daredevilkink | Prompt Post #4

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Aw man, readers. another day another chapter. Um, out of curiosity, I'm thinking of putting together a playlist for this story since tbh I've done that for shorter ones before and was wondering if any of you would want the link and/or to make suggestions. I'm really curious to hear what you have to say! ^u^

The next few years passed in a bit of a blur. When Foggy wasn’t busy at work (which amped up when some big-wig politician bent on illegal gentrification of Hell’s Kitchen was put away and then cases started coming out of the woodwork), networking his merry way across half of New York State, or socializing, he was making preparations for when his curtains would come down.

This last bit was an odd process. On one hand, you had the practical aspects of this… relocation. Some of these included making sure that Karen got a job with the New York Bulletin (a Mr. Urich had been very instrumental in convincing his boss to get her an interview), hammering out his last will and testament, making sure all of his clients knew that he would eventually be moving “Down Under” and really wouldn’t be able to reach him after November 6th, no really he was going somewhere quite remote and wasn’t even sure if he could receive e-mails.

Then there was the more emotional stuff. The messier part.

Foggy didn’t exactly have a lot of close ties with people. He didn’t have any quirky childhood friends that stuck around long enough and most of his college and law school friends had moved on and that suited Foggy just fine; he felt that a lot of those relationships had run their courses. As for family, well, after his father died during his sophomore year of college, all that Foggy had in the way of family that still contacted him was his mother (see also: the direct cause for his alienation from the rest of the Nelson Clan), and his relationship with her was rocky, to say the least.

Truth be told, the last time they had talked was when Foggy told her he was going to go into defense instead of prosecution. Rosalind Sharp had clicked her tongue, forced out a stiff, “More power to you, Franklin,” and then they said their goodbyes. The phone call lasted less than four minutes. That was years ago.

Some part of Foggy wanted to reach out to her, not for the Life Time-worthy reconciliation that he was sure wouldn’t happen, but rather to ask her what the fuck her problem was. But he knew that ship had already sailed. He wouldn’t get any answers that would fix those years, he wouldn’t come out the other end and forgive her, and Foggy was almost certain she didn’t see the problem with her clearly abusive child-rearing tactics such as withholding food as motivation or ignoring every accomplishment he shared with her but hyper-focusing on his failures.

No, the biggest tie he had to sever was with Karen. He was going to miss her. She was probably the best (human) friend he ever had, even if they had only known each other for less than 5 years when all was said and done.

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.

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.

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

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.

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).

If Matt’s idea of being subtle he was doing a piss-poor job of it, but Foggy wasn’t upset. Foggy got being touch-starved, and it seemed like Matt felt he couldn’t just ask for some contact and instead was weaseling it out of Foggy in the only way he knew.

Additionally, Matt also seemed to let go of a lot of reservations he had about telling Foggy what was going on at his work and started giving more active opinions on whatever Foggy was doing. All in all, he got a lot more talkative, and their nights in became more of a dialogue than Foggy monologue-ing.

And the fact that Matt was funny and caring and too fucking perfect to be fair was just icing to the cake and more often than not left Foggy breathless in that typical pain/giddiness that feelings and such often brought.

Ugh, his life was a mess and Foggy was roughly 70% sure that Matt didn’t notice the particular brand of hell he was giving the human. For being a relatively omnipotent being, there were times where Matt was cringe-worthy-ing oblivious.

This particular quirk can be best illustrated by an event about half way through Foggy’s Contract period. The two had decided that for once, the New York summer heat was more pleasant than miserable and had decided to roam around Hell’s Kitchen to kill off some boredom. Everything had been sunshine and ice cream (literally, Matt couldn’t go too long in public without a sacrifice before he started popping out extra appendages), until they stopped at a park and Foggy absently started narrating what was going on around them.

“…there’s a guy across the way that has the most horrendous shirt on. I’m pretty sure he took one of those Hawaiian shirts and used it to make a tank top, with safety scissors.”

