Title: To be light as a feather
Author: Kielle
Source: Dogma
Summery: Loki deals with the repercussions of the past when
he's asked to take a very familiar soul from it's
current incarnation. The title comes from the Egyptian
mythology, where your heart had to be light as a feather
before you could enter paradise.
Warnings: Post-Dogma, slash much, much later, angstyness,
language (though if you've seen the movie I suppose it's
mild), typical 'Bartleby and Loki thrown together post-
dogma' clicheness...though I've tried to make it good.
"I've got you now, you fucker..."
The Angel of Death's voice was cheerful as he stalked across the enveloping
blackness of the hospital room. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum,
causing him to wince. The mundane sound caused him to curse for the hundredth
time the small print written into his new job description...from now on Loki
was only to take souls that hung in balance, and no more flaming sword. At
first he was sure it was some extra kind of punishment, a remnant of God's
wrath for the whole fucking 'unmake existence' fiasco...but no. It was
just that the kinder, gentler God didn't see fit to terrorize Her darlings
with a fiery weapon-wielding reaper of souls.
"Now I'm more like the garbage man, picking up the unwanted." The grumbling
was less than good natured. With a soft sigh he positioned himself by the
hospital bed, trying to make out the face of the John Doe he was about to
take. "You know, I think that's what's wrong with the world today, bud. Too
much trash, not enough Holy Hellfire being rained on the world."
His conversational tone was lost on the vegetable, and Loki rolled his eyes
heavenward, cracking his knuckles. With the finesse of a millennia of
practice, flaming sword or no, the angel deftly reached out to grasp the
soul of the lost mortal. And blanched.
"Holy Fucking Shit!" Loki jerked back as if he had been burned and leapt
up, releasing himself from the mortal level before he even had a chance to
consciously realize his actions. Heart and head pounding, he instinctively
sought Her presence, his accusatory thoughts ringing throughout the ethereal
planes.
*You...shit...why? He's...Ugh!*
And then She was there, Her light blinding him with Her radiance anew,
and Loki found his head resting in the palms of God's hands as she
lightly stroked the cheek of her favored angel. Yes, most favorite, in
fact...She smiled lightly as she waited for him to think something
coherent...preferably non-profane as well.
Which he finally did, his eyes of brilliant blue looking up to stare
God in the face.
"I know that soul."
God looked down at him, a little surprised at the hardness in Loki's voice.
"You got another chance, Angel of Death. You were not even required to pass
a mortal test."
Loki rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, *hello*, that's because I was the victim! Bartleby was..." Loki
caught himself, the words leaving him. He hadn't let himself even think the
name of his longtime friend turned traitor. He looked down at the shapeless
floor of Heaven, feeling a bitter and choking taste in his mouth. She could
feel his hate, he knew it, but he'd be damned if...Oh god. He looked up
to see Her eyes, and they were more sorrowful than he could remember.
"Can you not forgive him Loki?"
"I..." He hung his head, shamed. He could say yes, but She would know.
Part of his mind screamed that this conversation shouldn't even be
happening...Every single time things had gone wrong, it was Bartleby's
fault. Loki was the victim here...a blindly trusting, loving victim.
But was was the operative word. He was different now, on his own. And She
should understand that. Had to understand that, or else...Lifting his head
he gritted his teeth to spit out the word he knew She could hear in his mind.
"No."
A third voice came out of the distance, one that was ringing, smug, and
damnably British.
"You can't stay if you don't forgive him, you do know that don't you? Or
have you forgotten how this place works?"
Loki glared in the direction of the Metatron, wishing he could
physically wipe the smirk off the older angel's face. It was God's
touch, feather light and still on his face, that restrained him.
"He's right, Loki. You can't..."
"Oh, so what are you going to do about it then?!" The question was most
obviously rhetorical, though Metatron was tempted to pipe up with,
"Well, whatever the hell She wants." But Loki's temper was flaring, and
both God and Angel stayed silent.
"What, send me back to Wisconsin? Turn me mortal? Hell? Would that suit
you seeing as how I can't seem to get over the fact that the one person
I trusted beyond anyone, even more than You, went completely off his
rocker, hacked my wings to a bloody pulp, stabbed me in the side and
basically shoved me right off his list of 'people I give a fuck about'?"
God's hand over his mouth silenced him. With her other hand she patted
him lovingly on the head, as one would a petulant child or scared puppy.
