Aw man readers, I've had this chapter in the words for weeks now and i'm so excited to post it!!!! @u@ I hope you like it!!! This should mark a definite shift in the plot so buckle up!
Foggy was an admittedly heavy sleeper, so when he blinked awake at 3:06AM (on a weeknight too, a part of him groaned) he knew something was up. Sitting up, he quickly found out what it was.
Perched at the end of his bed was Matt. His profile was barely visible in the low light, but Foggy could tell that he was about to deal with some Olympic-grade brooding.
Foggy groaned, “I wish I could say this isn’t the creepiest way I’ve ever been woken up. What up, buddy? You OK?”
Matt didn’t say anything for a good long while, before he finally murmured, “I collected on a Contract tonight for another demon. In person.”
This was enough to set off alarms in Foggy’s head. The human sighed, steeled himself, and then drew from a lesson that his father had ingrained on him from the get-go: food might not solve problems, but wallowing in your misery on an empty stomach is somehow worse than when you were full.
“Hey, go take a seat in the kitchen. I’ll be right out and then we can talk.”
In lieu of an answer, Matt got up and shuffled out. Foggy sighed yet again, before rolling out of bed and stretching. Taking time to throw on a robe (because dang it, February was cold), Foggy soon followed after his friend.
Once in the kitchen, Foggy flipped on the lights. In the harsh fluorescence it became quickly obvious to him that Matt wasn’t on this plane with a decent sacrifice (Marci had been the one to fill him in on that detail, bless (maybe?) her heart). His vessel’s skin was patchy with splotches of unnatural color, his hands were just this side of too spindly and clawed, and atop his skull sat two little nubby horns that would have been adorable if not for the situation. Matt had never been this far from human with him before.
Foggy made a beeline to his emergency cocoa powder stash, already dreading what was to come.
“I’m gonna make some hot chocolate, kay? It’s what my dad used to make whenever he felt that he hit rock bottom. Left me a mean recipe. It’s not much, but it’s something I can do.”
Matt grunted, “You could try taking this seriously.”
“Matt,” Foggy turned to level a flat look at the Devil, “I am. Stop trying to pick a fight. You need to solidify a bit and this might help.” Foggy turned back to his pantry, plucking containers of cloves, cayenne, and cinnamon from the shelves to use later, before moving to the fridge to grab the other ingredients. “I am listening however, so talk as much or as little as you want.”
It took about 5 minutes of Foggy bustling about before Matt chose to speak.
“He wasn’t a good man, they guy I collected. He lied, stole, and hurt people even before he entered into a Contract. He moved up to murder once he entered into that agreement.”
Foggy hummed, “But…?”
“…he made the deal to protect a friend. He wanted to keep their activities and identities out of the public eye. His friend would have probably gotten caught without the protection.” Foggy nodded, efficiently zesting an orange into the pot of heating milk. Behind him, Matt started absently running his fingers over the scratches in Foggy’s old kitchen table.
“They both went public after the deal ran out. That was months ago.”
Foggy looked up from the stove. “So what gives? Someone on your end goof up?” Matt shook his head. “My people don’t goof up on collecting Contracts, especially with such influential people. This man had protection.”
“Protection?” Foggy scoffed, “From the forces of Hell?” Matt nodded and Foggy sighed, “What, did he have like, an angel or something?”
“Partially,” Matt deadpanned, “He make friends with a human descended from the Nephilim. One that knows her way around a pentagram.”
“Oh,” Foggy said, probably more shocked than he should be. “That sounds bad.”
“Half-angels are the worst,” Matt scowled, “All of the righteousness of an actual angel, but none of the direction. They get their teeth into something and it’s nigh impossible for them to stop. The witch gave him protection enough to keep the Contract-holder off his back as long as he did.”
Foggy went back to stirring the cocoa. “So what was different about tonight?”
“She was indisposed. The charity ball she was attending with the Contract-holder’s friend had something nasty in the champagne. Not my fault. None of my people know who did it.”
“Hmmm…”
“…he was dead before I got to him. He went to intimidate someone he suspected of poisoning the half-blood, but he got himself shot.” Matt snorted, “The Contract was the only thing keeping him on this plane.”