“Hm,” Matt said, gnawing on a popsicle, “‘A’ for originality. Is he carrying a margarita? That would complete the look.”

“Aaah, nope.”

“Damn, ‘C’ for effort.”

Foggy’s laugh at that was an embarrassing snort of a thing, but it made Matt grin all the same. Chewing contemplatively on the end of his popsicle stick, Matt nudged Foggy’s side. “What else you got?”

“Hmmm, ah, there’s a couple to our ten o’ clock using the walking trail, a guy and a girl. They look like they’re talking about something serious, but more importantly I’ve seen grad students during finals that look less jittery than their dog.”

Matt took a second to drop reach out in the general white noise of the public space, until he heard a grave voice around the same distance at the noise that tiny, pattering paws made.

“…don’t understand why you can’t support me in this,” came a frustrated voice; it was deep, and barbed in a way that someone who felt attacked would speak.

“I am supporting you! And that’s the problem! While you’re off following your dreams in every dive bar gig this side of town, I have to stay home and pay the bills.” The other voice was angrier, enunciating crisply enough to grate unpleasantly against Matt’s ears.

“I bring in as much-”

The first voice was ruthlessly cut off before it could begin. “No, you don’t. Ever since you got laid off from your real job I’ve been footing almost all of the bills. If you had just listened to me and not-”

Here, Matt pulled back, and studied them a little closer. Just as he expected, the shape belonging to the second voice was clear to Matt, anger and blasphemy radiating out from their core to rest just under their skin. The second voice however was less clear to Matt, but pride and, oh! Quite a bit of infidelity had made their home there.

Matt leaned back onto the bench he and Foggy were perched on. “They probably get into some spectacular spats; they sound quite angry. No wonder the dog is stressed.”

Foggy was silent at this, and Matt immediately knew he had done something off. “Foggy?” he ventured.

“Matt,” the human murmured, “they’re more than fifty feet away. How’d you know that?”

Oh, oh hells Foggy didn’t know about his senses. Against his better instincts, Matt decided that maybe now was a good time to lead with the truth.

“I… sensed them.”

“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.

“Among other things,” he quickly answered.

“Really.” Foggy’s voice was flat and unimpressed. “Like what.”

“I can um-” (oh shit there was no way to put this nicely Matt was just going to have to run with it and hope for the best) “I can sense people’s... flaws. One of the two over there, is very wrathful.”

Foggy was silent a while longer before lowly asking, “So you’ve got super hearing and sinner-sense, and you didn’t tell me… why?”

“Humans never exactly take that well.” Ignoring Foggy’s grumbling at that, Matt went on, “And I was going to tell you! I just, I didn’t want you to act differently around me and I guess I kinda… forgot.”

“You forgot.” If it was possible, Foggy’s voice went even flatter, “You forgot to tell me you could clearly see every misdeed I’ve considered since the start.”

Matt winced. “It only works on deeply-rooted stuff. Like, habits or character flaws. There’s a big difference between a kleptomaniac and someone who steals to survive.” Matt was going to have to appeal to Foggy’s sense of morality to get out of this.

Foggy hummed, “No wonder you dislike humans so much. All you can see is the bad stuff.”

Matt groaned, “Yes, I know I didn’t think that through. But Foggy, it’s not seeing. I’m able to put together an idea of where I am more accurately than blind humans with these senses, but I have not been able to see for centuries. Screens and books are lost on me for the most part, and I mostly rely on my hearing to get me places. And the… 'sinner sense' isn’t sight either, it’s- it’s like sonar that I have to concentrate on.”

“…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.”

Here, Foggy let out a huge breath, but his heart rate remained relatively high. “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me this.”

“I understand.”

Foggy glanced over at Matt, who had taken up to fiddling with his popsicle stick. “You really forgot?”

Matt sighed, “It doesn’t come up often. I guess I forgot you didn’t know.”

In spite of himself, this wrung a slight chuckle out of Foggy. “You would.”

Matt huffed out a soft breath. “I would.”

i continue to love this, jsyk!