"Loki." Her sternness was better than Her infinite love for getting his
attention right now, and he nodded. The sensation in his body was what
humans would call a 'sinking feeling'...tight dread, anger, and anticipation
wrapped up into a neat ball that sat at the pit of the stomach. "I told
you you would never be sent to Hell. And mortality has...complications, not
the least of which is that if you do screw it up, you *will* go to Hell."
"Fuck." It was a very concise statement that perfectly matched Loki's
mindset.
"I have no choice, Loki. I cannot have warring souls in Heaven. You two
must absolve yourselves of hatred. Bartleby's mortal life has freed him from
most of his debt, but self-hatred consumes his soul." She made a small
chiding noise at Loki's doubtful expression. "I'm sorry..."
"So off too purgatory we go." Metatron's tone was almost chipper,
and Loki turned a fear-inspiring gaze upon the seraphim. "Oh come on,
it's not the worst that could happen. You're not going to hell,
there'll be peace and quiet around here at last, and as soon as you and
the Watcher kiss and make up you're both home free." The glare
was not lessened, and Metatron flexed his wings, head cocked to the side.
"Really, there's no reasoning with some people..."
God smiled at Her two angels, the beatific light of Her warming Loki's
soul and almost making him forget that he was about to be punished. Vaguely
he wondered what purgatory was like...he'd delivered enough souls there,
maybe he should have taken one of those cheery cherubim receptionists
up on the offer to go past the waiting room.
"It won't be long. And I will be with you. I love you, Loki." And then she was gone,
leaving him stranded in the halls of Heaven, with the Voice and a scared
uncertainty that wouldn't leave.
"Yeah, yeah..." Loki grumbled at the nothingness where She had been, feeling
Metatron's hand on his arm, ready to drag him to purgatory. "You say that to all
Your creations."
A/N: Next chapter: Bartleby, purgatory, but no kissing and making up. Who knows
when it'll be out. Maybe *cough* reviews *cough* will inspire me. :) And yes,
this will be slash eventually. By the way, I'd really like feedback and
constructive criticism. It's my first time writing this source, and plus a first
chapter is all about letting a story find it's feet. Let me know if it needs
crutches. *grin*
Author: Kielle
Source: Dogma
Summery: Loki deals with the repercussions of the past when
he's asked to take a very familiar soul from it's
current incarnation. The title comes from the Egyptian
mythology, where your heart had to be light as a feather
before you could enter paradise.
Warnings: Post-Dogma, slash much, much later, angstyness,
language (though if you've seen the movie I suppose it's
mild), typical 'Bartleby and Loki thrown together post-
dogma' clicheness...though I've tried to make it good.
"I've got you now, you fucker..."
The Angel of Death's voice was cheerful as he stalked across the enveloping
blackness of the hospital room. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum,
causing him to wince. The mundane sound caused him to curse for the hundredth
time the small print written into his new job description...from now on Loki
was only to take souls that hung in balance, and no more flaming sword. At
first he was sure it was some extra kind of punishment, a remnant of God's
wrath for the whole fucking 'unmake existence' fiasco...but no. It was
just that the kinder, gentler God didn't see fit to terrorize Her darlings
with a fiery weapon-wielding reaper of souls.
"Now I'm more like the garbage man, picking up the unwanted." The grumbling
was less than good natured. With a soft sigh he positioned himself by the
hospital bed, trying to make out the face of the John Doe he was about to
take. "You know, I think that's what's wrong with the world today, bud. Too
much trash, not enough Holy Hellfire being rained on the world."
His conversational tone was lost on the vegetable, and Loki rolled his eyes
heavenward, cracking his knuckles. With the finesse of a millennia of
practice, flaming sword or no, the angel deftly reached out to grasp the
soul of the lost mortal. And blanched.
"Holy Fucking Shit!" Loki jerked back as if he had been burned and leapt
up, releasing himself from the mortal level before he even had a chance to
consciously realize his actions. Heart and head pounding, he instinctively
sought Her presence, his accusatory thoughts ringing throughout the ethereal
planes.
*You...shit...why? He's...Ugh!*
And then She was there, Her light blinding him with Her radiance anew,
and Loki found his head resting in the palms of God's hands as she
lightly stroked the cheek of her favored angel. Yes, most favorite, in
fact...She smiled lightly as she waited for him to think something
coherent...preferably non-profane as well.
