Just Ignore the Lyrics

Wed, 06 Jan 2010 01:05:13 GMT

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: Just Ignore the Lyrics (or, No Metallica in the Metallicar)
Author: piercingnisha
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Category: general, crack, drabble
Rating: PG
Word Count: 138
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Kripe 'n Co., not me. Also, I don't own Metallica and AC/DC (seein' how they were makin' sweet, sweet music long before I was born 'n' all).
Summary: In which there is Metallica in the Metallicar, and Sam doesn't much approve.
Author's Notes: PLEASE read the important music-related notes at the end! Or else you might be a bit confused.

Just Ignore the Lyrics (or, No Metallica in the Metallicar)

Sam twitched in the passenger’s seat as a new song played on the mixed tape.

“Ah, Dean!” he yelled, interrupting right as his older brother was (poorly) singing along with the chorus.

“So let it be wri—what?”

“We are not listening to Metallica with an angel in the car.”

“Why the hell not? It’s good music! Hey Cas!” Dean watched the rear-view mirror as Castiel looked up, waiting for the question. “They have Metallica in Heaven, right?”

The angel listened to the harsh repetitive beat for a moment and inclined his head in a negative motion. “Our music varies greatly from your own; it would not be suitable for human ears. You would likely be rendered deaf.”

Dean grinned at Sam as his brother bitched-faced back. “See? They have Metallica in Heaven. Can’t stop rock ‘n’ roll, Sammy.”

xxx

Music Notes: (Get it? Music notes? Heh.) The song they're listening to is Metallica's "Creeping Death," off their 1984 album, Ride the Lightning. To understand why Sam doesn't want an angel of the Lord to listen to the song, you'll have to look the lyrics up yourself! The last line, "Can't Stop Rock 'n' Roll," is a song by AC/DC, from Stiff Upper Lip in 2001.

I love classic rock, especially AC/DC, so don't go thinking I hate rock or anything. I've been listening to Pink Floyd since I was in the womb.

On Cas and Christmas, 2/2: What is Worth Knowing

Thu, 31 Dec 2009 21:21:43 GMT

Happy Holidays, everyone, and Happy New Year! (I still can't really believe it's a new decade already. Holy crap, guys.)

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: What Is Worth Knowing, 2/2 of On Cas and Christmas
Author: piercingnisha
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam
Category: General
Rating: PG-13, for swearing and Dean being vaguely dirty.
Warning(s): None, unless you're not fond of f-bombs
Spoiler(s): General for seasons 4 and 5; more specifically, 5.1 and 5.10
Word Count: 1,835
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Kripe 'n Co., not me.
Summary: Castiel ha a question, but he doesn't get the answer he's looking for. (Partly a 'becoming human' fic.)
Author's Notes: Part 1 of On Cas and Christmas can be found here. This is still part of my first Supernatural fic ever, and my first fic in many years, so feedback is much welcome! And please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes, or if it's choppy or generally unreadable. I've gone over it enough that I'm tired of looking at it, so hopefully it's not as terrible as I think it must be! Please note that the title of this fic is taken from Oscar Wilde's quote, "The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing." (And I was tempted to title it, "Curiosity Killed the Cas," but I didn't. You can thank me later.)
Also: This is a holiday/Christmas related fic, but I am not Christian. I apologize if this fic makes you uncomfortable because of this!

On Cas and Christmas, 2/2: What Is Worth Knowing
Part 1

Castiel was on another mission. This was not one of great import, nor one that needed to be finished quickly. It was simply something he wanted to do, something he was interested in.

Besides, Dean had said he should go find out. And when Dean spoke, Castiel listened, and tried his best to fulfill the man’s wishes.

He wanted to know why it was a tradition to put angels on the tops of trees.

Castiel asked the Winchesters immediately. Sam merely looked thoughtful, as if wondering why he himself hadn’t thought to ask. Dean chuckled a while and poked fun, cracking jokes the angel didn’t understand, something about “wood” (which didn’t make sense, there was nothing humorous about a tree’s main component) and “topping a tree” (yes, angels did top trees in the holiday season, and stating the obvious was not going to change that).

Humans. Their strangeness was often understated.

This one thing, though, Castiel might comprehend. Humans insisted on incorrectly ascribing angels as beautiful, sympathetic figures, always holding aloft an instrument of Earthly origins. In truth, his brothers and sisters were quite fierce, warriors of Heaven that they were. Their outward attractiveness depended only on their vessel, and “beauty,” as humans saw the concept, did not factor into the selection process.

So Castiel did not see why people wished to adorn a Christmas tree with an angel, and thought his question was very earnest.

Dead must have thought the treetop angel problem was bothering him, and so invited Castiel to find out for himself.

xxx

Castiel first traveled to what Dean had called a “tree farm.” Somehow, it made sense that the growers—the makers, creators—should know how angels came to be ornaments.

