This just sort of popped into my head this morning, and I couldn't resist.
Please don't throw things, I need my hands for typing! D:

Gabriel had been to Asgard one or two (dozen) times before. What could he say, he liked the way the city looked, and the girls here were always so happy to please. It didn't quite meet up the expectations he'd held when he'd heard of Valhalla, but it was pretty close. Besides, there was no way he was getting close enough to Hel to see the realm she presided over.

But really, the city was beautiful, and the halls he could wander through were endless. He either chose the guise of some warrior who had been injured in battle (the chicks loved that one), or perhaps some visiting dignitary from another Realm of the Nine who needed to be shown about the place (the girls were always so eager to show him the prettiest views, he never complained).

The thing he loved most, though, was the inhabitants. Here was a collection of pagans that had been around for longer than a few of the gods he'd met, and he respected them for that. Over time they had changed a little, what with the comic industry doing its damndest to spill all the secrets of the universe just to make money, Gabriel wasn't exactly surprised. But in essence, the city was mostly the same. The golden halls still gleamed with light that he still couldn't find the origin of; the Warriors Three still gorged themselves at the near-nightly feasts; Thor still laughed so loudly that the lofty ceilings shook with the force of it; and Loki, dear, sneaky, conniving little lie-smith that he was, never changed.

Alright, fine, he'd changed his look a little over the years, a slick-haired, pale-skinned prince was what the masses believed in, and thus he shifted shapes to accommodate their wishes. He needed their prayers and their belief, and he would do whatever he needed in order to obtain them.

Even if that involved stooping so low as to wear the helmet Gabriel continued to mock him for.

But in all honesty, the Archangel and the Demi-God got along rather well, to the point of even pulling a few pranks on Thor in their spare time, but Gabriel knew the idyllic days in golden halls wouldn't last. It never did.

It didn't matter how many times he snapped himself back in time to try and fix the past, try to get Loki to understand he shouldn't make the same mistakes as the other Trickster, the Prince never listened. The story changed, but the end result, where Loki left Asgard and vanished into the Void; that was always the same.

Gabriel had tried more times than he could count to fix that, going so far back that Loki barely came up to the Archangel's knee and telling him no matter what that he had to love his brother, had to take all the jokes and jibes in stride, had to listen. Had to care when Thor failed the tests he was given, had to understand that his father was just trying to protect him, had to stop his scheming before it ever began. He had to not make the same mistake that Gabriel had.

But Loki never listened.

Something always happened while Gabriel was gone, some stupid, supercilious thing that Thor had done to bruise more than just his brother's skin, and all the plans and preparation that Gabriel had put into place shattered like he knew a certain bridge one day would.

It always played out to the same end, though the journey there varied greatly, and Gabriel would be left with an empty feeling at the memory of one brother slipping through the fingers of another and vanishing into the deep black oblivion that awaited.

That imagery never failed to make his heart ache, and he found it almost a little ironic that the boy he'd befriended had ended up like that.

He took up the name in honor of the friend he'd lost, because honestly, what else could he do? He couldn't bring Loki back, not in a form that anyone would recognize, and even the Archangel couldn't find where he'd landed after he'd fallen. He'd called in ever favor he had, ever connection he could think of to help him look, but they always turned up with the exact same result: nothing.

So Gabriel the Archangel became Loki the Trickster, and a change in identity had never been so easy. No one thought to ask him about his past, and even if they had he knew more than enough to lie through his teeth about things that had happened in Odin's golden halls or in the shadows of his own room.

No one suspected him, not really, and they all took the lie that he fed them without a second thought, his brothers, his own father. They swallowed the lie that he was alive and living a new life because the truth of it was just too unbearable. The idea that one of their own was swallowed by the darkness, well… No one wanted to think about that prospect.

Gabriel himself even started to believe it, running those two mutton-headed boys around in circles chasing the wrong sort of monster for ages before they'd figured it out. And then they had, and one circle of Holy Fire later, the game was up.

Well, almost.

Because that night, when Gabriel snapped himself back to his apartment and huffed out a string of curses in a tongue not his own, he was rewarded with a soft chuckle from one of the chairs and froze half-way through pulling off his jacket.

"You always did seem to be quite vulgar for an Archangel." The voice was like velvet in the dark room, and Gabriel didn't have to look up in order to know those emerald green eyes were peering at him through the shadows. "I should have known that you would be no better as a pagan."

The name lodged in his throat and he couldn't get it out, the surprise overriding the need to be sure this wasn't some hoax, some trick his mind was playing on him because of how he was feeling.

"Yes, Gabriel," the man in the chair stood and glided across the room towards him, "it is truly me."

The jacket fell to the floor forgotten and Gabriel barreled into the brunette, holding him as tightly as possible as the emotions all boiled up in his chest at the same time. He didn't know what to say, how to act, how to breathe. The one person he'd never wanted to lose, the person he'd tried so hard to save was actually here. In his apartment. Dripping blood onto his carpet.