(A!anon) @//u//@ Thank you!!

Oh yum. This is tasty.

Foggy telling people he's going to be moving 'Down Under' and out of touch - and then telling Karen that an unsavory character wants him out of Hell's Kitchen by a certain date.

Foggy trying to network with Matt's people so he'll have support on the other side (so he doesn't have a clue that Matt's planning to take him as Consort)

Matt being touch-starved, but constitutionally incapable of admitting it and instead just being a cat and demanding petting whenever he feels like it - or is this his idea of seducing Foggy? Of easing him into the idea of being Matt's consort slowly?

And then the revelation of Matt's senses, and how much better it goes than in canon - partly because Matt isn't human here, but partly because it didn't come out in a high stress situation after Matt's been caught out and out lying to Foggy.

(A!anon) I'm so glad you like these parts! I had a tough time figuring out how Foggy would get Karen off his case since she is can be so ruthless if she's curious and I'd feel so bad leaving her hanging. Matt feelings on contact are complicated, and I do want to spend some time on that later. In this story, I think Foggy has a marginally higher tolerance for weird BS being thrown his way than in the TV series and he hasn't known Matt for as long, so I couldn't see this coming off as emotionally charged as it was originally. He still felt a betrayed, but being able to process it a bit clearer certainly helped.

thank you for commenting!

(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.

(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.

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!

still loving this!

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

This is so good!

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

(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!!!

Foggy. Ma dear Foggy bear. Matt will have your barracks along side his. He wantssssssssss you Foggy. And im not talking about your soul.
I can imagine Marci first vidit to Foggy in hell. The amount of teasing will be delicious.

(A!anon) Matt's so thirsty for Foggy, it's ridiculous. And there's no way Marci's just going to heave Foggy high and dry without a drinking buddy. thanks for commenting!

I junt imagine Matt pouncing on Foggy the second he dies cause he was in hell wating for his death to happened (Sorry Foggy but i needed you dead, now shut up and kiss me)

I think we all know what happens here.

A pizza box sat in the middle of a circle of shaky runes. At the four cardinal directions of the ring burned small clusters of candles, and in the corner of the room, patchouli incense smoked away merrily.

The pizza was a half-eaten meat-lovers.

It was perfect.

‘I always do these things drunk,’ Foggy thought wryly, staring across the picture that his living room made from the kitchen, ‘At least now I have an excuse.’ He slugged back his eighth shot of whiskey before dropping his glass in the sink.

This, he figured, was as much as he could do to recreate that night. Matt had told him that every little detail helped (sans the actual recitation of the summoning spell), but honestly he was too plastered and then too shocked the first time around to really take notes on anything but the Contract, so he made do with what he remembered.

Foggy plopped down in front of the old tome Marci had given him where it splayed open on the floor, as his place was now mostly devoid of furniture. He was going to try to take the thing with him; it had practically become a book of calling cards for his next destination. It might come in handy for… whatever he wound up doing in Hell.

“Now I jus’ gotta wait for Matt,” he muttered to himself, slipping into his habit of speaking his thoughts that tended to resurface when he was alone and drunk. “Said he’d be here a few minutes early, in case somethin’ happens.”

Foggy stared down at the open book for a few seconds, before glancing back up at his runes. “I shouldn’t check those again. Checked ‘em maybe… 20 times before this.” Defeated, he flopped down onto his side.

“Bored.”

And wasn’t that just rich? Centuries of humans selling their souls and he was probably the first one to feel honest-to-God bored waiting for the Devil to show up at his doorstep. Foggy himself never expected to feel this… hollow with regards to his upcoming ‘death’ but, here he was.

“This has gotta be the dullest part.” Foggy paused, then giggled. “I should live tweet this. I should set up a Twitter and do that.” Foggy dug through his pockets for his phone. It took a few minutes, but eventually he triumphed and then got down to business.

By the time Matt got there, pillar of flame springing up where the pizza box was and everything, Foggy was half-way through his third Tweet.