But the man at the front stand didn’t know. The stitching on his plaid shirt identified him as “Wally.” Wally, like Sam, looked contemplative. “Sorry, kid. Wished I’d thought t’ ask it m’self,” Wally said beneath a thick moustache, “’Fraid I can’t help ya. But hey, if you ever f’gure it out, be sure t’ come back’n tell me, okie doke?” Castiel nodded and thanked him for his time, walked out of Wally’s sight and flew elsewhere.

xxx

Hours and dozens of tree farms later, and still no one knew the answer to his question. In some town in Oregon though, Castiel stumbled onto a lead. One seemingly nice young man told him he had a friend who might know. The kid dialed a number on his phone and handed it to him, instructing him to ask the person on the other line.

Not wanting to seem rude, Castiel did.

And got sworn at in five different languages.

“If you keep calling this fuckin’ number, I swear I’ll tell the police! Fuckin’ kids, don’t know how to spend your time anymore! Wasting time, egging cars, graffiti… Nique ta mere!” and a click.

Castiel politely handed the phone back to a grinning Brandon and walked away, pondering the oddities of humans.

xxx

Several days ago, Castiel overheard the Winchesters discussing the usefulness of hardware stores with a stranger asking their advice. Sam noted one store above the others, as they usually had the most selection out of the others, and was known for their customer service. (Dean scoffed at this, saying “Ah, please, we’ve never needed their help, the kids there don’t know the difference between an open-end wrench and a socket wrench… or their dicks, for that matter,” or something equally Dean-like.) Castiel took this to mean “knowledgeable of their products” and so flew to the store’s nearest location.

Jimmy Novak’s body told him that this town was cold, but the chill winter air had no effect on the body—it did not register properly. The angel did register the snow falling around him, and the complete silence of an empty parking lot, and his exhaling breath coming out in a mist of cloud, mixing with the snow. Silence, Castiel knew, could feel peaceful and comforting. Here, it felt overwhelming. He was somehow out of place. He hurried into the store.

The first woman he met didn’t know, but thought her pastor might. His name was Justin, and oh, he should be at the church just about now, for Christmas Eve service. Pastor Justin was a good man, she said, who knew a little about everything, and a lot about certain things. Like angels, she said. He knew about angels.

“You know, the pastor told me that angels help everyone, even those who don’t think they need any help in the first place! Like my mom, she got into a car accident two years ago. Some drunk ran her off the side of the road. She wasn’t religious before then, but after that… well, see, she saw one. She saw an angel. Said she helped her find her phone and gave her the strength to call 9-1-1 and tell the police what had happened. Mom said it was pure white. Or maybe it was golden? I’ll have to ask her. Anyway, it’s so miraculous, isn’t it? And my mom, she never lies about anything…”

Castiel knew that the woman was rambling, and while he thought her story was interesting, and honestly wanted to hear more of people’s experiences with what they believed to be angels, thought that it was time to go. Dean would be worried, after all, and Sam too.

So he politely asked the woman for directions to her church. It wasn’t far, she said, just down the block and up the little hill. Look for the little white building, she said, the one with the graveyard off to the side. Oh, and did Castiel know that the first person to be buried in their little town was—but Castiel was already leaving, so the woman wished him a Merry Christmas and Good Luck with Pastor Justin.

xxx

Less than two milliseconds later, Castiel was standing outside the little white church with the graveyard. The silence was more consuming here, and the snow fell in smaller flakes and more rapidly. Earth’s weather never ceased to amaze him, that there could be such a difference in a few hundred meters.

But now Castiel did not feel out of place, but instead felt right at home. (“Oh yeah, now I’m right at home,” Dean would say as he cut slices into a giant apple pie, sprinkled with sugar and topped with cream. “You know what goes great with pie, Cas? Beer. Hey Sam, get Cas ‘n me a beer!”)

Quickly, he decided he didn’t much enjoy the feeling. Holy ground was beneath his feet, but it felt wrong to feel so right in an unfamiliar place.

Inside, the church was filled with activity and sound and energy. People of all ethnicities stood in the little pews, filling up their rows hip-to-hip, there were so many people. They, and the choir to the front of the congregation and a man who must be Pastor Justin, were joined in song. A board at the front of the room told him this was “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.”

Castiel soon decided the hymn was pleasant to listen to, but inaccurate.

If humans did “hear the angels sing,” as the song-prayer proclaimed, they would have lost the use of their ears.

When Castiel had first gone to Dean in his heavenly form, he had spoken in a whisper. A far cry from the booming voice of song, and yet the effect on Dean and his surroundings had been great. The singing voice of an angel was terrible to hear, deathly beautiful and stunning and most definitely not for human ears.

A war cry before a battle, not the lilting phrases of joyous news.