It was the sticky wetness of blood seeping in to his shirt sleeves that finally snapped Gabriel out of it, and he pulled back so fast he dislodged the hesitant hands that had finally alighted onto his back in a return of the gesture he'd initiated.

Loki's face twisted with contempt, as though he'd been expecting this all along, but had given in to some small hope that Gabriel of all people would accept him back with open arms.

"You're bleeding onto my carpet, I'm deeply offended." Gabriel snapped, settling them into the bathroom and guided Loki onto the bench that ran along one wall. He busied himself with finding and opening the specialty first-aid kit he'd put together for just such circumstances, absently snapping his fingers and ridding Loki of his shredded shirt. "What are you even doing here, Loki? You should be in Valhalla, letting beautiful girls attend to your wounds in creative ways."

Loki huffed out a laugh at that, and Gabriel caught him rolling his eyes in the mirror. "I did not believe it wise to return home after being gone so long." Those keen green eyes were boring holes into Gabriel's as the Archangel finally finished getting everything together and turned back around. "Especially after you so cleverly took over in my absence."

"Hey, someone had to have the laughs, figured it might as well be me." Gabriel knelt next to him, setting the box onto the bench and staring at the cuts to his side. They were deep, deeper than Gabriel cared to think about; and wider at one end than the other.

They were claw marks.

"You always did have a remarkable sense for things like that." Loki continued the banter, moving his arm unbidden and clearing the way for Gabriel to get to work. "I would have been insulted if someone of a lesser caliber had attempted to use my name as their own."

"But as it is…?" Gabriel prompted, trying to ignore the feel of the blood against his hands as he cleaned the wounds and slowly started to patch them back up.

"As it is I am… grateful." Loki answered quietly. "I would likely have perished if were it not for you. You continued to act on my behalf, people continued to believe in me… I had the strength required to escape." He paused for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice barely audible. "Thank you, Gabriel."

"Don't mention it, Loki," he muttered back, "just keep kicking a while longer. I'd hate to explain to any of your relatives why I have an exact replica of you in my apartment."

There was a flash of something in Loki's eyes for a moment, but Gabriel chose to ignore it. "I am sure you, as the new lie-smith, could weave them a plausible tale."

"Oh, they'd buy whatever crap I decided to peddle them, that's not what I'm worried about. I'd be more worried over the fact that you died without me being able to stop it." He was silent for a long moment, golden eyes looking up into green, and then he got back to work. "Besides, the hell am I supposed to do with a Demi-God's body? It's not like I can just put it in the freezer for later or anything. Such a pain!" Loki chuckled softly, and Gabriel knew he'd succeeded, at least a little. "Where are you headed after this?"

"I do not yet know." The request was blatant, even after all this time Loki could ask questions without actually asking them, and Gabriel was almost a little proud that he could hear the unspoken words.

"Wanna stick around for a while? I've got a few jobs lined up; I could use a second pair of eyes."

"I would not wish to be a burden." Again, the question slipped past his lips without ever actually having been spoken.

"Nah, you'll be fine. I get lonely here by myself, anyway." He pulled away from the wound and looked it over. It wasn't his best work, not by a long shot, but it had been a while since he'd had to heal someone not human or Angel. "I'll even give you the spare room, so you won't have to bunk out on the couch. You can turn into a hermit in there for as long as you like." He straightened and started to clean away the towels he'd used to clean away the dried blood, feeling his stomach lurch at the color.

"You wonder it too, do you not?" Loki asked when he noticed where Gabriel's gaze was directed. "Why it is that when we bleed, we do not bleed red."

"I know why I don't," he admitted with a shrug, thinking of the ghostly white light that would leak from the cuts he took from a Holy Blade, "but you never made much sense."

"I believe my heritage is to blame." Loki inspected the bandages to his side, more to give himself a distraction than to imply they weren't quite good enough. "Coupled with the magic humming through my veins, I believe black is a much more suitable color for me than red."

"Suitable or otherwise it doesn't mean I have to like it." Gabriel grumbled, snapping out the stains on his towels and throwing them into the hamper. "I mean really, how am I going to explain the stains on my carpet to the girls I bring home?"

Loki stood, stretched carefully, and gave Gabriel a small but genuine smile. "I'm sure you will come up with something, lie-smith."

Gabriel grinned at himself in the mirror as Loki vanished, undoubtedly into the depths of the guest room to sleep until he healed, and tried not to think of black bloodstains and unexpected guests in the dead of night. He had some jerks to take down a peg.

Although, he reasoned as he walked back into the living room and looked at the black dots denoting where his guest had rudely bled onto his carpet, the jerks could probably wait till the morning… Couldn't they?

Oh my word. Too many Tricksters at the same time will do odd things to your brain.

I sort of want to turn this into a running story now, just with vignettes between these two, but I doubt that'll happen.

Who knows! The Twickster Bunny may strike again and bite me a second time! XD