Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hugues Hermann

Hugues Hermann was a man undone.

He gazed at his reflection as the muscles in his arms flexed, as his chest rose and fell with every low, ragged breath. Swallowing, he brought a hand up, next to his face. There it trembled, so heartbreakingly pedestrian. His hand—it looked just as it always had.

But it wasn’t the same as it always had been. No, not long ago a… a certain change had come upon him.

“Please, just—just talk to me ,” came a voice from outside the bathroom door. The doorknob jiggled and Hugues shut his eyes. “Hewey, please . I’m begging you. There’s nothing to it, it’s just something that happens sometimes. We can work through this.”

“Can we?” asked Hermann. He hadn’t meant to speak. His original plan had been to wait here in the bathroom until his bedfellow, his partner, his true love, finally got bored and left.

But how could he not respond to an untruth such as the one his lover had just uttered? “Can we, really? Because I don’t think we can get over it. This isn’t something you get past, it’s… it’s evil.” Hugues shut his eyes. “ I’m evil.”

“No, you’re not—fucking hell.” The doorknob jiggled once more and the bathroom door burst open, revealing Oliver March crouched on the ground, chest heaving, hands occupied holding lockpicks held up in front of him. “I never thought I’d get this thing open.”

“Leave, Ollie.”

“Never.” Oliver stood, tossing the lockpicks to the side. He took a step into the bathroom, placed a hand on the sink beside Hugues’s own, and leaned in. “I’m not leaving your side, Hugues. Not now; not ever. It’s you and me, until the end of time.”

Hugues glanced away, lips pursing. This was just like Oliver, to insist things were fine even when they weren’t. He was such an optimist. It was one of the things that had attracted Hugues to him in the very beginning like a moth to a candle flame, but right now it was just being plain annoying.

Not that he’d say it, of course.
“Till death do us part,” said Oliver. His other hand came to Hugues’s lower back and Hermann shivered at the feeling of Oliver’s skin on his own. “We made vows, pookie.”

“Don’t—” Hermann ran a hand over his face, turning fully away from Oliver. “I don’t deserve to be called that right now.”

“Hugues—”

“In the hundreds—no, thousands—of years marriage has existed for, nobody has ever accounted for this.” Hugues shut his eyes. “Nobody has ever accounted for a foot fetish.”

A wave of nausea ran through him when he said the words. Once they left his mouth they stuck in the air for a while like a blazing neon sign, refusing to leave, refusing to be ignored.

“Hugues,” said Oliver, his voice soft. “I love you. Nothing will change that.”

Hermann’s eyes went to Oliver’s feet, which were currently enclosed in fuzzy pink bunny slippers. They looked impossibly soft.

Softer still was the skin of his ankles peeking out from the pink faux fur. Oh, how Hermann longed to run his hand down that gentle slope, how he longed to take in the dainty arch of Oliver’s foot and—

And—

“AUGH!” Hermann wrenched his gaze from Oliver’s feet, hands coming to his eyes. No—enough of this. He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t. What had Jesus always said? To pluck out your eye if you lusted?

Whatever, close enough.

Hugues dug his right middle finger into his eye socket, screaming as the eyeball squished into the corner of the socket. His vision blurred, his head spinning, but his resolve did not falter. If he could do this, if he could just do this, maybe Oliver’d finally get the hint and—

“POOKIE!” A large hand came around Hermann’s wrist and tugged it from his face. So great was the strength and surprise of the movement that Hermann couldn’t help but go with the flow of it. His vision returned to normal and he was greeted with the image of Oliver’s alarmed face in front of his own. “What are you doing?”

“Making it so I can’t see your feet—or anyone’s feet—ever again,” sobbed Hermann. Oliver stared at him, unblinking, his face a rictus of disbelief, and it hit Hugues, what he had just done. What he had just tried to do. The weight of it hit him like a blow, full-force to the chest, and he slunk to the ground, head in his knees. “I’m sorry. Ollie, I—I never thought I’d be this way. I never thought I’d be this defective, this wrong.”

