Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

Worth a Soul // pt.2

Not requested.

Ship(s): Familial Moxiety, Prinxiety, platonic Logince

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warning(s): None

Summary: As Roman pops up more and more often, Virgil grows fond of his demon.

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The demon kept his promise.

Patton woke up the next morning, inexplicably healthy and free of sickness. The doctors were baffled, but none could explain away the miracle. They checked him out when they realized that he was, in fact, completely healed.

Now, Virgil sits in his windowsill, staring up at the starry sky. Patton is asleep in the other room, once he bid Virgil goodnight.

The night is calm. Somewhere, an owl hoots in a tree. Virgil settles in to watch the stars.

"Stunning view, eh?"

Virgil jerks upright. A few feet away, lying sprawled out on his roof, is Roman.

The demon winks at him with a glinting hazel eye. "Oh please, no need to look so delighted."

Virgil scowls at him. "What are you doing here? It hasn't been even close to ten years."

"Well-"

"How do you know where I live? Have you been following me?"

Roman rubs the back of his neck. "Not following, exactly. I simply used the contract to, uh, locate you. Anyway, that's not why I'm here. You're the first deal I've sealed in a while, so do you have any further wishes? I'll extend your sentence a few years."

"Why?" Virgil asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "I didn't think demons typically went after people themselves."

"Uh, no, not typically. But I'm not your average demon, huh?" Roman winks again, then offers a tentative smile. "So how 'bout that deal?"

¶∆¶∆¶∆¶

For the next few weeks, Virgil sees the demon many more times. He pops up on his way to work, in the dead of night, or when he's out with friends. It was annoying at first, but soon, it became a part of Virgil's routine.

Wake up, check the windowsill for Roman.

Eat breakfast with Patton, don't talk about Roman.

Go to the library for work, find Roman hiding in the back shelf.

Cave in to Roman's demands and make another petty deal.

Try not to think about Roman's blinding white smile.

Rinse. Repeat.

Life went on.

One day, Roman smiles a bit, leans close, and kisses Virgil on the cheek. It's quick and chaste, but Virgil's skin burns and his heart flutters with something he can't quite put his finger on.

He goes to bed grinning that night.

¶∆¶∆¶∆¶

Months have passed since Virgil's initial deal. Roman closes his window silently, then vanishes from the rooftop. He appears in Hell, in one of his offices. All crossroad demons have offices where they do their work and handle their deals.

He goes to pull out his chair and sit down, but something distracts him.

A glimmer of light in the corner. He frowns and hesitates before touching his chair. Something is off here.

The door swings open, and another demon strolls in. Roman is instantly on the defensive, but relaxes when he matches a name to a soul.

"Logan!" he greets, cracking a stunning grin. "Where have you been, nerd? You haven't stopped by nearly as much." As if Logan stops by regularly; he barely acknowledges Roman exists.

"You have no business inquiring of my whereabouts," Logan replies stiffly. He holds a stack of papers in his hands, and his posture is ramrod straight.

"Yeah, well, get on with it," Roman tells him. "I know you didn't come on a courtesy call."

"Yes. I am here on business." Logan sets the stack on Roman's desk. For the first time, his expression shifts to uncertainty. It's subtle, and unnoticeable by any average demon, but when Logan taps his fingers three times against the wood, Roman instantly knows something is wrong.

As freshly turned demons, Roman and Logan bonded with one another. They shared secrets and created codes to help communicate in secret. Nothing is private in Hell, you see. So tapping means something different depending on the number.

One tap = Everything is okay.

Two taps = I'm suspicious and worried.

Three taps = Drop everything and run.

Roman tenses. Logan doesn't betray anything else, shuffling papers and scoffing at his untidiness as usual, but his fingers tap twice, pause, then three times. Then, Logan's hand brushes against a comedic devil figurine, which clatters to the ground. He kneels to scoop it up, but Roman knows better than to shrug it off. Logan never drops anything.

When Logan straightens, he sets the figurine down, then taps four times. We're being watched.

"What's this?" Roman asks, gesturing to the papers.

Logan taps them twice. "Just some soul deals. Yours, actually. They ended up at my desk for reasons unknown."

Roman looks down at the first paper. The name at the top is "Virgil Black".

"Get these sorted soon," Logan tells him. His eyes dart to the side. "Or the boss won't be happy. Get finished fast or else I won't be the one you answer to."

"Right away," Roman chirps, forcing false confidence. He gives a casual wink and throws an arm around Logan, and as he does so, he whispers in his ear, "immediate danger?"

"Superiors getting suspicious," Logan breathes, so soft Roman can barely hear him. "You're too attached to this Virgil character. I suggest you go topside before they get bold enough to put you on trial." Logan pulls away suddenly, a perfect look of disgust in place. His voice turns ice cold in a second. "I think I've made my boundaries quite clear, Roman. Find Dee if you want to be touchy-feely."

"Oh, alright," Roman teases. "You big flirt."

"Don't forget those papers," Logan warns. His deep blue eyes gleam with urgency. "Goodbye."

As soon as Logan is gone, his footsteps fading into the distance, Roman grabs the stack of papers and burns them.

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