“So that’s how you caught him.”
“Yeah, but Foggy,” Matt took a deep breath. “He was— the things he did were horrendous. And trying to get out of a deal using a half-angel— that's just asking for trouble. I had to deal with him myself; there is no higher authority he could have gone to.”
Foggy said nothing, but made a quick detour to grab a can of whipped cream he kept for particularly bad nights. This seemed like an appropriate occasion.
“I worked him over for days, Foggy. Days and he didn’t once try to bargain with me to get off the rack, he didn’t ask for a way out, no matter how much I ripped him apart. Most don’t make it an hour under my lash. By the time we were done he was unrecognizable, but he didn’t break. It was like he knew he deserved it. And I don’t think he regretted it.”
Matt’s voice quieted to a whisper by the end of this small speech. Foggy was suddenly reminded of two things. One was his earlier conversation with Marci; her words of caution seemed suddenly infinitely more applicable. The second was Matt dodging Foggy’s earlier questions about what he did every day. This was Matt fessing up; this was Matt coming right out and saying that yes, he did in fact torture human souls on a daily basis.
But this was also the same Matt who hated puns and anything licorice-flavored, and couldn’t take his coffee with anything less than four little packets of sugar.
This was Matt, who was shaken enough by a soul not regretting its own awful actions that he came to Foggy to reconcile.
Matt, who was probably waiting for Foggy to get angry, even though he was just doing what he felt was right.
Staring into the cocoa whirlpool he created, Foggy said slowly, “He scares you.”
“Humans scare me,” Matt’s brittle scoff rang around the small room uncomfortably. “I’ve been doing this for centuries and I still- they just-” Here, Matt made a frustrated noise before hissing, “They’re mistakes. They always were. They do awful things constantly and play into my hands like they were made for it. Useless.”
A bit dazedly, Foggy mused that he should probably write this down later. He’d make a killing off of it in the right occult circles. He tried to ignore the very tangible waves of rage that rolled off of Matt, slowly pushing everything away from the fallen angel ever so slightly and sending chills down his spine.
“And they’re so easy to fool too. It’s great! And when it comes time for me to step in…” Here, Foggy could hear Matt drag in a raspy wheeze of a breath before sighing, “They scream so p̭̲̬̱̝̲̪͈͐̓̎͂r̰̹̠̍̆̏ͭe̜̣͎̦̳̦̽͒̋͂ͭͪͅt̮̩͙̭̏ͤt̞͕͕̉͑̑̈́̋́ͥ̈́y̥̻̎͆͗̋͌͋̾̔.”
The last word hung in the air, until Foggy turned, heart hammering in his chest, to look at Matt, who seemed to be somehow less human than when he had last looked (though for the life of him, he couldn’t exactly say how).
Matt seemed to shake himself.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, “That was uncalled for.”
Foggy chose not to respond, but turned back to the stove. Silently, he tested the cocoa, before pouring it into two of his favorite mugs, chipped and worn with age. After taking some time to top off their mugs with whipped cream, he brought them over to the table. “Your two-o’-clock,” he murmured, setting Matt’s mug in front of him.
The devil took the cup without comment. Cautiously he took a sip, and Foggy could see the discolored patches on his skin meld back into pale peach and the bones in his hands reform themselves into something a bit more human. The horns however, stayed.
“And then there’s you and him.” Matt’s mutter into his mug made Foggy look up.
“Him? Like, upstairs Him?”
“No,” Matt’s answer was quick and he jerked his head up to look at Foggy sharply. The effect was slightly ruined by the spot of whipped cream on the tip of his nose, but Foggy tried to ignore the funny feelings that particular detail did to his chest.
“No, I was talking about the soul I collected. You both… made deals to benefit others. Others who aren’t necessarily good people.”
Foggy hummed into his own mug. “Some people would call that noble. You did.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t inane.”
Foggy considered Matt carefully, the expression behind his glasses was more troubled than angry, there was clearly something deeper than this. “He and I both made our decisions.” Foggy took a sip from his mug, steeling himself for the next thing that came out of his mouth.
“I think you’d know a few things about that.”