“Foggy,” the Devil said slowly, cold cardboard of the pizza box in his hands, “It smells like… is that Black Velvet? What are you doing?”

“Being hilarious!” was Foggy’s flippant reply, before pointedly pressing ‘Post.’

“…You’re drunk.”

Foggy looked up from his phone. “You said I needed to recreate the summoning as best I could up to the in- incan… ah fuck it, the spell.”

Matt blinked, he couldn’t argue with that. But…

“I’m not taking you like that.”

Foggy closed his eyes and spread his arms. “Sober me up.” After a muttered swear from Matt, Foggy felt most of the alcohol leave his system with a lurch.

“Much better,” Foggy sighed, his balance returning a little bit. “Now. Ready to go? I am.” Foggy snapped the book in front of him shut and hauled himself to his feet.

“Foggy,” Matt’s voice was serious enough to stop Foggy in his tracks. The human looked over to Matt, and now that Foggy was sober, he was able to see how hard Matt was pressing his lips together, how pallid he had gone.

“Yeah, buddy? Having second thoughts?”

If anything, Matt went a bit paler. “I…” Matt seemed to flounder for words, Foggy waited silently for the other to regain his footing. Finally, a question fell from Matt’s lips.

“Why did you make this deal?”

Foggy carefully eyed Matt’s tense form. There was something else to this question, something that demanded the truth.

“I wanted to feel better about myself.”

The answer didn’t smooth the furrow between Matt’s eyebrows. Despite what were probably his better instincts were screaming, Foggy found himself stepping forward, gently prying the pizza box from Matt’s hands and setting it on the floor.

“Hey,” Foggy murmured, reaching forward to clasp Matt’s shoulders, “I’m supposed to be the one freaking out here. I’m not too wild about sharing this spotlight. What’s going on?”

“I have to take you to Hell,” Matt sighed, “And you agreed to the Contract and knew this was coming.”

Foggy hummed but said nothing, trusting Matt to just spit it out.

It took a few false starts and Matt’s voice was so quiet that Foggy had to lean in to make out his words, but sure enough, Matt eventually spoke.

“Hell’s been… It’s there to prove a point, my point, The Point. It’s objectively an awful place. It’s meant to be. And you’re not even supposed to be there in the first place. But….” Matt reached up to lift his glasses and rub at his eyes. His voice only got quieter. “You’re the first in a long, long time I’ve wanted to be there not to punish, but to— to just be there.”

“With you?” Foggy’s murmur made Matt nod.

“Yeah. I just— I don’t want you to go.”

Foggy stayed completely still, digesting what Matt just said. Putting aside his not-100%-platonic feelings on the matter, Foggy wondered if Matt was feeling at odds with the idea of wanting the company of a human. But, this would be a downright asinine time for that particular thought to kick in. Something else was going on here and it was directly related to Hell.

Even outside of their contract, Matt wanted Foggy in Hell for personal reasons. And he was having trouble with it because… oh.

The realization made Foggy exhale just a tiny bit. Matt was worried that being in Hell would push them apart. That Foggy would be so repulsed by the place and the fact that this was Matt’s life’s work that their entire friendship would crumble and he would abandon Matt.

“Oh Matt,” Foggy whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt said nothing, his hands dropped to his sides and his glasses fell over his eyes like shutters slamming closed, the furrow still firmly in place. Foggy would have to try harder.

“Hey,” Foggy asked, leaning in further, forehead almost touching Matt’s, “Wanna know something?”

Matt didn’t say anything, but leaned in so their brows were touching. He almost seemed to sag into the contact.

“My dad wanted me to be a butcher.”

“What?” Matt’s confused whisper made Foggy huff out a breath of laughter.

“Yeah,” he whispered back, “That’s what he did. That’s what his whole family did. That’s how he met my mother, back before she got into corporate law and had a soul. But when I first said for myself that I wanted to be a lawyer instead of my mom dictating it, you know what he said?”