Oliver crouched next to Hermann, his larger presence some sort of comfort to the Captain of the Ardhalis Police department. Hugues continued, “Oliver, you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. And you deserve someone better than me.” Hugues looked up, into March’s light brown eyes. “You deserve a man who loves you for you. Not one who loves you for your feet.” The image of March’s feet sprung into Hugues’s mind and he continued, in a trance, “But by God, Oliver, you’ve got some damn nice piggies. Your dogs—you’d be doing the world a favor if you kept them bared to the open air at all times. I’ve never seen trotters as pretty as yours.”

“Hugues…” Oliver’s hand went to the back of Hermann’s neck and gently squeezed. “This… this isn’t you, pookie. Snap out of it. For—for me.”
“This isn’t me?” repeated Hugues, his eyes meeting Oliver’s. “Ollie—this is me now. The Phantom Scythe, they turned me into this. They turned me from a rational man into a devil seeking only to satisfy his carnal urges. His—” Hugues’s eyes went to Oliver’s feet, still in those bunny slippers. And though it felt like ripping out a part of himself, he tore his gaze from his husband’s feet. “Already I terrorized Officer Sinclair with this urge. Already I inflicted myself on her. To stay with you, knowing that this beast lives within me…” Hugues glanced up, meeting his husband’s gaze. “It is wrong, honeybuns.”

“No, don’t—” Oliver’s voice broke and he bowed his head, shoving his face into the space between Hugues’s neck and shoulder. His body shook as he let out a sob and he said, “I’ll make the PS undo this, I swear. This isn’t permanent. It isn’t. We can undo this, we can—” Oliver sighed, and the warm gust of air he let out against Hugues’s skin sent a shiver down the possessed man’s spine.

Oliver leaned back, his hand leaving Hugues’s neck to wipe his own tears away. With a renewed sense of determination he said, “I’ll find us a way out of this. I swear it. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Ollie—”

“I’m not letting you dissuade me,” interrupted Oliver. Anger blazed in his eyes, the rage sending a pink flush through the skin of his face and his neck. It was a good look on him. “I’m not going to lie down and accept this. I’m fighting for you. For us .”

Tears sprung to Hugues’s eyes as the meaning of Oliver’s words struck him. “I don’t deserve a husband as devoted as you.”

“You deserve the world, my love,” said Oliver, leaning in. “And I am more than prepared to give it to you.”

Warmth bloomed in the pit of Hugues’s belly as he clutched Oliver’s hand tighter. He leaned in, meeting Oliver’s mouth with his own, and for the rest of that night, all thoughts of the demon possessing him were forgotten.

Oliver March

“I don’t know what it is you did to him,” began March, “but you need to undo it.”

The Leader of the Phantom Scythe sat before Oliver, gloved hands steepled on the table before him. The hood and the midnight mask that covered his features prevented Oliver from knowing what the terrorist was thinking, but it didn’t take a genius to guess.

The Leader was not happy.

“And I should do this, why, exactly?” asked the leader. They cocked their head to the side. “Scythe March, we summoned that demon for a reason. And that reason was, specifically, to render the police captain useless in the fight against us. With him more worried about feet than fidelity to the crown, we are free to pursue our goals to whatever extent we wish to.” There was a pause as the leader allowed March to digest their words, then they added, “So tell me: why should I arrange an exorcism for your husband?”

“Because he’s my husband, damn it!” said March. “I cannot bear to see him suffer in this way. I cannot bear to watch as his effervescent mind erodes and degenerates. I can’t bear to watch him suffer and know that there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.” The words brought to mind Hugues’s expression when March had burst into the bathroom the previous night. The sheer anguish in his face, the hate in his dark eyes when he stared at his reflection… March had worked so hard to bring Hugues out of that pit. Worked so hard to make him happy, worked so hard to give Hugues the best life March could dream up for him.

What justice was it that in the process, Hugues was forced to turn into a shell of himself?

“I did this for him,” whispered Oliver. “I joined the Phantom Scythe for him. I killed all those innocent people for him, I—” His voice broke off as sadness undulated through his body. “I cannot take no for an answer. You can deny me all you want, I am not leaving until you exorcize him.”

“I’ll only do it if you have another idea to destabilize the police department,” said the leader. “A mentally well Hugues Hermann is a formidable foe, Scythe March. And no matter how you look at it, something needs to be done about him. Until you give me something better, your husband stays possessed.” The leader got to their feet, making for the door. “This discussion is over.”