Matt went off like a supernova in Foggy’s kitchen.
“Both you and him are going to pay for those decisions for all of eternity! You have literally no idea what that entails!”
“Some decisions are worth it.” Foggy’s calm voice betrayed how hard his heart was beating. This seemed to frustrate Matt even further.
“How could you possibly know that? You can’t!” he spat, his hands gripped tighter at the mug in his hands. “You humans never learn! If you’d all just accept what you’re given and break even instead of being selfish and questioning how things are then you’d be spared a literal eternity of pain— and you can trust me on that last part— and then I wouldn’t have had to step in and do what’s meant to be done!”
The frantic, bitter edge to Matt’s voice spurred Foggy into action. With hardly a thought spared for how this could go wrong, he stood and hastily crossed the space to Matt’s chair to stand by the other, who was still ranting.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s noble or right or whatever! Once you’ve cast yourself out of good graces that soundly there- there’s no going back and you don’t seem to get-”
Almost on autopilot, Foggy thread his fingers into Matt’s hair, reaching for any friendly contact that would bring him back from whatever ugly place his own memories dragged him. Matt immediately barely leaned into the touch, angry words dying on his tongue. Foggy took the hint and leaned in as well, hands running down to cup the back of Matt’s neck (trying frantically not to think about how intimate the gesture was).
Matt however, in all of his ‘personal-space-is-a-human-construct-that-I-don’t-understand-nor-do-I-want-to-since-it-can-be-used-to-unnerve-some’ glory, took no notice and twisted to bury his face into Foggy’s side.
“You were projecting a bit,” Foggy murmured, hand going back to smoothing back Matt’s hair, carefully avoiding his horns.
“Was not.” Matt’s petulant mutter was enough to make Foggy chuckle.
“Whatever, you know I’m right.”
Matt hummed, face still pressed into Foggy. “You usually are.”
Foggy tried to ignore the hitching breath that came from Matt, if for nothing more than the dignity of the other, but they still tugged at his heartstrings. Against his better instincts, Foggy leaned over Matt in a protective curl.
“Shh. Matt, Matty, I’ve got you.”
Matt turned his face towards Foggy’s voice, and the human was a tad started to see that somehow the other’s glasses remained intact and still perched on Matt’s face.
“Yeah you do, ironically enough,” Matt murmured, obviously contemplating whatever implications that had for him.
“My life is ironic,” Foggy groused, only half-joking. Matt huffed out a laugh before re-burying his face into the terrycloth of Foggy’s robe. The human frowned at that; he knew how sensitive Matt’s skin could be.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Foggy gently admonished, but if Matt’s answering groan was anything to go off of, then he didn’t care, or was just too wrapped up in physical touch to do anything.
Foggy felt a fond smile creep onto his face. “Tell you what,” he finally bargained, “You finish up that cocoa, mine too if you want, and stick around for a while. I’ll throw on a sweater that doesn’t feel like sandpaper to you and we can start up where we left up on the couch where you don’t have to twist your neck like that.”
Matt was silent for a while before finally sighing, “Fine.”
With one final stroke to Matt’s hair, Foggy extracted himself from Matt’s clinging hands. “Good, I’ll be right back.”
This was how an hour later, you could find the two laying on Foggy’s beaten up old couch, Matt on top of Foggy, with the human’s hand stroking through his hair. In the background, an old “Wheezer” album played, low enough for the two to talk quietly over it.
It had been a long time since Matt had enjoyed a pleasure so simple. It had been a long time since he had been this at peace.
It was then that Matt realized that Foggy meant more to him than a source of possible chastisement, despite his original intentions.
He had originally been planning to place Foggy at a high position in Hell’s chain of command as a show of how confidence in Foggy’s ability to reason and clearly perceive the nuances of human (read: grey) morality, but Matt knew that this wasn't enough. Matt wanted something a bit more personal.
Sure, Foggy would still get his high office, but Matt could also see something to the tune of “Consort” in his future.
Now all he had to do was run the idea past Foggy. Just like he had to tell him that Gusion had made sure that Foggy would be able to transition into the Ether (any by extension, Hell) smoothly by permissioning him to exist between fae and demons and gods alike after his Contract was up,
Applied Contract Law, 7/?
