Hello again, my lovelies! I do not have much to say for this author's note, except the usual. A huge thank you goes to my beta for her suggestions and willingness to read over my chapters during the wee hours of the morning. I do not own Welcome to Hell. That honor belongs to Erica Wester. I do, however, own all of my original ideas, though angsty they may be. As usual, be aware of mature content and eventual romance between Sock and Jon. If any of that has any chance of possibly upsetting you, please don't read this fic. Without further ado, please enjoy the chappie!

For once in his life, the Devil felt guilty. Flinging a manila envelope to the floor and watching as the papers fluttered to the ground, he groaned and covered his face with his hands. What was he going to do?

Before he could continue this panicked line of thinking, there was a soft knock at the open door. Mephistopheles lowered his hands, preparing himself to snap at whoever had disturbed him.

It was Caius. Good. He wasn't lying to Caius.

"Greetings, young Caius. What can I do for you?"

Caius sat on the edge of Mephistopheles's desk, sticking his lower lip out. "My Lord, why did you give that little imp so much power?"

Mephistopheles raised an eyebrow. He thought he'd be able to avoid the subject of Sock, but it seemed Caius had other ideas. "I'm sorry, but what does Mr. Sowchowski's position have to do with you? Besides," He continued, baring pointed teeth. "Shouldn't you be attending to your own duties? Jonathan Combs is not yet in my grasp."

Caius looked down, sulking. "He does nothing but ignore me, Master. I have put all your suggestions to use and have yet to see any results."

Mephistopheles's eyes darkened. "Are you blaming me for your incompetence, Caius? I cannot very well find another position for you. Your father will begin to ask questions."

The small demon flinched, realizing his mistake too late. Hurrying to backtrack, he shook his head frantically. "That is not the message I intended to convey! All I meant to convey was a report." He hopped off the desk and bowed, focusing on the edge of a rug. "I apologize for my lack of progress."

Mephistopheles relaxed; he wasn't really upset with Caius. He was used to the little demon's antics. All in all, he was just a spoiled little boy. "It's fine, Caius. You know I'm not going to explain my reasoning to you, though, so why are you really here?"

Caius straightened up, still fidgeting nervously. "I came to question whether my father has stopped by to make any proposals."

Mephistopheles gazed at Caius in confusion. "Proposals? Why would he even consider making a deal with me, Caius?"

The small demon looked down and shuffled his feet. "It would not be so much a deal as it would be a request."

The Devil's eyebrows furrowed before a look of understanding dawned on his face. "Oh! You speak of the marriage arrangements." As the tiny demon nodded, cheeks flushing, something clicked inside Mephistopheles's mind. "You were jealous of Sock!"

"What is there to be jealous of?" Caius snapped, forgetting who he was speaking to. "He is nothing more than an imp, a pathetic spirit. He has no real power and is only allowed to reside here because he is an interesting subject to you!"

Mephistopheles stood up so quickly that his desk chair skidded across the floor and hit the opposite wall. "You dare speak that way to the Angel of Light? I was once the Lord's favorite, and you see it fit to lecture me on my actions!"

Caius stumbled away from Mephistopheles as a pitch-black aura surrounded the fallen angel. His back hit a wall, and he turned to face his master fearfully. "My Lord, I am-" Before he could say anything else, Mephistopheles stormed across the room and slapped him across the face. The young demon's head snapped to the side, and there was a sickening crack as his jawbone fractured.

"Do not dare apologize after committing such a transgression." He hissed as he grabbed Caius's arm. The young demon flinched but did not try to escape. Resistance would only make his punishment worse. As the Devil bared his teeth and prepared to continue the punishment, another visitor appeared in the doorway.

"Mephistopheles?"

The Devil, forgetting about Caius for a moment, turned to look at the intruder, intending to command whatever demon it was to leave. Before he could make good on his threat, he recognized the latest intruder. "Sock?"

The small spirit tilted his head, confused. "Is this a bad time?"

Mephistopheles quickly let go of Caius's arm and strolled over to Sock. "Not at all. What can I do for you?"

Caius crossed his arms, forgetting his impending punishment in favor of noticing that he had once again been pushed out of the spotlight. Every time Sock entered the room, a look entered his master's eyes, a look that he never saw directed towards himself. It was a look of affection. The young demon bared his fangs; it wasn't right of this stupid, little imp to make his master appear soft-hearted. He crossed his arms, growling low in his throat. He would get back at Sock when the time was right. For now, he would watch and wait.

"Mephistopheles, I need answers."

"Oh? To what sort of questions?"

Sock crossed his arms as he floated over to the fallen angel's desk. "The flashbacks aren't going away like you said they would. They're getting worse. I can barely focus on my work."

