Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bartimaeus had always prided himself in his memory and his wit. His memory was immaculate, and his wit was sharp enough to cut through his enemies (quite literally in some cases.)

He made it through many things he should have died from, through a combination of his quick thinking and his luck. Although there were many times where he thought it would be the end, he always managed to scrape through. Even though the odds were always stacked against him, he was somehow able to beat his enemies. 

For much of his existence, he was well aware of this. He was proud of it. After all, another enemy down was just another thing to add to his boasts. He simply accepted the mentality that his life will always come first. He was content with the thought that he would never have to worry about anyone's life other than his own.

That's why Ptolemy's death hurt so much.

The realization that his life had so little worth compared to Ptolemy's. 

The weight of knowing how unfair it was that Ptolemy had so little time.

The agonizing feeling of knowing that it was his fault Ptolemy died. 

It's all his fault. 

He knew that the mark Ptolemy made will never fade. He didn't want it to fade. 

He would never forget the joy Ptolemy brought into his life. Every little tired smile, all of the pages and pages of writing, and the fits of uncontrollable laughter. Every moment mattered. Perhaps too much. 

He had always laughed at humans who clung on so desperately to loved ones deaths. 

He always thought of them as being foolish. After all, their lives are so short and insignificant anyways. He didn't understand why it mattered. He never 'cried' about the deaths of his fellow spirits, and they were much more powerful than any pathetic human. 

That's what he thought was important. Power. 

'There is no life worth turning someone into a blubbering mess. Can't they at least hold it together and have some dignity? If that's even possible for a human that is.'

He was foolish. Frivolous. 

He didn't know any better. 

...

But now he did. 

He knew the truth.

He lived while others died. 

Chapter Text

"Djinni don't cry you know," he scrunched up his face a bit and turned to look out the window. "We don't have the need to, let alone the want to. There's really no point to it." 

Ptolemy gave no response.

Bartimaeus shifted his gaze from the bustling streets to the small boy across the room. 

Ptolemy had a contemplative expression. He didn't say anything, and neither did Bartimaeus.  They fell into silence. It wasn't particularly uncommon for them to simply sit together without speaking, but in that moment it felt different. It was slightly tense, a strange and unwelcome feeling. 

Bartimaeus got the impression he said something Ptolemy didn't like. He was sure there was a reason, but for the life of him he couldn't think of what it might be. 

It didn't take long for the silence to get to him. After all, he hated when nothing was happening; when everything felt still. It was one of the many things he hated about this plane. 

It was, like many things, too different from the constant whirring a feelings and memories from the other place. 

So he continued. 

"I really don't get you humans. Always feeling something." He shook his head. "I'll never understand why you humans always feel the need to emote so much." 

Ptolemy sighed. Leaned back in his chair.

"Oh Rekhyt." There was a pause. A slight smile. "I think you're forgetting something"

Bartimaeus tilted his head a little bit, seemingly without realizing it. 

"And what might that be?"

"Every creature has feelings. No matter how big," he gestured at Bartimaeus, "or how small." 

"Preposterous."

"No, really. In that sense, we're all the same."

Bartimaeus gave him an incredulous look. 

".... riiiight. Well. Whatever you want to tell yourself."

The faint smile disappeared. "I'm serious. You can't try to pretend you don't have emotions."

Without realizing it, Bartimaeus puffed up a little bit. "I would say 'I can and I will', but I'm not trying to pretend. I'm being honest, as surprising as it seems to be to you."

"Rekhyt. I.... you're still lying. To me or to yourself I don't know." 

"I wish I hadn't already used the word preposterous... it would fit quite well here, don't ya think?"

Ptolemy sighed again. Shook his head a little. 

"I still firmly believe that you are in fact capable of feeling, oh big and mighty."

"While I do appreciate being called big and mighty, because I am, you're still wrong." 

Ptolemy looked at him for a long moment. Then his contemplative expression returned. 

"Wait, what did you say about crying earlier?"

"That it's utterly pointless?"

Ptolemy shook his head, "No, before that..."

"That Djinni don't cry?"

"Yes, that!"

Ptolemy grabbed a sheet of blank papyrus and his writing reed. Then he looked at Bartimaeus with an excited expression. The same look he had whenever he found out something new. 

Ptolemy cleared his throat and said "So you said that Djinni don't cry, right?" He gave no time for a response, continuing with "Does that mean that you simply don't want to cry? Or does it mean that you can't cry, even if you want to?"

