Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me, nor does the general … plot line of trying to unmake existence, etc. This is just (one of my many) views of what happens after the main events in the movie Dogma, which is owned by (one of) the best (Jersey) directors, Kevin Smith and View Askew. OK, enough rambling, but FIRST:

Warning: This is story is *SLASH* (whatever that stands for, hehe [Well, it will be… you'll see]), and some people may find some choice words I used offensive.. Ooohh.. So I'm going to forewarn you and say:

DON'T READ THIS IF YOU ARE AGAINST ANYTHING!

Thank You.

Red clouds coming up on the horizon, and I'm here, fucking alone again.

Loki sighed and stared at the clouds and let out a breath of smoke. He flicked his cigarette and sighed. Another lonely night. He stood up and dusted off with one hand the residue of his cigarette. He dropped the remains and smashed it beneath his Nike shoes while looking up at the dusk sky. He wiped his forehead and sighed again.

It had been three years. Three years since he had last seen Bartleby, and Loki didn't know where his B had been cast off to. He assumed Hell, but She could have spared Bartleby as She did Loki… But why hadn't Bartleby come to find Loki?

Loki shook his head and began to walk near the ladder at the end of the roof. He hopped onto it backwards, and climbed down swiftly, letting his body guide itself, giving him the freedom to think.

Long ago, he had forgiven Bartleby. He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he had. Loki sighed, and shook some gook off of his shoe. He made a face. He really hated Wisconsin vagabonds.

Something moved, and Loki jumped, thinking it was one of the accursed street people, and indeed saw something moving in the dumpster. Loki gulped and peered over the side of the garbage disposal site. Something moved again.

"Holy Lord Jesus Christ Almighty! Get this fucking shit off of me!"

"Hello?" Loki blinked in disbelief and shook some garbage off of the figure. Loki saw the eyes of one not easily forgotten, and his face made a weird twist of smile and concern.

"Metatron, is that you?"

"No, it's fucking God herself! Now help me outta' here, Jesus!" Metatron growled and ended up hoisting himself up and out. He wore a sour look of a million curse words he had not the time to say or use, and flicked off old pieces of Cinnabons that clung to him unendingly. Loki giggled at the sight, and then tried to look thoughtfully at the Voice.

"Dry Cleaning got ya down?"

"Aw, fuck dry cleaning! I have to get this damned suit coated in plastic or something…"

"May I ask why you were in a dumpster?"

"No, you may not." Metatron sniffed and threw off his jacket. "Ah, screw it! Damn this damned contraption!" Metatron snapped his fingers, and Loki and him were presently in a fancy restaurant. He looked directly into Loki's eyes, and Loki was taken aback.

"Fire got you down, Alan?"

"Don't call me that. And yes, damnit. The stupid flaming trick is broken. Again! So instead, I'm supposed to miraculously fly down from the sky -GRACEFULLY- and instead I end up in the fucking GARBAGE CAN!"

"Dumpster. But even so… Why are you here?"

Metatron took the glass of water from the water, and started to chug the clear liquid down the bottom. He hastily finished it, and equally muttered something into the now-empty glass bottom.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"God, do I have to spell these things out for you people?! You're on Earth for three millennia, and you suddenly go deaf!" Metatron studied his glass intently, like a four year old boy watching a bug crawl across the floor. "I SAID Bartleby's coming back… and he's looking for you."

"Oh."

Metatron looked up with a whip-lash worthy jerk and looked sharply at Loki.

"OH?! Is that all this means to you?? 'Oh'? Goodness, Loki. Is that all you think about your Grigori?"

It was Loki's turn to stare into his glass. He sighed into it, and watched the smoke form on his wet goblet. He sighed, and looked at Metatron with sad eyes.

"I miss him, Voice.

"I'm so alone here in Wisconsin… He was my only friend. Everyone else dies, or moves away… And I can't explain to them why I can't contact them, or go with them… And I don't want to take chances falling in love again." Loki looked up at Metatron and bit his lip at the last part. He knew the Voice knew everything God knew (and boy, did She know a lot) and, Hell, nothing Loki did was truly private, anyway, even amongst God and Metatron. He could imagine his comrades watching him parading around Earth in Wisconsin, alone. Did God have no mercy?

