**(**Disclaimer**(** I do not own any part, piece or smidgeon of the movie
Dogma. No one's standing here in my room with a gun to my head forcing me
to write this, I assure you and no creepy perv is peering over my shoulder
making sure he gets his money's worth for this piece either. It's all me
and of my own accord! That's a much scarier scenario isn't it? Hee hee.
**(**Author's Note**(** I've gotten all the grammar no-no's out in case that turned you off the first time this was posted. As I said I was half asleep while writing this though nothings currently changed besides the mechanical aspect of it. I tried my best to stay IC with all the characters as best I could. I hope this does the movie some justice; it takes place after the movie. It'll have more chapters but probably not a sequel.
"I hate you. I hate everything about you. Get the fuck out of here," Loki had shouted, yanking drawers, sweeping his own messily folded things out and cramming Bartleby's neatly folded shirts and pants (that had been lurking underneath Loki's band T-shirts and ripped jeans) into their crummy old suitcase. Bartleby remembered the day they got that suitcase. Together he and Loki one summer had the old homeless guy on the corner completely convinced that they were from the CIA and wanted to suck his brain out through a bendy straw. The poor old guy had left the suitcase that supposedly contained a 'highly advanced radioactive bomb' on their apartment door step. At the time it was a meaningless bored excursion. Now it pained Bartleby that Loki had sent him packing with that suitcase.
"Loki dammit-just please wait a second," he was begging now. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"And why don't you have anywhere else to go?" the now-mortal angel of death motored on. Now his white fist ominously clenched the handle of the suitcase, letting it teeter dangerously out of their glassless window. Loki noticed the absence of any insulation in that area. "Guess I'll have to get that fixed after you leave," he muttered.
"What?" Bartleby said not hearing him.
"I said 'I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO GET THAT WINDOW FIXED NOW WON'T I? IT DIDN'T USED TO BOTHER ME, THE COLD. IT DOES NOW THAT I'M A FUCKING HUMAN! Which I may add-IS STILL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!" With that Loki let the suitcase go. There were shouts from the street after the sound of the breaking metal which had been the suitcase's clasps. The sound of a large amount of cloth hitting the pavement at the same time seemed to seal Loki and Bartleby's arrangement.
Bartleby stared down at all his things lying among their shitty little neighborhood's undergrowth. When Bartleby's dark somber eyes met Loki's crystal sneer the ex-Gregory just sighed at Loki's satisfaction-his resolution. That was that. Tears gathered but he wiped them away. They were useless. Loki was beyond him now and didn't want anything to do with him. Bartleby made for the door but paused just as he opened it.
"You're right," he said meeting Loki's stare and shit-eating grin. The shorter clumsier angel crossed the room in a few easy strides. It shook and unnerved Bartleby's entire frame to see that much physical grace in his friend. Yes; Bartleby would always be his friend. But it was of course Loki's decision whether he wanted to return that grace and honor.
"What was that?" Loki breathed in his ear, now very close to Bartleby with his arms around his neck, lips brushing his neck.
"You're right," Bartleby said.
"Louder."
"You're right!"
"Louder."
"YOU'RE RIGHT!"
"Good," Loki said with a satisfied smile. This one looked genuine and friendly. Like a kid on the playground asking him to throw a ball around a few times with him. Loki's soft lips brushed against Bartleby; first his cheekbone, down the side of his face and then his lips. But never did Loki actually kiss him; just teasing his taller, darker counterpart with his touch. Bartleby let himself get to close and too warm in his 'friend's' embrace and the gentle stroking of those full pinkish lips against his.
A sharp pain shot of his groin but Bartleby was unable to double over and mourn the suffering of his member. Loki's hug had turned into a deathtrap. A hard shove sent Bartleby careening out the door, still unable to believe after that reconciliation his friend had just kneed him with all his might in the groin.
"Now get the hell out of here. If I ever see you again, I don't give a damn I'll cut your lying little throat," Loki had hissed his threat just audible to one person in that hallway. The door slammed a sound that reminded Bartleby of what a ten ton guillotine on a watermelon must sound like.
Bartleby stood outside his old home -they're- old home feeling and knowing this was pointless. In his hand was that goddamn suitcase he had scavenged a year ago. His lips still burned with that almost-kiss. So did his groin for that matter, with lust that had been torn from his arms and fresh arousal. Maybe there was hope that Loki would still be in this old Wisconsin neighborhood. That hadn't actually been Loki that night, Bartleby knew that for sure. Not his sweet, calm and forgiving 'simple creature'. Interesting traits for the ex-Angel of Death to posses, Bartleby mused, but then he keeps them so well.