"Well, I certainly have never wanted to cry... nor has any other djinni. Any djinni with dignity anyways. As for the capability to cry, I can conjure up tears if needed. If you mean actually crying, then no. Djinni cannot truly cry. Thankfully."

Ptolemy scrambled to write what he had said as quickly as possible, making sure he got everything right. 

"Wait a second, what do you mean by 'any djinni with dignity'? Does that not mean that there are djinni who have wanted to cry? Surely it does, right? Oh, this is exciting Rekhyt!"

Bartimaeus tilted his head again. However, as he opened his mouth to respond Ptolemy resumed talking. 

"Hold on, why are djinni not able to cry? You said you can conjure up tears right? Does that work the same way as you taking different forms? But that doesn't explain why you can't cry...."

Ptolemy's brows furrowed and he tapped his fingers on his leg. He was clearly deep in thought. 

Bartimaeus quickly grew tired of the relative silence and decided to keep talking.

"I really don't see the big deal here. Why does it matter if I can't cry? As I said earlier, only humans feel the need to constantly emote over everything. So why are you so hung up on this? There is no reason for me to ever want to cry." 

Ptolemy looked up from his page and stared at Bartimaeus. There was no malicious intent, however his gaze made Bartimaeus want to squirm a bit. He was doing the whole 'peering into the depths of your being' stare. 

Ptolemy cleared his throat again, then pressed on. He said "Surely you can't mean th---

Bartimaeus was ripped from his memory back to the sad streets of London by a cold drop of water smacking him in the face.

After a brief moment of confusion, he realized that it had begun to rain. 

It didn't take long until Bartimaeus was soaking wet. He knew he couldn't afford to leave his position. His master would be furious. Bartimaeus hated that even a pathetic pipsqueak like his latest master had control over him. 

Despite his annoyance at his situation, there was nothing he could do but stay put and keep watching. 

However, as he sat on the roof of a rather sad building, he found his mind wandering again. 

He couldn't help but think back to his days in Egypt.

He thought back to the warmth and dryness of the desert. 

He thought back to him. 

Bartimaeus knew how pitiful and mournful he must have looked. Well, as mournful as a gargoyle could look anyways. 

As he looked at his miserable surroundings, he remembered a master he had long ago who said that it was best to cry in the rain. 

Bartimaeus had disagreed at the time. At the time, he still believed there was never a reason to cry. 

But that was a long time ago. That's not what matters. 

What matters is that in that moment, even though he knew he couldn't, he wanted nothing more than to cry. 

Chapter Text

Does anyone have a character/topic they would like me to write about?

Chapter Text

Part of Nathaniel wondered if he was in the wrong. If he what he was doing wasn't right. After all, forcing Bartimaeus to stay on this plane for so long must hurt him. 

He always tried to quell the whispers of doubt that tugged at the corners of his mind. 

He is a demon. His feelings don't matter exist. 

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop the flickers of 'what if' that continuously found a way to flare up.

What if I'm wrong? 

No, he is nothing but a demon. 

What if I'm losing myself?

Good. I am not Nathaniel anymore. I can't be. 

What if he is suffering?

It's obvious he is, it just doesn't matter. He's a demon, and I am human. 

Still, as much as he tried to feel nothing but contempt for Bartimaeus, he couldn't help but feel... something else. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. He didn't know what it was... all he knew was that it was insignificant. 

When he summoned Bartimaeus for the fifth time that week, he decided to take a good look at him. For the first time, he saw his state. He saw what Bartimaeus had become. 

There was no smirk on his face, no witty remarks. Even his form seemed... weak in a sense. Like there was something wrong with it. 

Something within Bartimaeus had changed. Gone was the person demon he was. In his place, a husk. A shell of what he had once been. 

Nathaniel felt something crack in his facade. 

Nathaniel realized he must have been staring. He couldn't help but wonder why Bartimaeus hadn't said anything about it. 

He did his best to ignore the guilt that had begun to claw at him. 

He shook his head, attempting to get rid of the troublesome thoughts going through his head. 

I must remember why I am doing this. He is nothing but a demon. He doesn't have feelings. All he wants is to hurt people. I must remember that.

He felt his mask of John Mandrake slip back into place.

...

Even still, he just couldn't ignore the break in his character. A crack that would only grow over time. 

No, I cannot think like that. There is nothing to worry about. 

...

He felt his resolve harden and his eyes narrow. 

I'm right.