Title: Darkness
Author: Carmarthen (lacorneille@earthlink.net)
Fandom: Dogma (a semi-crossover with The Sandman)
Disclaimer: Bartleby, Loki, and Azrael are not mine. They belong
to Kevin "Master of Subtext" Smith and View Askew, not me. Lucifer is
(obviously) in the public domain, being Satan and all, but this
particular version is kinda of Sandman-esque, as is the version
of Hell, so I suppose that all belongs to Neil "Too Brilliant For His
Own Good" Gaiman and DC Comics. I have no money and only the highest
respect for the aforementioned people, and I am using these characters
without their permission.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Spoilers: For Dogma, particularly the ending, but it wouldn't make much sense without watching the movie anyhow.
Summary: Bartleby makes his own Hell. Lucifer brings
desperation, Azrael brings despair, and Loki brings hope. Look, ma, I
wrote a genfic!
Archive: Yes to Stories from the Shadows
(http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/non-x.htm), StraightAskew
(http://members.ispbackroom.com/~str8taskew/site/), others ask.
Notes: Vampire plot bunnies at 4 am. And I can't write humor, so
this is obviously going to be nothing like the movie in tone. Except
maybe the end bit of the movie where everyone dies.
Darkness.
Not the gray, light-tinged, pallid darkness of a moonless night. Not the blue dimness of a shuttered room.
Darkness.
Total, absolute, bone-chilling, mind-numbing darkness. More than the absence of light; a living thing, uncaring and vast.
Bartleby opened his eyes.
Bartleby opened his eyes.
Darkness.
"Bartleby." That cool voice, silk over bare skin. He had not heard it for millennia, but he knew it. "My comrade in arms."
The voice was calm, unreadable. Images swam dimly through his mind, images to match the voice.
Curly ginger hair, narrow, laughing face. The most beautiful of the Host of Heaven. God's right hand; God's beloved. Morningstar. Lucifer.
Screaming, raging against the injustice of it all, wings spread wide and white against the firmament.
Then falling in flames, those proud wings burnt to a twisted frame of what they had once been.
Lucifer.
"Lucifer," Bartleby said, his voice harsh and discordant in his own ears after that velvet one.
"Ah, what you have come to, my brother. Taking on the throne...." Amused now, but bitterly, a cold edge to the voice. "But not to share my fate, alas."
Strong hands on his arms, cool lips brushing one cheek, leaving ice in their wake. "The Judas kiss you could not give the Other." The other cheek then. "And the one you would not give Loki."
Numbness.
"Enjoy your Hell, Bartleby."
Bartleby screamed for God until his throat was raw.
God could not hear him now. He was mortal, he was in Hell. She could not hear him.
Then he screamed for Loki, beating his hands against the insubstantial walls of his prison until he could no longer feel them, no longer hear himself scream.
The silence was nearly as terrible as the darkness.
Footsteps, soft against the ethereal substance of his prison.
He could no longer move.
"I came to see what had happened to you," said the voice, uncharacteristically subdued.
Azrael.
Bartleby tried to speak. What the fuck do you want? His throat was too raw, his voice broken.
A gentle hand on his shoulder, then gone. Shame that Bartleby desperately wanted it to stay. "I thought you would've lasted longer." Disappointment. A tinge of contempt.
He could not bear it if Azrael pitied him. He could not bear it.
"I'm sorry."
Footsteps leaving. Silence.
In his mind, Bartleby screamed.
"Bartleby?" The voice soft, questioning, familiar. "Shit, man...."
"Loki," he whispered, his mouth dry. His questing hands came in contact with Loki's leg and he clutched at Loki in desperation.
"Bartleby, listen to me."
Bartleby turned towards the sound of Loki's voice, tried desperately to see him.
"I've learned something about Hell." Loki was touching him now, light touches to his face and shoulders, and he leaned into that. Touch brought reality.
"It's not our crimes that we're punished for. It's what we regret. I don't regret those millennia as Angel of Death. I did my job. I was good at it. I liked it. I was God's righteous wrath with wings and a flaming sword. I do not regret any of it." Loki paused, leaned his forehead against Bartleby's.
"I'm only here because of the Mooby board. Yeah, those scum-sucking fucks. I'm not sorry they're dead, but yeah, there's a bit of me that wonders if I had the right to kill them." Loki paused again.
"And maybe a little bit because I helped you. I may not have done any of the dirty deeds at the end, but I was party to your little war on God. I was punished for that. Then one day I decided I had paid enough. Fucking end of show."
Bartleby twisted his hands into Loki's shirt, straining to hear, to remember every sentence as if they were written in words of fire.
"I'm not saying you're done yet. Only you can know that. But until then, I'm here. I'll wait for all eternity if need be. Not like there's anything better to do."
Loki's arms around him, Loki's voice whispering in his ear, "Sure beats Wisconsin."
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