Loki scowled, and Metatron opened his mouth to say something.

"Yes, well that's all well and fluffy, I guess. But-"

"Aw, shove it, Metatron. Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes, I have. You prick."

"With who?" Loki raised his eyes and waited for this one.

"Well, Her. And-"

"I meant IN love, not loved/s."

"I was coming to that! Damn you Americans are short tempered…"

"I'm not American!"

It was Metatron's turn to raise an eyebrow, and he did so while staring right into Loki's eyes.

"Excuse me, but who's been in exile here in Wisconsin for nearly three millennia?"

"Cold, bro. Cold."

"Uhhuh. As I was saying…" Metatron automatically refilled his glass and took a sip thoughtfully. "Your Bartleby is coming back to earth, to be with you. In the three years that he was -err- gone, it seems that God found forgiveness and sorrow for him, and as She does, forgave him. Don't ask me why, I may be the voice, but this I'll never figure out."

"So much for trusted confidante, eh, Voice?"

"Shut up, bastard. I think I was talking."

"You know, if you were human you'd be anal retentive, Alan."

"Don't CALL me that, damnit. And shut up, before we send you to someplace worse than Wisconsin for all eternity!"

"Oh? And we're that?"

"Red Bank New Jersey."

"With those two guys we met…?"

"Yes."

*Pause*

"Oh. Okay. 'Nuff said. Continue, if you will."

"I will. Now, as I was saying, She forgave Bartleby, and said she could not do anything for him, except send him to purgatory. This almost killed the old boy, because he would be dead in New Jersey, and you'd still be technically alive, and he'd never be able to see you… Err… you'd never be able to see him, I mean."

Loki was careful with his choice of expressive words this time.

"So… what does that mean, Metatron?"

"Basically, God gave him the chance to become immortal again, like you are now… I'm sure I've explained that to you already, on why."

Indeed, he had. In a twist of fate, God had decided that neither up, down, nor sideways was It for Loki. She had kept him in Wisconsin as an Immortal until Judgment day, some-odd thousand years off. This would have upset Loki greatly, being Immortal, alone, and still Angelic in bodily form, but She had changed him to Human in that six-month period he had been off Earth. This was an immediate blessing, but a long term disaster. No one lived long enough on earth, it seemed to him.

Loki snapped back to reality and noticed that Metatron had been talking for some time now.

"…And that's how Bartleby assumed the female, human form."

Loki did a double take at the Seraphim standing before him, once again finding his goblet so interesting. Loki's face fell and he felt like crying. He had missed most of the Voice's monologue, but could just take the end, and it would be alright.

Well, not alright. But close enough.

"Bartleby… he… she… Oh, man." Loki sat on the Jersey barrier behind him in the Airport's parking lot. He watched a plane distantly fly over head, and the fallen angel of death remembered the last time the two fated cherubs were here together. It seemed like eternity…

Wetness slapped down him, and he realized that it was tears mixed with pure rain from above. God was crying along with him. However Bartleby's transmutation had been screwed up, she was sorry for it. He was not alone anymore, and he felt the Divine Presence within his barely-there soul. He wiped his eyes half-heartedly, and instead of seeing the Voice of God, he saw a woman of about twenty five standing in front of him. Loki blinked, and saw her more clearly.

She was not tall, around the same height as Loki, and looked very familiar, with her facial features in that concerned, stern look Bartleby used to have when he was Bartleby... Could it be…? No, the long brown hair… that cursed female body… It was *not* Bartleby, and it never could be…

No…

"Loki."

Loki could not stand the way his love now looked at him, and turned on his heels and fled. He now thanked God for all those hours he had helped little kids play soccer, coaching them through both the game, and hinting about Life's little mysteries… Loki shook his head, and stopped, hands on knees in a bent over position.

He missed his Bartleby.