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It was the greatest night of Dave Heinrich’s life.
He’d just won the Stanley Cup; the girl of his dreams was on his arm and he was enjoying his hard-won victory. Only… something was wrong. Through the lights, and the confetti, and the cheers, he watched as Griffelkin melted away into the crowd. Like he was never there. Like he’d never be seen again — by Dave, anyway. The triumphant grin slipped off his lips. It was cold, suddenly, out there on the ice, in a way the exertion had masked before. Everything he’d just accomplished began to feel… hollow. The only reason he’d managed to achieve anything was because of Griffelkin, chaotic and ridiculous though he was. Because, for some godforsaken reason… he’d believed in Dave.
He’d made him a better person.
What he’d had with Anne had been good. It felt like they had grown up in the rink together. But they’d been chasing after a dead-and-buried version of the past for too long now, blindly gripping to nostalgia instead of moving forward with their lives. It was clear to him now: it was time to set them both free.
He turned to her with regret, “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”
She didn’t understand. “Dave, wait—”
He couldn’t. He had to get out of there or else he might lose his chance forever. He knew how it looked: Dave Heinrich, the golden boy, leaving the Stanley Cup celebrations — the moment he’d worked towards all his life, the pinnacle of his rising star. He didn’t care. He was proud of his team, proud of himself, but… none of it would feel right until he saw Griffelkin again. Until they got to be proud of what they’d done together. The two of them, their own team. He had to get him back.
It took hours. He drew pentagrams in chalk on his nicely laminated flooring. He lit candles. He tried ominous chanting, tried reciting an exorcism he thought he’d seen in a movie once, tried everything he could think of to summon Griffelkin back to him — short of screaming at the sky in despair.
None of it worked.
He was forced to sit himself down by the absolute mess he’d made with a sigh, body still aching from the torture it had endured that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Griffelkin had held onto him as he’d lifted him up onto the sickbay bed. Or the sight of him in his Angels uniform; wearing Dave’s number, Dave’s name. He’d been chasing after the Cup for so long, treading water with his girlfriend for so long… he’d forgotten what that felt like. To have a fire inside you, one that burned for a person.
If Griffelkin technically counted as a person, anyway. Dave was still a little.. fuzzy on the details. If he thought about it too much, he was sure he’d lose his mind (even more than he probably already had. Maybe he’d just taken a really hard check out on the ice one day and this was all some kind of fever dream—)
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jesus Christ!!! Dave had sprung up and away from the sudden intruder in terror before he could even realise it was the intended object of his summonings. Here, at last. Hours after Dave had wanted him. The creature lived to spite him.
Even so, just seeing his face again… Dave needed to say his piece. “I had to talk to you. It wasn’t right, how you just… left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”
Griffelkin was uncharacteristically muted, like all the flair had been drained out of him. “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”
Griffelkin was lost.
He’d come to Earth to be wicked. To do bad deeds. To steal the ever-ripe soul of one Dave Heinrich. He’d never anticipated… everything that had happened after that. Becoming invested in the lives of actual, honest-to-God people, turning against the will of Beelzebub and everything he’d trained for to show compassion… it was entirely out of left field. Or left.. rink… (curse his sudden investment in that stupid game. It was just unnatural).
He’d never anticipated the way something about Dave was just… different. When Griffelkin was with him… he’d never felt like that before. It itched throughout his whole body; like that awful diner food, or the smell of the trees as they polluted his insides. Something horrible like… sunshine, or flowers, or the way Dave would smile breathlessly after he won a game—
Oh, hell.
Griffelkin had done it. He’d gone and fallen in — he took a moment to tamp down the nausea — love with him. The human. His former mark. What on Earth was he going to do?
Quite literally. He definitely didn’t think Hell would take him back any time soon, and the folks upstairs… well he didn’t know WHAT was going on with them. Gabby was their earthly agent?? She made him look positively angelic by comparison — and that was saying something.
So here he was: stuck topside, having horrendously squishy feelings for someone who would never like him back. Why would he? He’d got the Stanley Cup, got the girl… he didn’t need Griffelkin anymore. Dave’s soul may have been bound to him once, but they’d essentially ripped up everything that had tied them together. Their deal was done.
If only he’d known sooner… he’d never have got those two back together!! If he'd ensured they'd remained separated, he could have done his buddy Lewis a solid — he wouldn't have had to deal with Dave's impressive ego anymore!! Meanwhile, Griff could have swooped in at just the right moment, offering his soulmate both the shining Cup and his blackened heart on a brimstone platter……
But it was too late. They were all finally happy, at peace; everyone’s souls intact. Hurray! Griffelkin had no choice but to just fade into the background. Leave Dave be. He’d already interfered with his life enough.