Foggy was an admittedly heavy sleeper, so when he blinked awake at 3:06AM (on a weeknight too, a part of him groaned) he knew something was up. Sitting up, he quickly found out what it was.
Perched at the end of his bed was Matt. His profile was barely visible in the low light, but Foggy could tell that he was about to deal with some Olympic-grade brooding.
Foggy groaned, “I wish I could say this isn’t the creepiest way I’ve ever been woken up. What up, buddy? You OK?”
Matt didn’t say anything for a good long while, before he finally murmured, “I collected on a Contract tonight for another demon. In person.”
This was enough to set off alarms in Foggy’s head. The human sighed, steeled himself, and then drew from a lesson that his father had ingrained on him from the get-go: food might not solve problems, but wallowing in your misery on an empty stomach is somehow worse than when you were full.
“Hey, go take a seat in the kitchen. I’ll be right out and then we can talk.”
In lieu of an answer, Matt got up and shuffled out. Foggy sighed yet again, before rolling out of bed and stretching. Taking time to throw on a robe (because dang it, February was cold), Foggy soon followed after his friend.
Once in the kitchen, Foggy flipped on the lights. In the harsh fluorescence it became quickly obvious to him that Matt wasn’t on this plane with a decent sacrifice (Marci had been the one to fill him in on that detail, bless (maybe?) her heart). His vessel’s skin was patchy with splotches of unnatural color, his hands were just this side of too spindly and clawed, and atop his skull sat two little nubby horns that would have been adorable if not for the situation. Matt had never been this far from human with him before.
Foggy made a beeline to his emergency cocoa powder stash, already dreading what was to come.
“I’m gonna make some hot chocolate, kay? It’s what my dad used to make whenever he felt that he hit rock bottom. Left me a mean recipe. It’s not much, but it’s something I can do.”
Matt grunted, “You could try taking this seriously.”
“Matt,” Foggy turned to level a flat look at the Devil, “I am. Stop trying to pick a fight. You need to solidify a bit and this might help.” Foggy turned back to his pantry, plucking containers of cloves, cayenne, and cinnamon from the shelves to use later, before moving to the fridge to grab the other ingredients. “I am listening however, so talk as much or as little as you want.”
It took about 5 minutes of Foggy bustling about before Matt chose to speak.
“He wasn’t a good man, they guy I collected. He lied, stole, and hurt people even before he entered into a Contract. He moved up to murder once he entered into that agreement.”
Foggy hummed, “But…?”
“…he made the deal to protect a friend. He wanted to keep their activities and identities out of the public eye. His friend would have probably gotten caught without the protection.” Foggy nodded, efficiently zesting an orange into the pot of heating milk. Behind him, Matt started absently running his fingers over the scratches in Foggy’s old kitchen table.
“They both went public after the deal ran out. That was months ago.”
Foggy looked up from the stove. “So what gives? Someone on your end goof up?” Matt shook his head. “My people don’t goof up on collecting Contracts, especially with such influential people. This man had protection.”
“Protection?” Foggy scoffed, “From the forces of Hell?” Matt nodded and Foggy sighed, “What, did he have like, an angel or something?”
“Partially,” Matt deadpanned, “He make friends with a human descended from the Nephilim. One that knows her way around a pentagram.”
“Oh,” Foggy said, probably more shocked than he should be. “That sounds bad.”
“Half-angels are the worst,” Matt scowled, “All of the righteousness of an actual angel, but none of the direction. They get their teeth into something and it’s nigh impossible for them to stop. The witch gave him protection enough to keep the Contract-holder off his back as long as he did.”
Foggy went back to stirring the cocoa. “So what was different about tonight?”
“She was indisposed. The charity ball she was attending with the Contract-holder’s friend had something nasty in the champagne. Not my fault. None of my people know who did it.”
“Hmmm…”
“…he was dead before I got to him. He went to intimidate someone he suspected of poisoning the half-blood, but he got himself shot.” Matt snorted, “The Contract was the only thing keeping him on this plane.”
“So that’s how you caught him.”