The leader disappeared from the room, leaving March in that horribly oppressive silence. Somewhere in the distance a leak in the tunnels was dripping water onto something hollow and made of metal, and the sound echoed like a shitty drum through the empty caverns.

“Some pickle you’re in,” came a familiar voice.

Oliver opened his eyes. Leaning against the doorway was the Purple Hyacinth himself, Kieran White. “What do you want?”

“I may have heard part of your conversation with the leader,” said Kieran, taking a step forward. He smirked, for no apparent reason, and added, “And I think I’d like to help you out.”
Oliver raised a brow. “Why? What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing at all! I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Sure you are,” scoffed March. “Now tell me the truth.”

The smirk froze on the assassin’s face, and he exhaled through his nostrils. “The detective told me about her… encounter with Hermann. She was quite distressed.”
“I’d imagine she was,” muttered March. “And she’s an officer. Not a detective.”
“Same difference,” said Kieran, waving a dismissive hand. “My point is: I’ve been wasting my time as the archivist at the department. We’ve got two PS members in there, and what have we done? A whole lot of fucking nothing.” Kieran laughed. “Give me two nights. I’ll set the building aflame. Once all their resources are gone, there won’t be shit for them to do, and they’ll be sitting ducks for a while.” He leaned in. “I’ll even let you take credit for it.”
The idea was a good one. Tempting, too, but… something was off. “And you’re doing this all for Lauren?”
Kieran shrugged, the easy smile never leaving his face. But something churned in his blue eyes, something deeper, something that prompted Oliver to ask, “Does she really mean so much to you?”

“No,” said Kieran. “But she’s useful. At least for her value as a walking lie detector. But that’s besides the point.” He crossed his arms. “Deal or no deal? I don’t have forever.”

“Deal,” blurted March. It wasn’t even a question—if it would set Hugues free, he had to do it, no matter the cost, no matter the repercussions. “It’s a deal.”
“Perfect,” said Kieran. “Two nights from now I’ll do it. Make sure you aren’t far from the building when it happens.”

“And then the night after that…” March swallowed. He was really doing this. Soon enough, Hugues would be free. Really and truly free . “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Kieran shrugged and turned, sauntering out of the room. “Ta-ta!”

Kieran White

It felt good doing charity work.

Kieran lay in bed, staring at the full moon outside his window. Last night he’d set fire to the APD headquarters. Every single thing in there had charred to a crisp, completely unrecoverable. He hadn’t seen the leader since it had happened, but rumor had it they weren’t overly angry about this development. For the leader, that was as good as exuberance, so Kieran was quite satisfied with the affair on the whole.

Tonight, then, was the night that blasted foot fetish demon was being exorcized from Hugues Hermann. Kieran knew the demon had a name, one granted to it by Satan, its father, but he hadn’t ever bothered to learn it. Who cared? He wasn’t planning on knowing much of anything about hell until he got there, and he wasn’t planning for that to happen for a long, long time.

He brought the charcoal to the paper once more, his hand tracing out the shapes of her hair. Lauren Sinclair—he’d known, the moment he’d got her pinned to the ground, that she was someone important. He’d known that she was someone he’d never forget. There were people in your life who changed it permanently. People who transformed your view of everything.

And to Kieran, Lauren was one of those people.

He felt it in his bones when he looked at her. Felt it when he saw her flick her red hair in the golden sun, felt it when those aureate eyes would alight on him and take him in, pupils dilating until her eyes were more black than gold.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever had the honor of knowing.

Kieran glanced out of the window once more, at the moon. A deep gray-black cloud passed over it, dimming the moonlight falling into his room, and he sighed, leaning his head back against his pillow. Peace. This was peace.

He watched as the cloud grew larger, larger, larger. Frowned when it leaked into his room, raised a brow as it took shape on the floor in front of him, and then—

And then as the image of the foot fetish demon materialized in front of him, Kieran White’s blood ran cold. Ice cold.

The demon lunged at him, faster than the eye could see, and it was all Kieran could do to flinch, because before he knew it the damn thing was in him and—

And—

Feet.

Feet .

Kieran moaned, kicking off his blanket. There his foot lay in front of him, bare of sock, and he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead. He leaned forward, interlacing the fingers of his right hand with the toes of his right foot, and he squeezed, comfort settling over him.

Home. He was home.