So it surprised Castiel to realize that his mouth was forming the words to the foreign hymn. He didn’t think that was supposed to happen. Castiel did not know any earthly songs or prayers, excluding those which were useful in battle or healing. Jimmy Novak likely knew the hymns, but Jimmy Novak was not… could not, because Castiel was definitely in possession of the man’s body, making it impossible for Jimmy Novak to— the stress would be too great, and—

And Castiel was slowly but surely losing his connection with Heaven and his brethren. He was becoming more human.

In shock, he slipped, allowing his voice to connect with his mouth and let forth song.

It was only a mild reassurance to find that Jimmy Novak had an enjoyable voice. When Castiel had control of the man’s body, his voice was usually gravelly, deep and harsh. Now it was so full of emotion, the contrary feelings of sadness and hope that only a human could command.

If Dean saw him now, Castiel wondered what he would say. Would he be pleased to see Castiel “bumping shoulders with the little folk,” finally understanding what it meant to be human and of freewill?

Or he might react as Castiel was reacting. Scared. Castiel was scared, even in this place of worship and in a crowd so filled with joy, that he was fighting a losing battle, and alone in an unfamiliar plane of existence without the guidance of his father and his siblings, and that he would never find God, or not live to see the day that Lucifer and his sympathizers were eradicated by Dean and Sam and Bobby.

And now, Castiel was scared that he would not be an angel for much longer.

xxx

The for-now-angel stayed at the church for the remainder of the song and then vanished (outside, and unwatched) in a swoosh of cold air and snow. He reappeared in Dean’s motel room, where the eldest Winchester sat in a chair reading a newspaper, and Sam slouched on a bed with his laptop. They had pie (and Castiel noted that Dean’s slice was much larger than was Sam’s).

When he caught Dean’s eye, he saw that the man was grinning. “Hey, Cas! So how was your trip around the world? Find what you were looking for?”

Unwilling to share the details of his excursion, Castiel simply shook his head slightly.

Dean shrugged and motioned to Sam. “Eh, that’s fine, Sammy over there looked it up. There’s this awesome internet thing called ‘Google,’ and it turns out that treetop angels—“

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted. His voice was back to gravelly, harsh and deep. Unemotional. “I am sorry you and Sam took the trouble to… ‘Google it’ for me, but I am no longer interested.”

Dean looked at him sharply, taken aback by his abrasive tone. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sam frowning at him.

“I… There are other matters more important.” Because he was an angel, completely without human curiosity, and that’s how it would stay. “I must continue searching for my Father.”

As he was leaving that plane, the last thing Castiel heard was, “Uh, I think somethin’s wrong with my angel” and “No shit, Sherlock.” Castiel resisted the urge to ponder who “Sherlock” was.

On Cas and Christmas, 1/?, and notes

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 07:51:04 GMT

Oh hi there. I may not know you, but here, have a Supernatural drabble. This thing will be continued, hopefully soon (because it's holiday-themed, and the holidays are almost over now). More fanfiction, all Supernatural-related, is on its way! I just don't know when. And I'll admit right now that I'm a sucker for comments, so don't be stingy with feedback and introductions!

So, I decided to re-Christen this journal with a drabble. My first drabble, in fact. And my first (published) Supernatural fic. It happens to be the first thing I've written in many years, so please bear with me if this, and others to come, seem a little iffy. Like most people, I think my writing sucks, but I hope it'll make someone's day just a little more pleasant all the same. Please let me know what you think! <3

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: On Cas and Christmas, 1/?
Author: piercingnisha
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam
Category: Drabble, general, crack
Rating: PG
Warning(s): None
Spoiler(s): None/a character you should know about if you've seen seasons 4 and 5. (If you haven't, shame on you!)
Word Count: 150 exactly
Disclaimer: The characters belong to Kripe 'n Co., not me.
Summary: Cas has a question, but the Winchesters sometimes aren't so helpful. A holiday-related drabble.
Author's Notes: Feedback is much appreciated! Hell, comments in general are awesome. Just drop in and say hi!

On Cas and Christmas, 1/2
Part 2

Dean assumed it would be a simple question. He'd assumed wrong.

Now he was looking on as Cas did his adorable (not that he'd say that aloud, ever) head-tilt, eyes unfocused. Castiel's brows were knit together so hard that Dean was certain they now had their very own life-sized Nutcracker.

"Hey, Cas? Cas." Distractedly, the angel's blue eyes traveled back to Dean's. "Uh, if you don't know, you could always just, I dunno, go find out?"

Castiel's eyes widened. A lot. Like, "Is that George Clooney? Oh my god, it is!" wide.

Then he disappeared, presumably to follow Dean's orders and go out on some mission to find an answer to his burning question.

Dean grinned, knowing they'd be rid of the angel for a few good hous. Enough time to catch some Z's unwatched, creeper-free.

Sam, however, was not amused.

"Dude, you couldn't just tell him to Google it?"

thoughts like dreams

Just Ignore the Lyrics

On Cas and Christmas, 2/2: What is Worth Knowing

On Cas and Christmas, 1/?, and notes