“Yeah, but Foggy,” Matt took a deep breath. “He was— the things he did were horrendous. And trying to get out of a deal using a half-angel— that's just asking for trouble. I had to deal with him myself; there is no higher authority he could have gone to.”
Foggy said nothing, but made a quick detour to grab a can of whipped cream he kept for particularly bad nights. This seemed like an appropriate occasion.
“I worked him over for days, Foggy. Days and he didn’t once try to bargain with me to get off the rack, he didn’t ask for a way out, no matter how much I ripped him apart. Most don’t make it an hour under my lash. By the time we were done he was unrecognizable, but he didn’t break. It was like he knew he deserved it. And I don’t think he regretted it.”
Matt’s voice quieted to a whisper by the end of this small speech. Foggy was suddenly reminded of two things. One was his earlier conversation with Marci; her words of caution seemed suddenly infinitely more applicable. The second was Matt dodging Foggy’s earlier questions about what he did every day. This was Matt fessing up; this was Matt coming right out and saying that yes, he did in fact torture human souls on a daily basis.
But this was also the same Matt who hated puns and anything licorice-flavored, and couldn’t take his coffee with anything less than four little packets of sugar.
This was Matt, who was shaken enough by a soul not regretting its own awful actions that he came to Foggy to reconcile.
Matt, who was probably waiting for Foggy to get angry, even though he was just doing what he felt was right.
Staring into the cocoa whirlpool he created, Foggy said slowly, “He scares you.”
“Humans scare me,” Matt’s brittle scoff rang around the small room uncomfortably. “I’ve been doing this for centuries and I still- they just-” Here, Matt made a frustrated noise before hissing, “They’re mistakes. They always were. They do awful things constantly and play into my hands like they were made for it. Useless.”
A bit dazedly, Foggy mused that he should probably write this down later. He’d make a killing off of it in the right occult circles. He tried to ignore the very tangible waves of rage that rolled off of Matt, slowly pushing everything away from the fallen angel ever so slightly and sending chills down his spine.
“And they’re so easy to fool too. It’s great! And when it comes time for me to step in…” Here, Foggy could hear Matt drag in a raspy wheeze of a breath before sighing, “They scream so p̭̲̬̱̝̲̪͈͐̓̎͂r̰̹̠̍̆̏ͭe̜̣͎̦̳̦̽͒̋͂ͭͪͅt̮̩͙̭̏ͤt̞͕͕̉͑̑̈́̋́ͥ̈́y̥̻̎͆͗̋͌͋̾̔.”
The last word hung in the air, until Foggy turned, heart hammering in his chest, to look at Matt, who seemed to be somehow less human than when he had last looked (though for the life of him, he couldn’t exactly say how).
Matt seemed to shake himself.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, “That was uncalled for.”
Foggy chose not to respond, but turned back to the stove. Silently, he tested the cocoa, before pouring it into two of his favorite mugs, chipped and worn with age. After taking some time to top off their mugs with whipped cream, he brought them over to the table. “Your two-o’-clock,” he murmured, setting Matt’s mug in front of him.
The devil took the cup without comment. Cautiously he took a sip, and Foggy could see the discolored patches on his skin meld back into pale peach and the bones in his hands reform themselves into something a bit more human. The horns however, stayed.
“And then there’s you and him.” Matt’s mutter into his mug made Foggy look up.
“Him? Like, upstairs Him?”
“No,” Matt’s answer was quick and he jerked his head up to look at Foggy sharply. The effect was slightly ruined by the spot of whipped cream on the tip of his nose, but Foggy tried to ignore the funny feelings that particular detail did to his chest.
“No, I was talking about the soul I collected. You both… made deals to benefit others. Others who aren’t necessarily good people.”
Foggy hummed into his own mug. “Some people would call that noble. You did.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t inane.”
Foggy considered Matt carefully, the expression behind his glasses was more troubled than angry, there was clearly something deeper than this. “He and I both made our decisions.” Foggy took a sip from his mug, steeling himself for the next thing that came out of his mouth.
“I think you’d know a few things about that.”
Matt went off like a supernova in Foggy’s kitchen.