With a sigh he began down the street, a spring in his step; sprung there by denial. He whistled a bit, rekindling old experiences of going to bars with Loki. Mortal music had never been his thing even now that he was one and had been for an entire year. Loki loved it though. Once they patched things up (Bartleby was sure of that much) he would buy Loki fifty CDs of that shit.
But there it stood their old apartment building. It was decrepit with mice running over the exposed-in-some-places foundation. Garbage littered the place, rotten and churning with flies. Bartleby was sickened by its likeness of all those bodies hanging in those trees that day at the church. Mortality had brought him regret and humility for the awful things he had done as an angel.
The building seemed to shudder in the breeze but that was just him shaking. God it's been abandoned! Why didn't I come earlier? He thought this shaking even harder with tears streaming out of his eyes he crumpled on the ground. He mused on how fragile he was these days; a smelly old building leaving him in the middle of the road crying like a baby. But it was the significance; Loki was gone and now Bartleby had no idea where he was. No means to search for Loki except his own two feet-and that could take years. A little over a year ago that would have meant nothing for he and Loki had had all eternity to wander the earth together. But now alone and human all he could do was weep sorrowfully and hope no car reduced him to road pizza a la Bartleby.
"Oh for God's sake will you cut that out?" an agitated but familiar voice said. Bartleby whirled around. It was Metatron.
"I wonder, do you go looking for situations like this or do they just attract you?" Bartleby said dryly and then hiccupped.
"Neither," the Voice of God returned, "I'm usually sent to them."
Bartleby stood up and watched Metatron. He walked with his usual grace and sneering, cocky attitude. As usual the seams of his jacket and pants were singed and white dried up stains were all over his clothes from various fire extinguishers from his fiery entrances, not used this time for obvious reasons. There was silence between them. Bartleby's second hiccup brought an end to it and seemed to cue Metatron to continue.
"Your best friend God called," he said with a smirk turning Bartleby's face even more dismal. "He says he's found a purpose for you after all."
"And that would be?" Bartleby asked hoarsely. When Metatron didn't reply right away he wondered if two millennia weren't taking a stroll with Metatron down Alzheimer's lane.
"Oh no boy I'm still quite coherent," Metatron said dark eyes flickering and reading Bartleby's fragile mind. "It's this bloody new system they've installed in the Holy Land. I get God's messages to give to you directly, hence all the cruel sarcasm and pausing. I don't get to soften the blow with my own less harsh way of doing things. Also while I wait for him to think of something else to say, it adds insult to injury for you to sulk in God's holy word for a bit. "
The fallen angel nodded wanting him to continue. Metatron obliged and said rolling his eyes, gazing heavenward, "Your little boyfriend Loki-buns was all set and ready to call you the next day and patch things up-after the 'simple creature' broke the hold of Azrael." Bartleby looked stunned. Azrael was dead. Metatron noticed Bartleby's confusion and amended it with, "After you so stunningly disposed of Cardinal Glick, that golf club Silent Bob used to 'kill' Azrael with was no longer a holy item, as its owner had gone straight to hell. Hence our white-suited friend has come back to live out his normal life expectancy as a demon; which is of course forever."
A light was lit in the embers of Bartleby's soul. Loki had been ready to call him the next day? "But what prevented him-Loki from calling me?"
"Well Loki was abducted that very morning. As humorous as it is he was going to speak with a gynecologist as he was convinced that he was turning into a woman with his mood swings and everything. Well that certainly ripened Azrael's already foul temper as it had been Azrael speaking through him. So he did what it made sense in his mind to do; kidnap his murderer's boyfriend after an evening of playing with his mind. Azrael is a demon of course, your friend a mortal and both of them are equipped," Metatron sniffed mourning his own lack of libido-or a shaft for that matter, "Azrael is a very pent up little demon. He got absolutely no action from the Stygian triplets and figured what the hell he could get Loki."
"So Loki's been his bitch for a year?" Bartleby said utterly horrified. "And God wants me to die and go get him from hell?"
"Yes. But there's a catch. Loki went back into God's favor after you killed him. You martyred him I suppose since he had changed his mind about the whole 'obliterating existence' thing. Loki will be made an angel again and sent back to his home. You on the other hand will stay in hell doing the penance God thinks you should have started a year ago," Metatron looked sad and sympathetic as he said this, but even more so with the next bit, "It's either you or Loki down there Bartleby."