Which he finally did, his eyes of brilliant blue looking up to stare
God in the face.
"I know that soul."
God looked down at him, a little surprised at the hardness in Loki's voice.
"You got another chance, Angel of Death. You were not even required to pass
a mortal test."
Loki rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, *hello*, that's because I was the victim! Bartleby was..." Loki
caught himself, the words leaving him. He hadn't let himself even think the
name of his longtime friend turned traitor. He looked down at the shapeless
floor of Heaven, feeling a bitter and choking taste in his mouth. She could
feel his hate, he knew it, but he'd be damned if...Oh god. He looked up
to see Her eyes, and they were more sorrowful than he could remember.
"Can you not forgive him Loki?"
"I..." He hung his head, shamed. He could say yes, but She would know.
Part of his mind screamed that this conversation shouldn't even be
happening...Every single time things had gone wrong, it was Bartleby's
fault. Loki was the victim here...a blindly trusting, loving victim.
But was was the operative word. He was different now, on his own. And She
should understand that. Had to understand that, or else...Lifting his head
he gritted his teeth to spit out the word he knew She could hear in his mind.
"No."
A third voice came out of the distance, one that was ringing, smug, and
damnably British.
"You can't stay if you don't forgive him, you do know that don't you? Or
have you forgotten how this place works?"
Loki glared in the direction of the Metatron, wishing he could
physically wipe the smirk off the older angel's face. It was God's
touch, feather light and still on his face, that restrained him.
"He's right, Loki. You can't..."
"Oh, so what are you going to do about it then?!" The question was most
obviously rhetorical, though Metatron was tempted to pipe up with,
"Well, whatever the hell She wants." But Loki's temper was flaring, and
both God and Angel stayed silent.
"What, send me back to Wisconsin? Turn me mortal? Hell? Would that suit
you seeing as how I can't seem to get over the fact that the one person
I trusted beyond anyone, even more than You, went completely off his
rocker, hacked my wings to a bloody pulp, stabbed me in the side and
basically shoved me right off his list of 'people I give a fuck about'?"
God's hand over his mouth silenced him. With her other hand she patted
him lovingly on the head, as one would a petulant child or scared puppy.
"Loki." Her sternness was better than Her infinite love for getting his
attention right now, and he nodded. The sensation in his body was what
humans would call a 'sinking feeling'...tight dread, anger, and anticipation
wrapped up into a neat ball that sat at the pit of the stomach. "I told
you you would never be sent to Hell. And mortality has...complications, not
the least of which is that if you do screw it up, you *will* go to Hell."
"Fuck." It was a very concise statement that perfectly matched Loki's
mindset.
"I have no choice, Loki. I cannot have warring souls in Heaven. You two
must absolve yourselves of hatred. Bartleby's mortal life has freed him from
most of his debt, but self-hatred consumes his soul." She made a small
chiding noise at Loki's doubtful expression. "I'm sorry..."
"So off too purgatory we go." Metatron's tone was almost chipper,
and Loki turned a fear-inspiring gaze upon the seraphim. "Oh come on,
it's not the worst that could happen. You're not going to hell,
there'll be peace and quiet around here at last, and as soon as you and
the Watcher kiss and make up you're both home free." The glare
was not lessened, and Metatron flexed his wings, head cocked to the side.
"Really, there's no reasoning with some people..."
God smiled at Her two angels, the beatific light of Her warming Loki's
soul and almost making him forget that he was about to be punished. Vaguely
he wondered what purgatory was like...he'd delivered enough souls there,
maybe he should have taken one of those cheery cherubim receptionists
up on the offer to go past the waiting room.
"It won't be long. And I will be with you. I love you, Loki." And then she was gone,
leaving him stranded in the halls of Heaven, with the Voice and a scared
uncertainty that wouldn't leave.
"Yeah, yeah..." Loki grumbled at the nothingness where She had been, feeling
Metatron's hand on his arm, ready to drag him to purgatory. "You say that to all
Your creations."
A/N: Next chapter: Bartleby, purgatory, but no kissing and making up. Who knows
when it'll be out. Maybe *cough* reviews *cough* will inspire me. :) And yes,
this will be slash eventually. By the way, I'd really like feedback and
constructive criticism. It's my first time writing this source, and plus a first
chapter is all about letting a story find it's feet. Let me know if it needs
crutches. *grin*