Matt shook his head, softly as to not disturb their connection.

“He told me that the only difference between law and butchering is that when you’re a lawyer, whatever you’re cutting up talks back.”

Matt’s laughter was soft and sounded a bit half-hearted, but Foggy knew he had found something he could work with.

“He left me his old shop, you know. One of the last things he ever said to me was that if I ever got tired of college, I could drop out and we could restart Nelson’s Meats as business partners.”

“You didn’t.”

“Nope,” Foggy chuckled, “I was too much of a bookworm; I had to sell it. Also, a deli in Hell’s Kitchen these days? We’d go under in weeks and I’d be eating unsold salami for the rest of my natural life. That’s a terrible fate Matt! Just terrible.”

Matt laughed, soft and strained but sincere. Foggy considered this a victory and continued.

“And you know, when I got my hands on Marci’s book, I was at the end of my rope. I felt like I was already selling my soul for one thing, so why not sell it for the right thing. But now that I think about it, if you hadn’t have shown up, I might have cut my losses and restarted the deli all by my lonesome, if for nothing but some meat that didn’t ask for me to read it its rights.”

Matt leaned back, and Foggy’s eyes followed him carefully. The Devil blinked behind his glasses, almost owlishly. Then slowly, a grin sharp enough to cut yourself on split his face.

“You would be wasted on Heaven.”

The comment came out of nowhere and had Foggy throwing back his head and laughing, laughing, laughing until his sides were sore and Mrs. Watkins downstairs pulled out her broom and banged at her ceiling to get them to quiet down.

Matt didn’t laugh with him, but listened, content that this was how Foggy was going to spend his last few minutes as completely his own human. It felt right.

Finally Foggy calmed, but his hands remained on Matt’s shoulders and his forehead returned to rest against Matt’s.

“How much longer do I have left?” Foggy’s voice was dreadfully quiet, his questions seemed to stay in the air between them much longer than in should have.

“Three minutes and… 47 seconds,” was Matt’s equally quiet answer and Foggy hummed.

“Need to down some pizza before we go?”

“The Contract closing gives me enough energy to go without.”

“Ah. I’m gonna grab my book before we go.”

Foggy broke contact in order to nab his book, but upon turning back to Matt, he paused.

Matt, he suddenly realized, looked so small waiting for him to come back to him. A fond grin came over Foggy’s features and a wave of emotion threatened to reach up and choke him.

“Afraid?” Matt’s voice was soft, questioning.

“Nah, buddy, I’m just really happy.”

Matt cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s OK, neither do I.”

The two fell back into a silence. However not even a minute had passed before Foggy piped up, “You see, the suspense is killing me now that I know that there’s a time limit. Tell me something about yourself.”

A huffed laugh.

“Anything?”

“Something interesting. Consider it payback.”

“Hmmm,” Matt stalled on the thought. “You’re the second person that I’ve wanted in Hell for personal reasons. You’re the first one however, that is interesting and that I like.”

“Aw man,” Foggy groaned, “you gave me something weirdly emotionally charged in exchange for me talking shop about a hypothetical deli? I feel like I’m ripping you off.”

Matt rose to the bait. “Well then, even the score.”

“A true businessman.” Foggy fell back into silence, Matt tried not to hurry the human along but nothing could stop the fact that between the pounding of Foggy’s heartbeat, the knowledge that the Contract’s effect was flaking off piece by piece was becoming more and more apparent to Matt. It was distracting.

“Hey Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise what I say next won’t change anything between us?”

“I can’t guarantee that. Too many variables.”

“Damn, worth a shot. Ah well, to Hell with it. ”

Matt centered in on the rustle of Foggy’s clothes, cotton polyester blend still smelling slightly of whiskey moving closer, closer, all the way into his personal space. Then the firm grasp of Foggy’s hands over Matt’s, the tackiness of sweat on Foggy’s palms, The smell of Foggy’s shampoo became stronger and before his face Matt could feel the human’s warmth come in a bit closer.