Bartleby swallowed hard, fresh tears flowing as freely as blood from a Mary statue. He stumbled forward into Metatron's arms. Instinctively Metatron closed him in a tight embrace as Bartleby's tears racked both their bodies. Bartleby felt sick. He had a fairly good idea of what Loki had been put through. You just had to consider Azrael's sick, twisted, perverted mind and that beautiful simple creature in the same room. Even the art Azrael had come up with when he painted years ago was dark, kinky and unnerving. Even above torture and death Azrael loved to corrupt. Bartleby only hoped he was not too late to save the pure divine thing that was Loki.
"Kill me. Right now-please I'll rescue him and get him back to heaven by tonight," Bartleby said in muffled tones, speaking to Metatron's collar. The Voice of God shivered. The boy's breathing felt warm and tingly on his neck like that. If he had a dick, Metatron might have been aroused. But the only bond between them; the only one that could be was at most was a paternal one.
"Hey you sick fucks! Why don't you take your goddamn kinky asses to one of those flamingo bars you flits like so much?!" a grouchy and disgusted man's voice yelled out of a window. Metatron at once felt a strong urge to defend to boy but Bartleby beat him to it.
In a slightly don't-go-there-girlfriend tone Bartleby fired back, "Why don't you shut up your frickin' homophobe and get back to that diseased human cunt you call a wife?"
"Hey prick my wife died of leukemia six months ago so why don't you just lay off her!" the man screamed back and then clamped the window shut. Bartleby felt a sudden mad urge toward Metatron. Could he be that he was attracted to pasty Brit? After what had happened-what was happening to Loki? Perhaps, but he wasn't going to think about it.
Still the younger man kept a fierce grip around Metatron's waist, an action that was starting to turn to this two-millennium serafyn's face just the cutest shade of crimson.
"I can't kill you," Metatron said clearing his throat pointedly. Bartleby was sitting uncomfortably close to him on the nearest bench, looking as though he was trying to have one of those stare-deeply-into-my- eyes moments with the Voice of God. Metatron didn't meet his gaze and just stared at his hands in front of him on his lap. Looking elsewhere was depressing.
"Why the fuck not?" Bartleby said in a panicky voice, livid at the thought of Loki suffering anymore.
"Because I'm the Voice of God; I just can't go killing humans. You'd have to step out in front of a bus or something," Metatron explained quickly. Bartleby quickly stood up, feeling unpleasant about leaving Metatron's warm side but still determined to rescue his friend and love. Lucky for him two masked guys had just gone into a jewelry store.
**(**Author's Note**(** I've gotten all the grammar no-no's out in case that turned you off the first time this was posted. As I said I was half asleep while writing this though nothings currently changed besides the mechanical aspect of it. I tried my best to stay IC with all the characters as best I could. I hope this does the movie some justice; it takes place after the movie. It'll have more chapters but probably not a sequel.
"I hate you. I hate everything about you. Get the fuck out of here," Loki had shouted, yanking drawers, sweeping his own messily folded things out and cramming Bartleby's neatly folded shirts and pants (that had been lurking underneath Loki's band T-shirts and ripped jeans) into their crummy old suitcase. Bartleby remembered the day they got that suitcase. Together he and Loki one summer had the old homeless guy on the corner completely convinced that they were from the CIA and wanted to suck his brain out through a bendy straw. The poor old guy had left the suitcase that supposedly contained a 'highly advanced radioactive bomb' on their apartment door step. At the time it was a meaningless bored excursion. Now it pained Bartleby that Loki had sent him packing with that suitcase.
"Loki dammit-just please wait a second," he was begging now. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"And why don't you have anywhere else to go?" the now-mortal angel of death motored on. Now his white fist ominously clenched the handle of the suitcase, letting it teeter dangerously out of their glassless window. Loki noticed the absence of any insulation in that area. "Guess I'll have to get that fixed after you leave," he muttered.
"What?" Bartleby said not hearing him.
"I said 'I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO GET THAT WINDOW FIXED NOW WON'T I? IT DIDN'T USED TO BOTHER ME, THE COLD. IT DOES NOW THAT I'M A FUCKING HUMAN! Which I may add-IS STILL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!" With that Loki let the suitcase go. There were shouts from the street after the sound of the breaking metal which had been the suitcase's clasps. The sound of a large amount of cloth hitting the pavement at the same time seemed to seal Loki and Bartleby's arrangement.
Bartleby stared down at all his things lying among their shitty little neighborhood's undergrowth. When Bartleby's dark somber eyes met Loki's crystal sneer the ex-Gregory just sighed at Loki's satisfaction-his resolution. That was that. Tears gathered but he wiped them away. They were useless. Loki was beyond him now and didn't want anything to do with him. Bartleby made for the door but paused just as he opened it.
