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“I just think it’s kind of bullshit.”
Bartleby scoffs. “Only you could be upset about not waking up to a future of eternal torment.”
Loki raises a brow. “I thought you would be too, after all that noise about principles yesterday. Unending wrath towards the rule of heaven and shit.”
He looks down and purses his lips. “I got over it.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad. All it took was killing a bunch of people and stabbing me…”
He sighs. “Loki—“
“…to death. Stabbing me to death. As in, you killed me. Just to be clear.”
“I’m sorry. That was shitty of me.”
Loki studies his face, so strangely sincere after the whole unhinged self-righteous act in Jersey. It reminds him of when they were much, much, much younger. “I forgive you.”
Bartleby gives a tentative grin. “Really? Even after I stabbed you to death?”
He shrugs. “I mean, hell, if God can forgive both of us, why should I hold a grudge?”
“He didn’t forgive us. He just wants to be the one making the rules.”
Loki snorts. “You think I don’t know that? Let’s just be glad we’re home.”
Bartleby nods, taking a breath in. “You’re right. It’s good to be back.”
.
Home has changed a lot.
Heaven is a hell of a lot more crowded than it was back in Ye Olden Days of Abraham and Moses. The place has gone through so many expansions, it’s hard not to get lost in the endless mazes of sunny meadows and gleaming marble columns. Apparently the latest expansion project into the South Pole has run into a bunch of setbacks due to the thinning of the Ozone Layer out there. Fucking humans and their world-destroying chemicals. They’re just as bad as homesick angels—maybe worse, because they can’t even bother to be dramatic about it.
Plus, there’s the whole Jesus thing now, which Loki and Bartleby only ever got to watch from the ground. They still haven’t even met the guy, which is kind of ridiculous, honestly, considering how long they’ve been hearing about him. So weird when your boss has a kid and they become famous.
“Are you going to the Wagner concert tomorrow?” Bartleby’s voice jolts Loki out of his thoughts as they walk down one of those aforementioned sunny meadows, going nowhere in particular.
“Wagner? I thought he was in Hell.”
“Oh, yeah, he definitely is. This is Leonard Bernstein conducting Tristan und Isolde.”
Loki scrunches his nose. “I’ve never liked opera. Even back when it was cool, I thought it was lame.”
“Not enough action for you?”
“Fuck no! They used to do gladiator fights and jousting and real shit like that. Then everyone got boring and proper and started writing music and poems and bullshit. Like that guy who wrote all those plays about English kings where everything’s a sonnet? That guy I can’t fucking stand? What was his name, again?”
Bartleby narrows his eyes. “…Shakespeare?”
Loki snaps and points at his friend. “That’s him! That fucking hack. Wrote all these crazy, dramatic deaths but no one ever even died for real. How lame.”
“I will never understand your taste in art.”
He grins proudly.
Bartleby rolls his eyes.
.
There’s a couple making out on the bench across from them.
“People are always doing that when we’re around,” Loki remarks.
“Not even adulterers this time,” Bartleby agrees. He shifts in his seat, just slightly. “We could go sit somewhere else, you know. Heaven’s a big place.”
Loki shakes his head, grinning. “I never said anything about that.”
“Perv.”
He snorts. “Okay, Mr. I Hang Around Airports To Watch People Make Out.”
Bartleby frowns, crossing his arms. “That is about the beauty of the human condition.”
“Hey man, we’ve all got our fetishes.”
He flips him off.
Loki grins. “Voyeurism isn’t even that weird, in the grand scheme of things. And I would know.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz yours is murder.”
“Execution,” he corrects. A pause, and he frowns. “And hey! That’s just my job.”
Bartleby raises a brow. “Hasn’t been in a long time.”
“Shit.”
He puts a hand on Loki’s shoulder with a smirk. “We’ve all got our fetishes.”
“I mean, hell, we’re human now. That’s pretty much all we have.”
“That, and…”
Loki smirks, flicking his eyes down, then back up at Bartleby. “And that.”
“...A conscience.” Bartleby finishes.
Loki laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I meant, too.”
“Oh, I bet.”
Loki glances toward that other bench, but the couple is gone. He looks back to Bartleby, biting his lip. “We’re alone.”
“God is always watching.”
He puts a hand on Bartleby’s cheek. “No, he’s not. He’s probably at that… that concert.”
“That’s not the right rebuttal,” Bartleby replies, lowering his voice and covering the hand with his own. “You should’ve said that he has no reason to care about two random dead humans.”
Loki looks down. “I thought that might upset you.”
Bartleby brings his other hand to Loki’s chin, guiding it upwards to look at him. “I told you, I got over it.”
“That’s some crazy character development.”
He sighs. “I’m trying to get over it, anyway.”
“Okay, I believe that.”
They’re so close, Loki can feel Bartleby’s breath on him. Funny that they still breathe in heaven, considering they’re dead. But as angels, they had to breathe, too, which makes just as little sense. Maybe God just likes the sound.
“Are you gonna kiss me?”
Loki bites his lip. “I don’t know… someone might be watching, and you know how many freaks they let up here on technicalities…”
“You’re such a tease,” Bartleby scoffs, and closes the distance between them.
Loki pulls Bartleby closer as Bartleby’s hand moves to cradle the nape of his neck, and in that moment, nothing else matters. They’re no one’s servants, no one’s angels, just two random dead humans, forgotten by God, playing their small part in the grand tapestry of the human condition.