✎ Fel's Creative Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tinfoiltennis) wrote2011-12-25 10:41 pm
tinfoiltennis) wrote2011-12-25 10:41 pm
✎ fanfic - dramadramaduck - the hopes and fears of all the years
Title: the hopes and fears of all the years
Fandom: Dramadramaduck (Supernatural, Firefly)
Characters: Castiel, River Tam
Pairing?: Cas<>River if you squint.
Rating: G
Summary: Maybe, Castiel muses, he was hoping to receive a sign here.
Word Count: 898
Notes: I WROTE CHRISTMAS!FIC. I don't even know how to describe the mood of this one, so I shall leave it to you guys to decide it for me.
Warnings: None!
✎ ✎ ✎
Christmas Eve, Bethlehem.
There is a certain church in the town that this time, every year, like clockwork, becomes the focus of all Roman Catholic activity in the area. The faithful, locals and foreigners alike, flock to celebrate the arrival of the Lord on Earth in the very place he was welcomed so long ago. The demand is so great that advance tickets are required simply to get in.
Castiel doesn’t really know why he is here.
He stands unseen, watching as the people file slowly into the church of St. Catherine. Wrapped up against the cold and the darkness, the glow of light from within the church illuminates their faces, and inside, the church slowly fills with the throng of human life and the glow of human souls full of faith and anticipation.
It seems almost blasphemous to think it— (“Iniquity is one of the perks”)— but their radiance almost rivals that of the Host assembled in all their glory.
He could rationalize it, of course. His being here. His search is bound to take him to every conceivable corner of the globe, until it reaches fruition; this was going to be an inevitable stop along the way sooner or later. Just another step along the path. Then there is the place’s history as a site of more than one appearance of God’s power. Strategically speaking, it has very good odds of being the place where the amulet he carries might finally, finally, glow with the heat that would betray its power.
Of course, the fact of the matter is that that doesn’t explain why it is this night, of all nights, that Castiel finds himself here.
The fact that he even needs to try and rationalize to himself it just proves it: his reasons for being here have something to them that’s all too human. The procession into the church continues, the stone faces of St Jerome and Mary looking down in a vigil equally as silent as Castiel’s. He glances up at them both. It’s good stonework; Jerome’s face is wise, staring down impassively at the life surrounding him; Mary’s hands are clasped in perpetual prayer, smiling gently down upon the faithful.
He has to admire the work that goes into places of worship.
Maybe, Castiel muses, he was hoping to receive a sign here. He’s no fool, of course; he knows the date popularly accepted by humans as the birthdate of Christ is false, a sham fabricated to make the transition to a new faith easier. But surrounded by so much faith, at this time – somehow, it’s difficult to think of a time when a sign would be more readily given. A star, or the sudden warmth of hot metal under his shirt.
He is not so foolish as to wish for other angels.
He is also not expecting that to be the moment his cell phone vibrates with a message.
His first thought – ludicrously – is that he did not expect a sign to come via text message.
His second thought is that he has been spending what is probably far too much time around Dean.
The text, of course, is not a sign.
Traditionally, Christmas is a day of rest.
r.t.
Whatever Castiel was expecting, it wasn’t that. He frowns slightly as he types out a reply: I thought you said you didn’t believe in such things.
Don’t believe in the religion. The reply comes lighting-fast. Inside the church, the organ has begun to play, and its notes drift outside. Irrational and it lies, telling fairy stories to fool the children. The time makes even less sense than before. But I like the holiday. Families and laughter. Kaylee helped the Shepherd make cranberry sauce.
Don’t ask where we got the cranberries.
Castiel feels his eyebrows raise a notch. Really, the fact that most of Serenity’s dealings happen to be on the wrong side of human law doesn’t mean much to him. Not with the human company he usually chooses to keep, nor with what little he knows of those in River’s world who are on what is supposedly the right side of it all.
I won’t ask, he texts back nevertheless. Why did you message me?
To talk, silly.
Also, you won’t answer your phone. Obviously a sign of overwork.
Before he can reply to that message with an apology – after finally figuring out how to check if he had missed any incoming calls, he’s noticed he does indeed have several from the source he knows to be River – his phone alerts him to another message.
Should still come. We have stars and a Shepherd but we’re missing an angel. Serious hindrance to holding appropriate festivities.
Silly holiday and the inaccuracies are many, but no one should spend it alone.
Won’t your captain have something to say about that?
I can provide a very persuasive argument.
The church doors are closed now, leaving the outside in the relative darkness of the night. The winter the congregation has shut out is cold; the only warmth in the amulet is that which it has taken from his vessel. From inside the building, voices lift in song:
Adeste fideles
Laeti triumphantes…
Castiel listens to the music for a moment more before he turns from the church. Looks back at the screen.