“Both you and him are going to pay for those decisions for all of eternity! You have literally no idea what that entails!”
“Some decisions are worth it.” Foggy’s calm voice betrayed how hard his heart was beating. This seemed to frustrate Matt even further.
“How could you possibly know that? You can’t!” he spat, his hands gripped tighter at the mug in his hands. “You humans never learn! If you’d all just accept what you’re given and break even instead of being selfish and questioning how things are then you’d be spared a literal eternity of pain— and you can trust me on that last part— and then I wouldn’t have had to step in and do what’s meant to be done!”
The frantic, bitter edge to Matt’s voice spurred Foggy into action. With hardly a thought spared for how this could go wrong, he stood and hastily crossed the space to Matt’s chair to stand by the other, who was still ranting.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s noble or right or whatever! Once you’ve cast yourself out of good graces that soundly there- there’s no going back and you don’t seem to get-”
Almost on autopilot, Foggy thread his fingers into Matt’s hair, reaching for any friendly contact that would bring him back from whatever ugly place his own memories dragged him. Matt immediately barely leaned into the touch, angry words dying on his tongue. Foggy took the hint and leaned in as well, hands running down to cup the back of Matt’s neck (trying frantically not to think about how intimate the gesture was).
Matt however, in all of his ‘personal-space-is-a-human-construct-that-I-don’t-understand-nor-do-I-want-to-since-it-can-be-used-to-unnerve-some’ glory, took no notice and twisted to bury his face into Foggy’s side.
“You were projecting a bit,” Foggy murmured, hand going back to smoothing back Matt’s hair, carefully avoiding his horns.
“Was not.” Matt’s petulant mutter was enough to make Foggy chuckle.
“Whatever, you know I’m right.”
Matt hummed, face still pressed into Foggy. “You usually are.”
Foggy tried to ignore the hitching breath that came from Matt, if for nothing more than the dignity of the other, but they still tugged at his heartstrings. Against his better instincts, Foggy leaned over Matt in a protective curl.
“Shh. Matt, Matty, I’ve got you.”
Matt turned his face towards Foggy’s voice, and the human was a tad started to see that somehow the other’s glasses remained intact and still perched on Matt’s face.
“Yeah you do, ironically enough,” Matt murmured, obviously contemplating whatever implications that had for him.
“My life is ironic,” Foggy groused, only half-joking. Matt huffed out a laugh before re-burying his face into the terrycloth of Foggy’s robe. The human frowned at that; he knew how sensitive Matt’s skin could be.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Foggy gently admonished, but if Matt’s answering groan was anything to go off of, then he didn’t care, or was just too wrapped up in physical touch to do anything.
Foggy felt a fond smile creep onto his face. “Tell you what,” he finally bargained, “You finish up that cocoa, mine too if you want, and stick around for a while. I’ll throw on a sweater that doesn’t feel like sandpaper to you and we can start up where we left up on the couch where you don’t have to twist your neck like that.”
Matt was silent for a while before finally sighing, “Fine.”
With one final stroke to Matt’s hair, Foggy extracted himself from Matt’s clinging hands. “Good, I’ll be right back.”
This was how an hour later, you could find the two laying on Foggy’s beaten up old couch, Matt on top of Foggy, with the human’s hand stroking through his hair. In the background, an old “Wheezer” album played, low enough for the two to talk quietly over it.
It had been a long time since Matt had enjoyed a pleasure so simple. It had been a long time since he had been this at peace.
It was then that Matt realized that Foggy meant more to him than a source of possible chastisement, despite his original intentions.
He had originally been planning to place Foggy at a high position in Hell’s chain of command as a show of how confidence in Foggy’s ability to reason and clearly perceive the nuances of human (read: grey) morality, but Matt knew that this wasn't enough. Matt wanted something a bit more personal.
Sure, Foggy would still get his high office, but Matt could also see something to the tune of “Consort” in his future.
Now all he had to do was run the idea past Foggy. Just like he had to tell him that Gusion had made sure that Foggy would be able to transition into the Ether (any by extension, Hell) smoothly by permissioning him to exist between fae and demons and gods alike after his Contract was up,
That couldn’t be that hard.