
Cold. Icy cold, shivers, shards, tearing apart his skin—
Flames licking at him from the inside out, coals burning in his gut, blistering
Silk.
Wind or water or wind and water slicking all around him. He was being battered, but it didn’t hurt—he was aware of the sensations, but he was numb to them—he was—
Requiem Æternam [Part 1.3]
True to Matthew’s word, things did, in fact, go okay. Better than okay.
Matthew Michaels became Matthew Michael Murdock, or Matt for short. Foggy put Harvard Law behind him and entered Columbia University. Once he got past remembering every five minutes that Matt was a demon, they got used to each other surprisingly quickly, and rooming together was a blast. Matt began smiling more and more, and by the end of their first year, he was laughing freely when they were alone. It wasn’t hard to start thinking of Matt as his friend not because he had to be, but because he wanted to be.
They graduated—Matt at the top of their class, the cheater—and went to work for Landman and Zack. It was mostly because Matt had some investigating to do within their ranks (and, Foggy suspected, some deals to make). Once he got the information he needed, they left the skin-crawling environment to open their own little firm, mixing local pro bono cases with the bigger ones needed to put them on the map.
They also got separate apartments for the first time since meeting, and that was honestly the hardest thing for Foggy to adjust to. He missed Matt, missed his company and his humour, but Matt insisted that it was the best thing to do. His real ‘business’ in Hell’s Kitchen had started picking up, so it would be safer for Foggy to keep a little bit of distance.
They didn’t need money, of course. Matt could create cash with a thought anytime he wanted to, and he certainly took advantage of the ability: tailored suits and silk sheets were a luxury he was happy to indulge in. Foggy insisted on living on honest wages, but given that he didn’t want Matt to use his powers to Charm customers their way, there were times he was certainly stretched thin. He wouldn’t accept Matt’s fabricated money (“You’ll throw off the economy, buddy”), but he couldn’t make himself say no to the food that would magically appear in his refrigerator or the waivers he got on late penalties for his bills.
That said, Matt didn’t always abuse his powers. He regularly forgot to eat, he didn’t always remember to heal his body, his real job seemed to involve a lot less deal-making and a lot more face-breaking, and it turned out that he really, actually was completely blind.
(“I told you my other senses were stronger than yours,” he reminded the first time Foggy tried getting them to watch a movie. “My vision is not one of them. A movie reads as a flat surface to me.” “Huh. Okay. Well, we’ll stay in and I’ll narrate for you. It’s Star Wars, man—you can’t live on Earth and not experience George Lucas!”)
When superheroes started popping up, Matt didn’t seem surprised, but the limitations to his awareness of the bigger picture were made clear when the Chitauri attacked New York and he was genuinely shocked. The workings of Heaven and Hell and the meaning of life weren’t things he discussed ever, and he’d known that other worlds with their own systems of existence were around, but he wasn’t omniscient; he’d had no idea they would attack until they did.
Matt became the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and they’d snicker when they saw the headlines. The snickering would vanish, however, every time Foggy got kidnapped—and he definitely got kidnapped. He was hurt a number of times, and hurt quite badly once in a blue moon. But Matt was a man of his word: he always showed up to save him, and he always took care of him afterward. With each new attack, there were more and more apologies, more remorse that he couldn’t just heal him instantly without blowing their cover, more gifts, more time spent together.
After Matt graduated to being called Daredevil—after rumours started going around about Nelson & Murdock being connected to the infamous vigilante—after figures like the Punisher and Elektra joined the local crime-fighting scene, they gave up on the protection of distance and moved back in together.
Seven years went by. Eight. Ten.
Foggy was happy.
**
One night, Foggy woke up to Matt looming in the doorway to his bedroom. For the first time in a long time, his friend looked like the demon he really was.
Fear began to crawl up his throat. “Is it time?” he rasped.
Matt nodded. “Let’s go.”
**
Foggy thought he’d been ready.
In truth, he’d probably just been in denial.
“Are you sure we d-don’t need to give a move-out notice?” he asked nervously. “I mean. I don’t want to screw our landlord over. I like our landlord. She’s not seedy. And K-Karen, we should call Karen one last time—”
“Apartment paperwork’s done,” Matt interrupted. “I nudged the landlord’s memory so she thinks we submitted it a month ago.” He paused before adding, “and there’s a reason Karen decided to move to L.A.”
“That was your influence?” Foggy asked, aghast. “You don’t like to Charm innocents!”
Matt’s shoulders drooped. “She’s really not that innocent. Hasn’t been for a few years. And no, it was not my fault.”
“I wasn’t going to ask if it was,” Foggy muttered. He totally was.
