When God brings him back to life, Loki curses until his throat goes raw. How dare She? How dare She do this to him? A Millennia of suffering, about three hours of drunkenness and now, what, a human lifespan of boredom before Hell? What kind of fucking bullshit—Loki learns quickly that screaming doesn't actually help.
Some other things he learns in rapid succession:
Sea water tastes really bad.
He's not very good at swimming.
There is no dignified way to get pulled out of the water and hauled face first into a bunch of wriggling fish.
It's almost enough to make him wish he didn't understand what the fishermen around him are talking about: what's the point of knowing they're talking about him like a particularly moronic piece of luggage when he can't even gun them down about it, uh? (<- And this right there is the story of how Loki learns he can be wracked with guilt and pissed off about acquiring a conscience at the same time. The day only gets worse from there.)
God, in Her infinite ineffability gave Loki an apartment. It's tiny, it's overpriced, and it is—fucking wait for it—five minutes away from the motherfucking Basilica of Saint Fucking Peter. Because Why. The fuck. Not? After all, Loki's already stuck in a mortal body with a mortal lifespan and an affinity for hitting every furniture corner in existence, why not punish him some more! It has genitals for fuck's sake! It sweats! Why not add a fucking pillar-sized amount of rock and rub it in the fucking wound, huh? (Loki takes one look at the Basilica, goes to his knees, and weeps.) Fucking God. But unfortunately: life goes on. It went on when Loki got kicked out of Heaven, after all, why wouldn't it go on now? Seems to be sort of the point of his punishment anyway.
So Loki, much to his chagrin, goes on. He learns how to do the accounting job he's had for years and how to make food that won't send him to the hospital; he learns how to make small talk and how to brush his teeth without triggering his gag reflex and, humiliatingly, he learns he can't sit however he fucking wants on the toilet because if he sits wrong the piss goes on his thighs instead of in the fucking bowl. It's one fucking indignity after another, for days on end, interspersed by long bouts of knowing exactly what he did wrong and fucking crying about it.
Then one day, without really knowing why or how, Loki finds himself asking for permission to serve food to the homeless. Part of him scoffs at that, of course. It's the real perversity of his punishment: he has a conscience and he feels sad about doing bad things, but deep down he's still the same asshole that did them. But beyond the scoffing and the grunting and the not-wanting-to, it kind of fucking feels good too. (Being human is the worst.) Loki keeps going.
Days become weeks, become months, become a year, and on a Tuesday that is otherwise unremarkable, fucking Bartleby shows up. He's unwashed and tired and he stinks and when he comes in Loki has him in a tight embrace almost before he takes a step inside.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Bartleby hisses immediately.
It's a great question. Absolutely super. Its answer: Loki has no fucking clue. If he'd considered the possibility of seeing the other angel(1), he'd have thought he'd cave his face in. He'd be fucking justified, wouldn't he? Motherfucking Bartleby got him banned from Heaven, then cut his fucking wings off, then got him condemned to humanity! Loki could curb stomp the guy right now and not even God would tell him off for it! And yet, for some fucking reason, in this moment Loki feels mostly relief.
"It's a hug," he says, choked up beyond his wildest expectations. "Shut up and take it."
And maybe he's not the only who's been struggling because against all expectations, Bartleby does.
