Hello, hello! There is one little thing I would like to mention before the usual statements of gratitude. In one paragraph, we learn what Jon misses about Sock. In this paragraph, Sock's massive floof (yes, I refer to it as a floof) is mentioned. The reason for this is my best friend and beta. She was the one who showed me "Welcome to Hell", and she adores Sock's hair. I do, too. So, there's the logic behind that. As usual, thank you to my beta for dealing with my mood swings and random requests for proofreading. All credit for Welcome to Hell itself goes to Erica Wester, the creator. I take credit for all of my ideas. Without further ado, enjoy the chapter!
"Jonathan, please let us in!"
The teenager turned his head in the direction of his bedroom door and stuck his tongue out as his parents continued to plead for him to let them in. It wasn't like that they had great cause to worry. He wasn't planning to end his life or anything like that, much to the disappointment of Caius. He wasn't so sure about Sock's feelings toward the matter.
Sock. He was the root of all Jon's problems. Now he wasn't upset with the little spirit, but he had been unable to focus on much of anything since he had come to the realization that he would never see Sock again. He would never get to right his wrongs. With a sigh, he knew he had to admit it to himself: he cared about the little idiot. He missed so many of Sock's quirks that it was ridiculous.
He missed the way Sock somehow managed to be clumsy, even though he was a spirit and could float through and above everything. He missed Sock's amazement at his old music collection, missing the way they could jam away to the trashiest music for hours on end. He missed the way Sock always remained optimistic about everything, including the stab wound in his chest. He missed Sock's silly attempts at doing his job and missed laughing when they joked about how ironic it was that Jonathan had started smiling more when a suicide spirit entered his life. He missed having a little idiot following him everywhere and laughing at Sock's criticisms about American Horror Story. The little spirit claimed the spirits and demons from the show were a joke compared to what he'd seen in Hell. He even missed Sock's huge mop of hair, something he had begun to endearingly refer to as Sock's "floof".
He missed everything about Sock, and he wasn't sure how he would deal with this empty house of memories.
His parents' persistent cries brought Jon back to reality. He sighed and got up from his desk chair. Sock wasn't coming back, and no amount of bullshit rituals was going to bring him back. As Jon let his parents into his bedroom, a funny thought occurred to him. He hadn't seen Caius all day…Weird.
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Sock floated into Mephistopheles's office, looking the worse for wear. He didn't bother clearing his throat to get the Devil's attention, knowing Mephistopheles would eventually pull his head away from the many files covering his desk. Besides, he wasn't in any hurry to see Jonathan…right?
After a few minutes – much quicker than Sock had expected – Mephistopheles looked up from his desk. "Oh! Hello, Mr. Sowchowski. I didn't hear you come in." He chuckled, an oddly pleasant sound. "Imagine that, the Angel of Light being caught unawares by a wee spirit."
Sock only nodded, looking at the floor in silence. In fact, Mephistopheles noticed with a growing sense of worry, that was the only indication he'd gotten to let him know Sock had heard him. Actually, there was a lot more to consider about Sock in this moment other than his uncharacteristic silence. Mephistopheles had been prepared for an excited, perhaps even ecstatic Sock to bound into his office, eagerly questioning when he could leave for Jonathan's house. Instead, he had been greeted with a Sock whose form seemed twisted somehow. Rather than a young boy, the spirit in front of Mephistopheles seemed to waver in front of his eyes, at times looking like the Sock he knew and at other times looking like a hulking, black mass shot through with threads of silver and crimson.
'It's getting worse.' Mephistopheles thought before continuing his one-sided conversation with Sock. "I assume you've come to ask when you can visit Jonathan." Again, the little ghost only nodded. Mephistopheles bit his lip before continuing. "You may leave in one hour. I expect you back in my office twenty-four hours from then." Again, came the infernal nod. Mephistopheles held back a groan as the little spirit floated out of his office. He had not spoken a single word. However, Mephistopheles noticed something significant when Sock left. As the young spirit turned to leave, he shuddered violently. While the shudder coursed through his small form, Sock had warped from a sweet and slightly eccentric boy to a twisted shape that worried even the Devil.
The shape appeared human-like at first; however, it quickly shifted into something that more closely resembled a spiral-shaped cloud. As odd as it sounded, it almost looked like a decaying DNA strand. Colored in shades of vibrant reds, yellows, crimsons, and silvers, the shape seemed to waver and almost collapse before leaving the room. Mephistopheles shook himself, still not quite willing to admit what was happening to Sock. When he looked back at his doorway, all he saw was the tips of Sock's shoes turning and floating away.
He slumped in his desk and covered his face with his hands, gritting his teeth. What was he going to do?!
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When Jonathan returned home from school that day, his usual scowl firmly in place, he was expecting what he had come to know as the usual: Caius's pathetic attempts at torment as he tried to do his schoolwork and his parents' frantic attempts at caring for a son who they believed was mentally unstable.
He was greeted with something quite different, however.
As he walked up to his room, he noticed that Caius was once again absent. Though he found it odd that the demon would be MIA for two days in a row, he wasn't really worried about it. After all, this wouldn't be the first time a supernatural creature had abandoned him, and he hadn't even cared about this one.
Going to open his door, he noticed that it had been left ajar. Quite sure that he'd left it closed this morning, he frowned. Sock had always left his bedroom door open just a crack, hoping to annoy Jon. Though it worked, he hadn't let on to his irritation. Sock kept up with it, though, leaving doors open whenever he could. Sock wasn't here anymore, so he couldn't have done this. Jonathan must've just forgotten to close the door all the way this morning. Shrugging it off, he opened his door the rest of the way and raised his arm to toss his book bag onto his bed.