Matt leaned in too, and only let himself be a tad disappointed when his forehead met Foggy’s yet again.

“How much time?” Foggy whispered.

“Sixty eight seconds,” Matt whispered back. Foggy heartbeat was so fast, so loud, the nerves were finally getting to him.

“Good,” Foggy chuckle here was downright conspiratorial, “Less time to mess up.”

Foggy took a deep breath.

“So I’ve been… I’ve had feelings for you for a while.”

“Oh.” Matt’s voice was soft, almost dazed. “That’s- that’s convenient.”

“Huh?” Matt could almost sense Foggy’s confusion, normally it would have amused him. Now he didn’t know what it made him feel. This was in no way going like he planned. He was supposed to let Foggy know what was going on with him in Hell, on his own turf, not in the middle of the human’s adrenalin rush when things could be jumbled up and misunderstood.

Still, sometimes you gotta make do.

“Me too.”

“Oh.”

“Hey Foggy?” Matt’s voice was rushed. This needed to be done. This needed to be done now.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t owe me this. You don’t owe me a thing.”

Without waiting for Foggy to answer, Matt reached forward and crushed Foggy into a vague approximation of a hug. It was tight enough that the worn corners of Foggy’s old tome, crushed between their bodies, dug painfully into their chests.

“Sorry, I don’t know if this hurts for humans.”

“You don’t-? You never asked anyone?”

“Never liked anyone enough.”

Before Foggy could react to that, he felt something, deep, deep in his bones (deeper?) spin out like a car on an icy highway and then suddenly everything was on fire and oh god it hurt-

And then it was quiet.

And then they descended.

OK readers I am super sleep deprived and gonna go sleep now.

i am really looking forward to foggy's first impressions of hell!

(A!anon) Me tooooooo! :)

I was on the edge waiting for that kiss to happen.
WHY DIDNT THEY! SDJSHDJAHDJKLHASJK

(A!anon) Sorry!@A@

Oh wow. I just finished reading everything you've written up to this point and it's honestly amazing. Like, thank you for continuing to update, I cannot wait for the next installment! (They have to kiss some time, right????)

(A!anon) oh gosh thank you so much for your kind comment! @///u///@ And there will be lip-locking! So help me there will!

The term “descended into Hell” didn’t quiet do Foggy’s trip down justice. Neither did “dragged to Hell” really, a classic though it may be.

No, instead imagine the scene from Labyrinth with the hand tunnel where the protagonist falls through a well shaft lined human hands. Now imagine that each of the hands were modeled after the lovechild of Wolverine and Edward Scissorhands and were being manned by very angry, underpaid interns.

OK, so there you have the first half of Foggy’s trip. The more pleasant part.

The second half is best described by the following: burning, crushing, twisting, rending, crunching, shredding, freezing, snapping, ripping, and then finally, just for good measure, whatever adjective you might use to describe the feeling that your insides not entirely living up to their name.

Foggy was genuinely surprised he didn’t pass out sooner on his way down, and also that he later woke up at all, even if it was face down on a concrete floor. Pain lingered in every part of his body (some that he literally didn’t know that could feel pain in, today was full of surprises) and a keening groan was the first thing to leave his lips.

‘Oh, I still have lips. That’s a start.’ The thought was distant, hard to grasp, but still something to cling onto. He had a body, and he should probably see if he could use it to figure out where he was. Though the very thought of moving made Foggy want to cry a little bit, he still gathered his arms below him and hoisted himself up on his elbows.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

For a moment Foggy was convinced that what he heard about Hell being literally on fire 24/7 was true since stretching out around him was just stagnant grey smoke. However there was no sound, the temperature seemed fairly normal, and whatever this stuff was, it didn't burn his lungs like any other smoke he had encountered. Also, it seemed that the smoke that seemed to have… formed lines stretching from one end of his field of vision to the other.

That… OK. That was unsettling. Reaching their limit, Foggy’s arms gave out and he flopped back down to the floor.

Maybe… maybe he should try to sleep this off. Yeah.