Let me find a world hop.
Fandom: Dramadramaduck (Supernatural, Firefly)
Characters: Castiel, River Tam
Pairing?: Cas<>River if you squint.
Rating: G
Summary: Maybe, Castiel muses, he was hoping to receive a sign here.
Word Count: 898
Notes: I WROTE CHRISTMAS!FIC. I don't even know how to describe the mood of this one, so I shall leave it to you guys to decide it for me.
Warnings: None!
Christmas Eve, Bethlehem.
There is a certain church in the town that this time, every year, like clockwork, becomes the focus of all Roman Catholic activity in the area. The faithful, locals and foreigners alike, flock to celebrate the arrival of the Lord on Earth in the very place he was welcomed so long ago. The demand is so great that advance tickets are required simply to get in.
Castiel doesn’t really know why he is here.
He stands unseen, watching as the people file slowly into the church of St. Catherine. Wrapped up against the cold and the darkness, the glow of light from within the church illuminates their faces, and inside, the church slowly fills with the throng of human life and the glow of human souls full of faith and anticipation.
It seems almost blasphemous to think it— (“Iniquity is one of the perks”)— but their radiance almost rivals that of the Host assembled in all their glory.
He could rationalize it, of course. His being here. His search is bound to take him to every conceivable corner of the globe, until it reaches fruition; this was going to be an inevitable stop along the way sooner or later. Just another step along the path. Then there is the place’s history as a site of more than one appearance of God’s power. Strategically speaking, it has very good odds of being the place where the amulet he carries might finally, finally, glow with the heat that would betray its power.
Of course, the fact of the matter is that that doesn’t explain why it is this night, of all nights, that Castiel finds himself here.
The fact that he even needs to try and rationalize to himself it just proves it: his reasons for being here have something to them that’s all too human. The procession into the church continues, the stone faces of St Jerome and Mary looking down in a vigil equally as silent as Castiel’s. He glances up at them both. It’s good stonework; Jerome’s face is wise, staring down impassively at the life surrounding him; Mary’s hands are clasped in perpetual prayer, smiling gently down upon the faithful.
He has to admire the work that goes into places of worship.
Maybe, Castiel muses, he was hoping to receive a sign here. He’s no fool, of course; he knows the date popularly accepted by humans as the birthdate of Christ is false, a sham fabricated to make the transition to a new faith easier. But surrounded by so much faith, at this time – somehow, it’s difficult to think of a time when a sign would be more readily given. A star, or the sudden warmth of hot metal under his shirt.
He is not so foolish as to wish for other angels.
He is also not expecting that to be the moment his cell phone vibrates with a message.
His first thought – ludicrously – is that he did not expect a sign to come via text message.
His second thought is that he has been spending what is probably far too much time around Dean.
The text, of course, is not a sign.
Traditionally, Christmas is a day of rest.
r.t.
Whatever Castiel was expecting, it wasn’t that. He frowns slightly as he types out a reply: I thought you said you didn’t believe in such things.
Don’t believe in the religion. The reply comes lighting-fast. Inside the church, the organ has begun to play, and its notes drift outside. Irrational and it lies, telling fairy stories to fool the children. The time makes even less sense than before. But I like the holiday. Families and laughter. Kaylee helped the Shepherd make cranberry sauce.
Don’t ask where we got the cranberries.
Castiel feels his eyebrows raise a notch. Really, the fact that most of Serenity’s dealings happen to be on the wrong side of human law doesn’t mean much to him. Not with the human company he usually chooses to keep, nor with what little he knows of those in River’s world who are on what is supposedly the right side of it all.
I won’t ask, he texts back nevertheless. Why did you message me?
To talk, silly.
Also, you won’t answer your phone. Obviously a sign of overwork.
Before he can reply to that message with an apology – after finally figuring out how to check if he had missed any incoming calls, he’s noticed he does indeed have several from the source he knows to be River – his phone alerts him to another message.
Should still come. We have stars and a Shepherd but we’re missing an angel. Serious hindrance to holding appropriate festivities.
Silly holiday and the inaccuracies are many, but no one should spend it alone.
Won’t your captain have something to say about that?
I can provide a very persuasive argument.
The church doors are closed now, leaving the outside in the relative darkness of the night. The winter the congregation has shut out is cold; the only warmth in the amulet is that which it has taken from his vessel. From inside the building, voices lift in song:
Adeste fideles
Laeti triumphantes…
Castiel listens to the music for a moment more before he turns from the church. Looks back at the screen.
Let me find a world hop.