Floating an inch or so above the bed was Napoleon Maxwell Sowchowski. Jonathan dropped his bag, ignoring the thud as it hit the ground and spilled all its contents on to the bedroom floor.
"Sock?" Jonathan exclaimed, mouth hanging open in an almost comical fashion.
The little spirit nodded and smiled sadly. "Hello, Jonathan."
If Jon hadn't been in such a state of shock, he would've noticed that there was something fundamentally wrong with the little spirit. However, all he could focus on was the fact that Sock was here. He was in Jon's house!
"Sock, what are you doing here? I thought you'd left…" Jonathan couldn't help the touch of sadness that entered his voice. He really had missed the little idiot.
"I did leave." Sock murmured, tonelessly. "You hurt me, and I hurt you. So, I went to Mephistopheles and asked for a new position. I've been working in the Ninth Circle of Hell, tormenting the worst of the worst."
"So…why are you back?" Jon questioned, cautiously. He was afraid to get his hopes up. He had now also noticed that something about Sock was…off. There was no other way to describe the little spirit. He looked like Sock, and he talked as much Sock had, but there was something different about him, something Jonathan couldn't quite place his finger on.
For the first time, a hint of emotion entered the little spirit's eyes. Jonathan noted, and not without a touch of worry, that it was fear. "I…um…The flashbacks have been getting worse."
"Are you here because you're hoping I'll help?" Jonathan questioned, sounding hopeful himself. Though he hadn't expected the flashbacks to be brought up, he was, in a way, glad that they had. A fearful Sock was easier to deal with than an emotionless Sock. If he needed to talk about the freaky flashbacks, so be it.
"Sort of…" Sock murmured, lowering himself until he was barely hovering above Jon's bed. "I came to clear the air between us, Jonathan. I wanted to apologize for the way I acted during our fight."
"Is that all?" Jonathan couldn't help but laugh, relieved. He crossed his room and reached for Sock's hands. Profoundly relieved, he noticed that Sock eagerly returned the gesture. "Sock, you don't have to apologize. It's my fault for not being more understanding. You were terrified and all I did was snap at you. I should be the one apologizing."
Sock shook his head, holding onto Jon's hands tightly. "No! You don't understand, Jon…" Sock's voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. "Mephistopheles told me why I was having flashbacks. It had such a simple answer…I never had to run away!" He began to tremble. Jonathan, not knowing what else to do, pulled Sock close and rubbed the little spirit's back.
"What's causing the flashbacks?" He asked, hoping to move the subject away from Sock's sudden departure.
The little spirit snuggled close, moving his hands to cling to the front of Sock's hoodie. "Mephistopheles said that people who died…died like I did are sometimes susceptible to something he and the Four Horsemen call "Erasure". He said afflicted spirits begin to forget about their past lives shortly after their death. Before too long, they've forgotten almost everything. Then the memories suddenly come back…"
Jonathan continued to rub the little spirit's back and nodded. That made sense. He had read that spirits who had died violent deaths often didn't know anything about themselves after the fact because of the shock. It was logical that Sock, someone who had stabbed himself in the chest, was experiencing something similar. However, something was still bothering Jonathan. "Erasure" explained the presence of the flashbacks, but it didn't explain why Sock wasn't acting like himself. There was an…aura coming off Sock, an aura that reminded Jonathan strongly of illness and death.
"Is that why you were so shaken up?" He asked, softly, somehow sensing that there was something else bothering the little ghost.
"I…" Sock trailed off and began to pull away from Jonathan. Not willing to lose Sock a second time, Jonathan held onto the little spirit tightly. Sensing that the blonde wouldn't give up easily, the tiny ghost sighed. "No. It's not the only thing bothering me."
"Well?" Jon prompted.
Sock bit his lip. "I…I can't stay, Jon."
"What do you mean, you can't stay?" Jonathan all but yelled, upset. He had been over the moon when Sock used his nickname, and then he had registered what else had been said. He couldn't lose Sock again; he wouldn't be able to bear the loss a second time.
The little spirit rested his head on Jonathan's chest. He didn't want to be sad or angry. He just wanted to enjoy what little time he had left with Jon. "Mephistopheles is only allowing me to stay for twenty-four hours. I've already been here for seven hours, meaning I only have seventeen hours left."
"What kind of deal is that?" Jonathan snapped, holding Sock as close as he could. He wasn't upset with Sock, but he was angry with Mephistopheles. What kind of cruel trick was this? Was he being punished for falling for a dead man?
"Mephistopheles said he couldn't allow another change in position because the other demons would think he was playing favorites."
"So, he's saying this is the best he could offer?" Sock nodded, and Jonathan bowed his head, hiding the tears that had appeared in the corners of his eyes. He had done what he said he wouldn't do…He had gotten his hopes up, and now he was losing Sock, his Sock, again…
"I know it hurts…" Sock murmured, holding onto Jonathan and feeling the blonde's tears fall through his body. They made an interesting pattern as they fell on the bedspread. "I don't want to leave, but I've only been offered a short amount of time. I don't wanna spend it mourning."
Jonathan nodded and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "You're right. What do you want to do?"
As Sock brainstormed, Jonathan allowed himself to focus on what had been bothering him. Sock's form kept wavering. Instead of Sock's small body, a warped and twisted shape, something that was almost shaped like a DNA strand floated above the bed…
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my little story. I really appreciate it. A special thank you goes to carrycherry61, who was the first one to favorite and follow this fic. Thank you so much for the love! As usual, constructive criticism is appreciated, but flat-out negativity is not. Until next time!
XOXOXOXO