Foggy fell unconscious once again.
—
When Foggy woke up this time, he hurt significantly less than at first. However, that was a low bar so Foggy still felt like he had just gotten mugged three times in a row after completing a triathlon.

Still, it was enough that he could manage to get his wits about him and sit up.

Around him, the smoke around him had turned absolutely turbulent. Whereas before had been neat lines as far as the eye could see, now there was a chaotic sea, churning without order and… not touching him. It was still silent enough to make his ears ring.

Weird.

“The hell?” he whispered.

“Oh, that’s a new one.”

The dry, scathing voice behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin.

Twisting his neck, Foggy was surprised to see a human form slouching perhaps ten feet from him.

The form was a man, old, grizzled, and lanky. He was dressed in jeans and a shirt that looked like they had seen at least four Presidents, maybe five, and perched on his nose were sunglasses. In his hand was a cane, though if Foggy concentrated hard enough on it, it glinted concerningly in the ambient light.

“Death?” Foggy guessed, and the man laughed.

“Close, princess. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“Ok, not concerning at all. Wanna tell me where we are?”

“Not particularly,” the man snorted, “but it might be fun. This-” the man spread his arms wide, gesturing all around him, “is the great mail processing center in the sky. Each mortal soul across the universe comes here and gets sorted into the afterlife for whatever crackpot religion they trusted themselves to when alive.”

Foggy blinked. Blinked again. He shuffled around to face the man, but was too busy processing this information to say anything.

“So, not Hell then,” Foggy finally ventured.

“That’s what I said, dumbass.”

Foggy shot the man a dirty look. “Any reason it’s so…” the human waved his hand, gesturing to the chaos around him.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” The man’s voice was so flat you could have used it as a level. Ah, the glasses.

“There looked to be order before. Now it’s all… fog machine convention gone wild.”

“That’s your fault.”

Well at least the man was honest.

“…why?”

“Did’ya notice that you got a meat sack? Yeah, that never happens with mortal souls. Never.” Here, the man’s voice turned downright scornful. “The idiot you made a deal with thought ahead, made sure than when you got here you’d have your vessel ready to go.”

“Come again?”

The man groaned loudly, “Look around you. Most souls don’t get here with a body, they have to form their own vessels as they acclimate to this realm. You,” here, the man pointed the business end of the cane at Foggy, “got a freebie from whoever you dealt with. And that makes you important.”

“OK…” Foggy said slowly, “How does that make… whatever’s happening here my fault?”

“Because whoever likes you so much followed you here,” the man’s voice took a turn from condescending to deathly serious.

“So Matt’s here?”

“Who the fuck is- oh.” The man laughed, a dry, wheezing thing. “Oh, Matt, that is just rich!”

“What’s so—” Before Foggy could finish his question, the man stood right in front of him, leaning way into his personal space. The man took a deep whiff of the air around Foggy (which, hello creepy), before laughing again and turning to walk away.

“Well, Franklin, tell Matt that an old friend says hi. Also,” the man turned to look back over his shoulder, “that he should tell you about Jack Murdock.”

The man then continued to walk away, chuckling to himself as his visible form was swallowed up by the billowing smoke.

Foggy looked after him for awhile, not entirely sure what to think. Finally he sighed, squared his shoulders, and looked around him for any clue as to where he could go from there.

The blank scenery offered him nothing.

Walking aimlessly seemed like his only option, or at least, the only option that didn’t involve becoming a sitting duck for any other assholes hiding around here. So he did. Foggy walked on and on for what could have easily been hours, but nothing gave him any idea for how long this lasted. The roiling fog, the unsettling silence, the sheer mind-numbing blankness of the place plus the fact that his body didn’t seem to be slowing down at all made for a very static experience.

After a while it was driving Foggy more than a bit up a wall; he could swear the smoke was avoiding him and the longer he stayed here the wider the radius around him seemed to get.