Mephistopheles sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. How much should he tell the young spirit?

Sock saw the Devil's hesitation and raised an eyebrow. Why would Mephistopheles, of all people, hesitate when answering a question? He practically got off on the suffering of the souls in Hell. Why would he risk passing up an opportunity?

"Well?" He prompted, floating a little closer to the fallen angel. Mephistopheles raised a hand, and Sock stopped, understanding he wasn't meant to come any closer. Caius smirked; it seemed the little brat was capable of following orders.

"I…I do have an idea of why you are having these flashbacks, Sock." The little spirit gestured for Mephistopheles to continue. He was in no mood for suspense. The Devil ran his fingers through his hair, clearly stressed. "Some spirits who die violent deaths, specifically deaths the Lord of Demise was not expecting, go through something myself and the Four Horsemen refer to as "Erasure". This essentially means that, once the spirit had left its body, it would slowly begin to forget everything from its past life."

A red aura had begun to form around the tiny spirit. The aura gave off such negativity and anger that even Caius was wise enough to duck out of the Devil's office. "There is a name to what's happening to me, and you…you just decided I didn't need to know?"

Mephistopheles drew himself to his full height. He did not appreciate being lectured by his underlings twice in one day. "What I choose to speak of is my business, Mr. Sowchowski." He replied, coldly.

"I left Jonathan because of this!" Sock screeched, aura turning to a bright scarlet. Mephistopheles sighed; he had suspected that Sock felt more for the mortal than he was letting on.

"I propose we make another deal, young Mr. Sowchowski."

"Why would I want to make another fucking deal?" Sock snapped, far past the restraints of reason. The fact that he was screaming at the Devil, the Angel of Light himself, hadn't exactly sunk in.

Mephistopheles took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. Sock was understandably upset. He had made a deal with the Devil without being provided with all the necessary information. Though Mephistopheles often prided himself on being a trickster when making his deals, he had not intended to trick Sock. A second deal would be his chance to sort this mess out. More was on the line than Sock's silly feelings… "I think you'll want to hear me out, Sock."

Sock kicked at the desk, forgetting for a moment that he was, in fact, dead, and would pass right through the desk. When this inevitably happened, he screeched in frustration and turned back to Mephistopheles. "Fine. What's so good about this deal?"

"I will let you return to Jonathan for one full day, but there is a catch." Mephistopheles started, but before he could continue, Sock muttered something under his breath. Beginning to lose his patience, Mephistopheles crossed his arms and plastered a fake smile on his face. "What was that, Mr. Sowchowski?"

"I said, of course there's a catch. I mean, why wouldn't there be? You are the Devil."

"Please let me finish, Mr. Sowchowski." Mephistopheles murmured, sounding every bit the furious school principle. When Sock didn't make any move to reply, the fallen angel continued. "You know, of course, I cannot keep changing your position. The others will begin to think I'm picking favorites and there will be rebellion. However, I can provide you with a leave of absence. You will have twenty-four hours to make amends with Mr. Jonathan Combs before you must return."

"Is that the only catch?" Sock asked softly.

Smart boy, Mephistopheles thought before replying. "Yes. You having to return to Hell after twenty-four hours is the only catch."

Sock looked down at the floor, willing himself not to cry. This was worse than any punishment Mephistopheles could have come up with, and he was positive the Devil knew it. "Fine. I accept your deal. When can I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. Right now, I need you to return to the Ninth Circle. Charles Manson just arrived."

Sock left the room without another word, forcing himself not to cry until he was completely alone.

Standing outside the door to the Ninth Circle, Sock let out a small sob. He had left Jonathan, his Jon, for something that had such a simple answer. If he'd only known what was happening to him, he never would've left…and now he only had a day to fix his mistakes. As the little spirit continued to sob, something deep inside began to twist and rot, though it would be many weeks before Sock noticed.

Back in his office, Mephistopheles groaned and closed his office door, locking it against any more visitors. Turning slowly, he gazed at the organized filing cabinets and the overall neat appearance of his office. Suddenly, it all seemed so…so wrong. Letting out a guttural shriek, he darted across the room, knocking over furniture and ripping files to shreds.

Throughout Mephistopheles' "fit", something that was more akin to an emotional breakdown, the very core of Hell shook. The denizens of the Circles tried to ignore it, but it was a good hour before anyone could fully relax.

Slumping against his office wall and panting raggedly, Mephistopheles gazed around his destroyed office. Though he felt much better, he knew this was a temporary solution to a pressing problem. He slid down the wall, running his fingers through his orange hair and groaned. He hadn't had to deal with one…one of those for eons. What was he supposed to do now?

As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I do appriciate any sort of feedback so long as it isn't of a purely negative nature. Until next time!

XOXOXOXO