Or so he’d thought.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he was currently standing in Dave’s living room. He’d just felt drawn to the place, something that had never happened before. At least, not without some kind of demonic intervention. Somehow, he didn’t think that was at work here, despite the look of Dave’s once-glossy pad. The space seemed to be covered in… satanic paraphernalia of some kind.
Aw, he was almost touched. Mildly offended by the amateur job (WHO taught him how to draw a pentagram? And scented candles, really?? Was that glitter over there—) but… touched, nonetheless.
Dave was sitting on the floor, hunched over, still in his jersey from the game. He looked miserable.
Griffelkin felt that increasingly familiar tremble in his chest. He took it out back and shot it dead. “What the hell are you doing?”
Dave jumped out of his skin at the words. He was so cute when he was being existentially horrified by the forces of Griffelkin’s dark magic. Damn him. He’d failed already (typical, typical Griff, can’t do anything right). He had to stop thinking of Dave like that, not when he wanted nothing—
“I had to talk to you. It wasn’t right, how you just… left, after everything. Why did you just leave?”
He… wanted Griff?
That couldn’t be right. There had to be some other explanation. No matter how much it pained him, all he could think to do was be honest: “You got everything you wanted. You didn’t need me anymore.”
Dave seemed distraught at the sentiment. Griffelkin had never seen him like that before. He didn’t know what to make of it. He looked… agitated, but not like he was when his hockey career was on the line; sad, but not in the same way as he’d mooned over… whatever her name was.
Eyes wide and beseeching, Dave admitted, “I thought that was what I wanted. But then… you weren’t there.”
No one had ever… cared about Griffelkin before. Was this how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes bigger? Griff might as well just sprout wings and take up harp-playing at the notion. He’d never felt so blessed!
“Aw, Dave, buddy, you missed me? It was my sick moves out on the ice wasn’t it? You just had to come crawling back—”
Dave kissed him.
Dave couldn’t listen to that yapping for one more second.
So, he grabbed Griffelkin by the stupid clothes he was still wearing and kissed his stupid evil mouth. It took only a single heartbeat before he melted into it like he’d been feeling the exact same feverish longing as Dave, silenced by—
Oh, he’d finally shut him up. He should have thought of doing that sooner.
It felt like a long time coming. It felt like no time at all.
Slowly, he released Griffelkin from his desperate grasp. It took the demon several seconds to blink his eyes open, staring back at him in awe. Well, Dave would feel just terrible if he’d broken him somehow. (Though maybe it would serve him right, just a little bit.)
Satisfied, he leant back.
“You gonna stay now? You don’t have anywhere else to be, right? Hell, or the Underworld, or wherever it is you’re from?” He hoped he never found out all the gory details. He suspected he was going to.
Griffelkin was still stunned. His hands twitched where they stayed clinging to the back of Dave’s jersey. “No, I… I think I’m right where I need to be.”
“Good. ‘Cause I don’t know if you know this, but I just won the Stanley Cup.” He smiled at the thought… what an insane life he was leading. Dave Heinrich: youngest player ever to earn that mythic trophy; currently falling headfirst, circle-after-circle, in love with Hell’s finest.
Griffelkin smiled back at him, a little goofy, joy glimmering in his eyes, “Oh, you did?”
“Uh huh. And I could use some help figuring out where I’m gonna go from here.”
“Right, well…” Griffelkin swallowed. “I might just know a certain devil who’s going through kind of a similar situation right now. He might just take you up on that offer.”
It felt like the proper conclusion to their little adventure: both balancing on the precipice of a new journey. One Dave wanted them to tackle together — no matter how many ridiculous escapades came about as a result. They were just better as a pair. He knew they’d make it work somehow. If there was one thing he’d learned from all this (besides the whole being a selfless team player thing) it was that he could use a little more chaos in his life.
He pretended to mull Griff’s response over. “No contracts required?”
“Actually now that you mention it, I think I might have forgotten a sub-clause back there—”
Dave kissed him again. Man, that really did work miracles. It was about time he evened the scales a bit, in terms of which one of them was holding power over the other. He had to be careful or it just might go to his head.
His arms wrapped around the neck of his tormentor, who bound their bodies together with his own embrace in turn. They were still standing in the midst of Dave’s embarrassingly terrible pentagram. Luckily, the candles had all been long-extinguished by the time their lips had met, or they would have been facing a serious fire-safety hazard right about then. Dave had come too far to have his life cut short in such a blissful moment.
At least they wouldn’t be able to sue him for breach of contract: Dave Heinrich’s soul belonged to the demon Griffelkin after all.
Along with his heart, and mind, and body, and whatever else he decided he wanted along the way. Dave wasn’t fussed in the slightest.
Hell began to thaw.