Finally, however, another form started to make itself known. Foggy was sure for the first few seconds he saw it that his brain had just conjured it up to have something, anything to look at. However, then the figure started sprinting towards him.

Foggy stumbled back a few steps however before he could turn and make any real headway, the figure slammed into him, almost bringing him to the ground. For a split second limbs went everywhere and oh god it would be so easy to hurt him this close up and being the squishy human he was and to top it off he was a lover not a fighter—

“Foggy,” the relieved gasp caught his attention, as did the almost aggressive press of lips to his temple.

“Matt? That you?”

“Who else?” Matt’s voice was breathless and more of a laugh than anything, and it made Foggy’s arms wrap around him that much tighter in response.

“Aw man, I’m so glad to see you. This place is giving me the creeps.”

“Thought I lost you,” Matt rasped, lips still pressed against Foggy’s temple, “Your book made it through, but I didn’t have as good a grip on you as I thought.”

“It’s fine, I’m OK.” Foggy squeezed a bit harder for emphasis, sensing Matt’s distress. “Let’s go. You have an entire Hell-scape to introduce me to.”

Matt chuckled weakly, “Most people would be avoiding that.”

“Shaddup,” Foggy teased back, “Let’s try this again.”

Without another word, the two blinked out of that certain plane. In their wake, the smoke stopped swirling as tumultuously, and slowly, slowly began drifting back into lines again, not without a few more curious wisps prodding at the spot where they previously stood.
—
Matt had said that Hell (or at least, Purgatory) was a bit like New York and well, Foggy guessed he could see the resemblance. Cityscape sprawled out for as far as he could see; it was dirty and noisy, and even from way above it, he could see that it was definitely crowded.

However there were a few things that Matt didn’t mention. For instance, the neighborhoods seemed to run into each other and sometimes seemed to be out of different centuries. It actually made for a really interesting look. For instance, down on the south side there was a section where buildings straight out of 1800’s urban London was surrounded by 1600’s Italian architecture and a neighborhood of modern Russian housing. Then there was the obvious sectioning of Purgatory by religion and country which some of these people were born in, but it seemed very lax. Foggy mused that once you were in Hell, your perspective might shift just a little, so this didn’t surprise Foggy greatly.

Ah yes, then there was The Pillar.

Like the rest of Foggy’s life, The Pillar looked to be something straight out of a horror/sci-fi novel and was the biggest landmark that Foggy had seen ever. It stood right in the middle of the sprawling mess that was Purgatory and the base was at least several city blocks square. Its outside looked to be nothing but solid sinew and gore, writhing and pulsing in a way that Foggy never wanted to think about for too long. Foggy wasn’t sure about how far up it went, but he found it safe to assume that it was just as tall as conceivably possible and then some.

Matt’s office was at the top (however high up that was) and it was their first stop in Hell. The space was startlingly bland in comparison to the glimpse of the outside building that Foggy got before landing. The office went past Spartan and was just flat out stark in design with a huge wall of windows looking out over the city; if Foggy didn’t know better he would have suspected it had been set up to intimidate anyone coming in (and since he did know better, he was certain of it).

“Whoa,” was the first word out of Foggy’s mouth, staring out the windows. “This is-?”

“Yep,” Matt popped the ‘p’ on his word and leaned against his huge mahogany monstrosity of a desk, feigning nonchalance like it was second nature. “I’m told it goes as far as the eye can see.”

“Well you were told right,” Foggy said, “It’s so crowded… how do you even concentrate here with your bat-hearing?”

“We’re very high up. Even if we weren’t, I could do something about it. I have complete control over this place.”

“So you’re responsible for the… gore pillar?”

“That, ah, not my fault. I just created and control this plane, I didn’t decorate it.”

“Matt, this building is covered in—”

“Viscera, yes. It’s just the unused vessels of souls on the rack and only on the outside. Think of it like recycling.”

Foggy stared at Matt, who just shrugged.

This was off to a good start.

Kind of a short chapter, but I hope you like it!!

this is so neat!

Applied Contract Law, 8/?

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