wanderamaranth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wanderamaranth) wrote2011-07-13 07:33 pm
wanderamaranth) wrote2011-07-13 07:33 pm
Entry tags:
Too Dark to See
Title: Too Dark to See
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: none
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Gabriel thinks about Heaven and Bob Dylan
Originally written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
enmuse and their prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic : supernatural, Gabriel +/or Sam, too dark to see. Set during the S5 episode "Dark Side of the Moon".
There were many things that irritated Gabriel about humanity--the noise, the clutter, the way they huddled together as if doing so could keep out the things that lurked in the night--but their culture? Not one of them.
Books had been fascinating when first created (and okay, yeah, sometimes there are one or two that still hold an appeal, but more often than not they're glossy and thin girly mags, which really don't count as a book at all, despite the assertions of many men who claim they subscribe to read the articles) and photography was interesting, catching on despite the initial fears that to freeze one's image on paper stole bits of one's soul (and fine, yes, he may have helped to spread that particular little fallacy along, but c'mon--one needs to find entertainment where one can, yeah?).
Gabriel's attention towards those particular forms of diversion was well into fading by the time moving pictures came along, but then television--oh, television had felt like revelation. Yet after a week with the Winchesters in their own private sitcom hells followed by the older's rather brutal and surprisingly accurate assertions, well...television had simply lost its appeal, much faster than Gabriel had thought it would.
Music, however...now that never got old.
He'd heard angelic choirs almost from his creation. Perfect singers with perfect pitch and perfect voices all thrown up in exultation, creating what amounted to perfectly boring nonsense. There were those that craved the opportunity to hear the Host, but Gabriel had not had a craving for the music of his brothers and sisters in a long time. Gabriel stretched, settling his arms across the Impala's back seat and listened as Bob Dylan warbled in his broken voice:
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see...Feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door...
Bob was right, but Gabriel doubted the poor bastard knew quite how right he was when he'd penned those lyrics. His eyes flickered over the Winchester in the driver's seat, saw the way the fingers of his left hand gripped the steering wheel while his right reached out for the radio knob. Dean had been in Heaven for a very short span of time, but his early entry (as well as Sammy-boy's) had peaked his curiosity enough that he risked popping upstairs to see what was going on. They couldn't very well be vessels and accept their destinies and all that rubbish if they were dead, could they? Then he'd heard the music, appreciated, and decided to stick around for the course of the song.
Castiel's voice broke through the music, though, crackling along, and Gabriel was momentarily surprised that his falling brother could even project that far into Heaven, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. Hadn't he been the one just thinking about how darkness and knocking on heaven's door went hand in hand? Right. He listened for a bit, but his interest was gone. Dean and Sam Winchester may have been in Heaven at that moment, but they wouldn't be for much longer, not with Castiel assisting them, and besides, the music had stopped.
With a breath and a thought, he blinked out of that particular Heaven and searched out a place on Earth to return to. Heaven was too dangerous for him to stay in for long anyways, he told himself. He passed several dive bars, numerous posh hotels, and a multitude of vehicles all playing that same song--
Mama put my guns in the ground...I can't shoot them anymore...
--but finally settled on a small house on the edge of a town he didn't bother to catch the name of and perched on the edge of an unaware man's bed. Gabriel listened to the hiss of the needle as the record spun, and reveled in the way the youth accompanied Bob through the chorus, both of their imperfect voices singing about trying to enter a house where they're uncertain of their welcome as darkness closes in.
That long black cloud is coming down...I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door...
Fandom: Supernatural
Warnings: none
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Gabriel thinks about Heaven and Bob Dylan
Originally written for
enmuse and their prompt at comment_fic : supernatural, Gabriel +/or Sam, too dark to see. Set during the S5 episode "Dark Side of the Moon".There were many things that irritated Gabriel about humanity--the noise, the clutter, the way they huddled together as if doing so could keep out the things that lurked in the night--but their culture? Not one of them.
Books had been fascinating when first created (and okay, yeah, sometimes there are one or two that still hold an appeal, but more often than not they're glossy and thin girly mags, which really don't count as a book at all, despite the assertions of many men who claim they subscribe to read the articles) and photography was interesting, catching on despite the initial fears that to freeze one's image on paper stole bits of one's soul (and fine, yes, he may have helped to spread that particular little fallacy along, but c'mon--one needs to find entertainment where one can, yeah?).
Gabriel's attention towards those particular forms of diversion was well into fading by the time moving pictures came along, but then television--oh, television had felt like revelation. Yet after a week with the Winchesters in their own private sitcom hells followed by the older's rather brutal and surprisingly accurate assertions, well...television had simply lost its appeal, much faster than Gabriel had thought it would.
Music, however...now that never got old.
He'd heard angelic choirs almost from his creation. Perfect singers with perfect pitch and perfect voices all thrown up in exultation, creating what amounted to perfectly boring nonsense. There were those that craved the opportunity to hear the Host, but Gabriel had not had a craving for the music of his brothers and sisters in a long time. Gabriel stretched, settling his arms across the Impala's back seat and listened as Bob Dylan warbled in his broken voice:
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see...Feels like I'm knocking on heaven's door...
Bob was right, but Gabriel doubted the poor bastard knew quite how right he was when he'd penned those lyrics. His eyes flickered over the Winchester in the driver's seat, saw the way the fingers of his left hand gripped the steering wheel while his right reached out for the radio knob. Dean had been in Heaven for a very short span of time, but his early entry (as well as Sammy-boy's) had peaked his curiosity enough that he risked popping upstairs to see what was going on. They couldn't very well be vessels and accept their destinies and all that rubbish if they were dead, could they? Then he'd heard the music, appreciated, and decided to stick around for the course of the song.
Castiel's voice broke through the music, though, crackling along, and Gabriel was momentarily surprised that his falling brother could even project that far into Heaven, but he supposed he shouldn't have been. Hadn't he been the one just thinking about how darkness and knocking on heaven's door went hand in hand? Right. He listened for a bit, but his interest was gone. Dean and Sam Winchester may have been in Heaven at that moment, but they wouldn't be for much longer, not with Castiel assisting them, and besides, the music had stopped.
With a breath and a thought, he blinked out of that particular Heaven and searched out a place on Earth to return to. Heaven was too dangerous for him to stay in for long anyways, he told himself. He passed several dive bars, numerous posh hotels, and a multitude of vehicles all playing that same song--
Mama put my guns in the ground...I can't shoot them anymore...
--but finally settled on a small house on the edge of a town he didn't bother to catch the name of and perched on the edge of an unaware man's bed. Gabriel listened to the hiss of the needle as the record spun, and reveled in the way the youth accompanied Bob through the chorus, both of their imperfect voices singing about trying to enter a house where they're uncertain of their welcome as darkness closes in.
That long black cloud is coming down...I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door...