"You're right," he said meeting Loki's stare and shit-eating grin. The shorter clumsier angel crossed the room in a few easy strides. It shook and unnerved Bartleby's entire frame to see that much physical grace in his friend. Yes; Bartleby would always be his friend. But it was of course Loki's decision whether he wanted to return that grace and honor.
"What was that?" Loki breathed in his ear, now very close to Bartleby with his arms around his neck, lips brushing his neck.
"You're right," Bartleby said.
"Louder."
"You're right!"
"Louder."
"YOU'RE RIGHT!"
"Good," Loki said with a satisfied smile. This one looked genuine and friendly. Like a kid on the playground asking him to throw a ball around a few times with him. Loki's soft lips brushed against Bartleby; first his cheekbone, down the side of his face and then his lips. But never did Loki actually kiss him; just teasing his taller, darker counterpart with his touch. Bartleby let himself get to close and too warm in his 'friend's' embrace and the gentle stroking of those full pinkish lips against his.
A sharp pain shot of his groin but Bartleby was unable to double over and mourn the suffering of his member. Loki's hug had turned into a deathtrap. A hard shove sent Bartleby careening out the door, still unable to believe after that reconciliation his friend had just kneed him with all his might in the groin.
"Now get the hell out of here. If I ever see you again, I don't give a damn I'll cut your lying little throat," Loki had hissed his threat just audible to one person in that hallway. The door slammed a sound that reminded Bartleby of what a ten ton guillotine on a watermelon must sound like.
Bartleby stood outside his old home -they're- old home feeling and knowing this was pointless. In his hand was that goddamn suitcase he had scavenged a year ago. His lips still burned with that almost-kiss. So did his groin for that matter, with lust that had been torn from his arms and fresh arousal. Maybe there was hope that Loki would still be in this old Wisconsin neighborhood. That hadn't actually been Loki that night, Bartleby knew that for sure. Not his sweet, calm and forgiving 'simple creature'. Interesting traits for the ex-Angel of Death to posses, Bartleby mused, but then he keeps them so well.
With a sigh he began down the street, a spring in his step; sprung there by denial. He whistled a bit, rekindling old experiences of going to bars with Loki. Mortal music had never been his thing even now that he was one and had been for an entire year. Loki loved it though. Once they patched things up (Bartleby was sure of that much) he would buy Loki fifty CDs of that shit.
But there it stood their old apartment building. It was decrepit with mice running over the exposed-in-some-places foundation. Garbage littered the place, rotten and churning with flies. Bartleby was sickened by its likeness of all those bodies hanging in those trees that day at the church. Mortality had brought him regret and humility for the awful things he had done as an angel.
The building seemed to shudder in the breeze but that was just him shaking. God it's been abandoned! Why didn't I come earlier? He thought this shaking even harder with tears streaming out of his eyes he crumpled on the ground. He mused on how fragile he was these days; a smelly old building leaving him in the middle of the road crying like a baby. But it was the significance; Loki was gone and now Bartleby had no idea where he was. No means to search for Loki except his own two feet-and that could take years. A little over a year ago that would have meant nothing for he and Loki had had all eternity to wander the earth together. But now alone and human all he could do was weep sorrowfully and hope no car reduced him to road pizza a la Bartleby.
"Oh for God's sake will you cut that out?" an agitated but familiar voice said. Bartleby whirled around. It was Metatron.
"I wonder, do you go looking for situations like this or do they just attract you?" Bartleby said dryly and then hiccupped.
"Neither," the Voice of God returned, "I'm usually sent to them."
Bartleby stood up and watched Metatron. He walked with his usual grace and sneering, cocky attitude. As usual the seams of his jacket and pants were singed and white dried up stains were all over his clothes from various fire extinguishers from his fiery entrances, not used this time for obvious reasons. There was silence between them. Bartleby's second hiccup brought an end to it and seemed to cue Metatron to continue.
"Your best friend God called," he said with a smirk turning Bartleby's face even more dismal. "He says he's found a purpose for you after all."
"And that would be?" Bartleby asked hoarsely. When Metatron didn't reply right away he wondered if two millennia weren't taking a stroll with Metatron down Alzheimer's lane.
