Disclaimer: Much to my dismay, I do not own these characters, nor do I own any other Askewniverse characters. Maybe one day. But until then, I'm totally not getting paid for this.

Rating: PG-13. Umm. Bartleby's a potty mouth?

Warnings: Uh, well. It gets sappy at the end. I couldn't help it, okay? I'm sorry. STOP THROWING THINGS. Jesus.

Pairing: Bartleby/Loki.

Feedback: If you do, I'll put in a good word for you. I'm growing as a writer, you wanna help, don't you? -shake fist- DON'T YOU?


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Alright. So it's been about a year since the whole ordeal, and what have I learned? Nothing, of course. Well, no. Actually, I have learned a couple things:

1. I'm never listening to Azrael again. Ever. I will cut off someone's dick [I've been waiting long enough for mine], before I listen to Azrael again.

2. Azrael is a fucking moron.

I guess it isn't really Azrael's fault. While he may have triggered all this bullshit, it was mine. I know it was mine. And I think about it a lot. What could have happened, had I not gone apeshit. Had I not lost the faith. I mean, I did lose the faith, you know? I had thought Loki had lost the faith, but, then again, I had also thought that I was the most powerful creature that ever was. I had thought a lot of things. It just felt so good. I had told Loki how I'd felt, I'd felt righteous, I did, and I loved feeling righteous, it was knowing I was right, it was knowing I had triumphed. Slicing off his wings? Easy. That's what surprises me most, actually... how easy it was to just... just carve through my best friend of eternity that way, to ignore the grating scream that followed, to ignore the helplessness on his face, to ignore that fucking betrayal in his eyes. He followed me blindly before, and he follows me blindly now. This, all of this, this is what makes me break down in the middle of the night. Always at the same time, around one or so. It's become pretty routine -- wake up in a cold sweat, fight off the urge to vomit, rush into bathroom [but get out of bed gently enough so as not to disturb Loki, and this isn't hard, he's never asleep, he's fucking comatose], shove my head in the toilet, vomit, wash my face, cry, wash my face, walk back to bed, get back in bed [again, gently enough so I don't make Loki fucking capsize or something], smooth his hair [it always gets all mussed up], and go back to sleep.

The nice thing about our relationship is that our eternities together have, obviously, made us comfortable with one another. Sharing a bed is no problem. And recent events.. well, Loki, sometimes he gets scared, and sometimes [other than my nightly bathroom episodes] I get sad. I'll hold him, to remind him that everything is basically okay, and that I'm not going to go psycho and kill him and fuck everything up again, and he'll hold me, to remind me that he forgives me, and that he still trusts me despite everything. Knowing this, thinking about this, is enough to get me leaking again.

Which brings me to another point. I have been human for about a year now, thanks to that fucking pothead dumbass, Prophet Revel-In-My-Absolute-Whiteness Jay and his trigger happy [amongst other things, I've no doubt] fingers. One day I'll have to thank him for blowing off my fucking wings. Shithead. Anyway, the point is, before She came and sang to me, put me out of my misery [which is ironic in itself, because having my head implode is pretty goddamn miserable], I was crying. This was new, you know, because angels, we don't cry. Be realistic, what reason would we have to cry? We killed, we watched, we smited, we got wasted, we got angry, but we never cried... on the very rare occasions of sadness or restlessness, feathers would drop, would snow, from our wings, but that was it. And when I saw Her, finally, and she touched me, finally, after a millenia, a fucking millenia, I was so happy to just finally have Her there, that was what I had wanted, but then I was so fucking sad because I knew I'd fucked up, I'd fucked up for me and for Loki and probably for countless mortals out there, though I admit, at the moment I didn't really give a shit about them. And so I cried, the way I do just about every night.

It's amazing, these human bodies. I mean, the reproductive organs... oh, that goes without saying. Masturbation certainly is a miracle; lacking the means for, oh, a fucking eternity does something to a guy. But that isn't the point. Tear ducts, sweat glands, digestive systems... I mean, it's no joy, heaving up the contents of my stomach every night, but I guess my subconscious makes me compensate where I can. It's just, all of that is fascinating, the way emotions will trigger these reactions. When I look at Loki, like now, sitting up in bed and looking down at him, I am reminded of this. Except, looking at him, I don't usually think about tear ducts. More about his skin, the way it glows. About the way he curls himself into a ball next to me, still asleep, whenever I sit up. About the fall of his golden hair over his eyes under their lids, the way it looks against his lightly tanned skin, and the way it makes my breath catch, though I'd never admit this to him. That sappy shit... yeah, I won't even go into it. I know his eyes well, I know the things inside them: the blue, the grey, the green, the trust, the optimism, the light, and I know the way they make my stomach drop. Another thing I'd never admit to him. Reactions like these... like I said, sappy mortal bullshit. The curve of his jaw, the pout of his lips. The innocence, and the way it punches me in the chest. More sappy mortal bullshit. None of this would I ever admit to him, even though I know he's a sucker for those stupid romantic comedies [except the Meg Ryan ones], and even though he knows that, deep down, I am, too. Yeah, yeah, just shut the fuck up.

Anyway. It's not like any of this is new. I've always known that he was beautiful. Always was; he was divine. Mortality changes you, though. It hasn't really darkened Loki, though. It's hard to give him shadows. He does have them, though.. Loki's just full of light, though. All that innocence.. it was good for something, at least.

He's waking up now. "Mm. B, whatthefuckerryadoon?" he mumbles thickly, eyes half lidded. "Nothing," I say. "Go back to sleep." He buries his face in his pillow. "Quisstarinamee," he says, fuzzily, and closes his eyes. "You really are just a simple creature, " I murmur, affection creeping into my voice before I can stop it.

"B?"

"What?" I let him say whatever he has to say; he won't be able to sleep until he does. "Loveyou, B." I ruffle his hair in response, and a few seconds later, I know he's out again. This isn't a proclamation of true love, in case you were wondering. And we aren't lovers, at least, I don't think. We've never bothered to discuss it. It was just understood that we'd sleep together, eat together, and if we wanted to be affectionate, then we damn well would be. There wasn't really a reason to complicate anything, and this wasn't anything new, either. He says this every night before we go to bed, and if he ever wakes up and I'm up, he always says it again, before he goes back to sleep, I assume just to be safe. I never say anything back, always just ruffle his hair. He knows I love him. I always have, and he's always known. I lie down again, on my back, wrap an arm around him. His arm snakes across my stomach and his head finds its way onto my chest. Like a child, only more annoying and more attractive. He really is just a simple creature. I drop a kiss on the top of his head, close my eyes. Maybe next time, I'll say something back.