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!