“And this was safer for her than staying in Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt continued. “Believe me, things will get worse here before they get better, but—there’s more balance now. More heroes to skew all of the trash climbing out of every corner. More humans taking initiative.”
“Dissenting from the indifference,” Foggy murmured, wringing his hands.
Finally smiling again, even if it was fleeting, Matt nodded. “And the apathy. And the fear, the hatred, and the mistrust.”
Foggy nodded back, more a mimicry of Matt’s actions than a conscious gesture. He took a deep breath and was alarmed when a terrified squeak came out against his intentions. “Oh, god. Is it going to hurt?”
“Only the moment I detach your soul. It’ll be like the prick of a needle,” Matt soothed. “Only about twenty times stronger.”
“I hate needles,” Foggy groaned.
Matt looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. It could be worse. You’re not trying to run from your contract, so the Hellhounds aren’t involved.”
“The… you actually have Hellhounds? You sic Hellhounds on people?”
Matt froze. “Uh. Nope. Of course not.”
Foggy glared at him judgingly. “I’m glaring at you judgingly.”
Matt cringed a little. “Not… generally?” he offered carefully. “Only for the really evil souls?”
“Trying to run from a terrifying promise of death doesn’t automatically make someone really evil!”
“It’s usually the really evil people who think they can escape it,” Matt clarified. “I swear I don’t send Hellhounds after the average contract.”
Foggy squinted at him. “You don’t. Other demons do.”
“Of course not.” Matt smiled too brightly.
Bullshit. “You are such a bad liar!”
Matt deflated. “Only around you,” he mourned. “We’ve spent too much time around each other. You put my guard down. I’m going to be a laughingstock when we Descend.”
Descend. With a capital D. Oh, god. Foggy was actually about to go to Hell.
His knees gave out, but Matt caught him before he could hit the floor. He didn’t show off his inhuman strength often—in part because he’d been convincingly playing the role of a squishy human pincushion for a decade now, and in part because he thought it was funny to watch Foggy trip or drop things or fall off ledges—but it seemed like the entire façade really was ready to blow.
They sank to the floor together. Foggy wished it was carpeted so he could have something to cling to for just a minute. “What’s—can you tell me what happens next?” he asked. “Can—what’s—is my soul going to be absorbed?”
Matt started. “What?”
“Or is the eternity of torture thing literal?”
“It is, but Foggy—”
“Am I—I’m not going to see my dad, am I?”
A look of panic crossed Matt’s face, and he reached over to wipe at the tears that had worked free. Warring with himself for a moment, he gave up and wrapped Foggy in a hug. “Nothing bad will happen to you,” he asserted firmly, squeezing. “I won’t let it. Don’t worry. I told you, I take care of what’s mine. Nobody and nothing will hurt you.”
Foggy clung to him, knowing it would be the last time he’d ever feel the obnoxiously, adorably pretentious silk of Matt’s shirt. Giving up on trying to pretend to be brave, he tucked his eyes against Matt’s shoulder and cried.
And cried.
And cried.
When he was all cried out, he drifted back into awareness to feel Matt rocking him back and forth. “Am I dead yet?”
Matt snorted, the puff of air brushing over the top of his ear. “I wasn’t going to extract your soul while you were crying on me,” he drawled, although his expression was still one of concern. “Are you okay now?”
Foggy swallowed. “As okay as I’m going to be.”
“Foggy. You’re going to be fine,” Matt repeated. “I promised, right?”
Yeah, he’d promised. That was the most Foggy ever got out of him the few times the topic of the end of the contract had come up. But he also hadn’t forgotten that the contract was based on false promises of a good future.
“Foggy,” Matt called again, softer this time. “Don’t be scared. I’ll be with you the whole time. I’ll take care of you. You trust me, right?”
With a choked laugh, Foggy nodded. Matt was a demon, a being whose real name could make his ears bleed from the unearthly sounds, a being whose existence was to convince suckers to sign over their souls to him.
It didn’t change a thing.
“God help me, but I do. You—you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Foggy whispered.
Matt smiled. “Then let’s go.”
**
It ended like it began: with a kiss and a sharp burst of pain and a pulling sensation—
**
Cold.
Hot?
Cold. Icy cold, shivers, shards, tearing apart his skin—
Flames licking at him from the inside out, coals burning in his gut, blistering
Silk.
Wind or water or wind and water slicking all around him. He was being battered, but it didn’t hurt—he was aware of the sensations, but he was numb to them—he was—
Whispers.
Nonsense noises. Whistles. Hisses.
The sizzle before a zap of electricity.
Oppressive blackness.
Coals.
(No—sulfur—)
“—gy?”
Sleep.