"Oh no boy I'm still quite coherent," Metatron said dark eyes flickering and reading Bartleby's fragile mind. "It's this bloody new system they've installed in the Holy Land. I get God's messages to give to you directly, hence all the cruel sarcasm and pausing. I don't get to soften the blow with my own less harsh way of doing things. Also while I wait for him to think of something else to say, it adds insult to injury for you to sulk in God's holy word for a bit. "
The fallen angel nodded wanting him to continue. Metatron obliged and said rolling his eyes, gazing heavenward, "Your little boyfriend Loki-buns was all set and ready to call you the next day and patch things up-after the 'simple creature' broke the hold of Azrael." Bartleby looked stunned. Azrael was dead. Metatron noticed Bartleby's confusion and amended it with, "After you so stunningly disposed of Cardinal Glick, that golf club Silent Bob used to 'kill' Azrael with was no longer a holy item, as its owner had gone straight to hell. Hence our white-suited friend has come back to live out his normal life expectancy as a demon; which is of course forever."
A light was lit in the embers of Bartleby's soul. Loki had been ready to call him the next day? "But what prevented him-Loki from calling me?"
"Well Loki was abducted that very morning. As humorous as it is he was going to speak with a gynecologist as he was convinced that he was turning into a woman with his mood swings and everything. Well that certainly ripened Azrael's already foul temper as it had been Azrael speaking through him. So he did what it made sense in his mind to do; kidnap his murderer's boyfriend after an evening of playing with his mind. Azrael is a demon of course, your friend a mortal and both of them are equipped," Metatron sniffed mourning his own lack of libido-or a shaft for that matter, "Azrael is a very pent up little demon. He got absolutely no action from the Stygian triplets and figured what the hell he could get Loki."
"So Loki's been his bitch for a year?" Bartleby said utterly horrified. "And God wants me to die and go get him from hell?"
"Yes. But there's a catch. Loki went back into God's favor after you killed him. You martyred him I suppose since he had changed his mind about the whole 'obliterating existence' thing. Loki will be made an angel again and sent back to his home. You on the other hand will stay in hell doing the penance God thinks you should have started a year ago," Metatron looked sad and sympathetic as he said this, but even more so with the next bit, "It's either you or Loki down there Bartleby."
Bartleby swallowed hard, fresh tears flowing as freely as blood from a Mary statue. He stumbled forward into Metatron's arms. Instinctively Metatron closed him in a tight embrace as Bartleby's tears racked both their bodies. Bartleby felt sick. He had a fairly good idea of what Loki had been put through. You just had to consider Azrael's sick, twisted, perverted mind and that beautiful simple creature in the same room. Even the art Azrael had come up with when he painted years ago was dark, kinky and unnerving. Even above torture and death Azrael loved to corrupt. Bartleby only hoped he was not too late to save the pure divine thing that was Loki.
"Kill me. Right now-please I'll rescue him and get him back to heaven by tonight," Bartleby said in muffled tones, speaking to Metatron's collar. The Voice of God shivered. The boy's breathing felt warm and tingly on his neck like that. If he had a dick, Metatron might have been aroused. But the only bond between them; the only one that could be was at most was a paternal one.
"Hey you sick fucks! Why don't you take your goddamn kinky asses to one of those flamingo bars you flits like so much?!" a grouchy and disgusted man's voice yelled out of a window. Metatron at once felt a strong urge to defend to boy but Bartleby beat him to it.
In a slightly don't-go-there-girlfriend tone Bartleby fired back, "Why don't you shut up your frickin' homophobe and get back to that diseased human cunt you call a wife?"
"Hey prick my wife died of leukemia six months ago so why don't you just lay off her!" the man screamed back and then clamped the window shut. Bartleby felt a sudden mad urge toward Metatron. Could he be that he was attracted to pasty Brit? After what had happened-what was happening to Loki? Perhaps, but he wasn't going to think about it.
Still the younger man kept a fierce grip around Metatron's waist, an action that was starting to turn to this two-millennium serafyn's face just the cutest shade of crimson.
"I can't kill you," Metatron said clearing his throat pointedly. Bartleby was sitting uncomfortably close to him on the nearest bench, looking as though he was trying to have one of those stare-deeply-into-my- eyes moments with the Voice of God. Metatron didn't meet his gaze and just stared at his hands in front of him on his lap. Looking elsewhere was depressing.
"Why the fuck not?" Bartleby said in a panicky voice, livid at the thought of Loki suffering anymore.
"Because I'm the Voice of God; I just can't go killing humans. You'd have to step out in front of a bus or something," Metatron explained quickly. Bartleby quickly stood up, feeling unpleasant about leaving Metatron's warm side but still determined to rescue his friend and love. Lucky for him two masked guys had just gone into a jewelry store.