...so yeah. Another Balcifer fanfiction for you. I just saw Sid and Nancy last night and all I could think was, Wow, if Balthazar was a punk star and wore pants like Sid's, Lucifer would be all over his ass! And then this fanfiction was born. I've actually been contemplating a band AU fic for awhile (one of the scenes in Flash is going to be a rock band AU) but this is the first one that really panned out.
So, yeah, all characters in here belong to Eric Kripke and, if you follow me on Tumblr, you know that I still firmly believe this is Gabriel headcanon.
Lu closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He really didn't want to haul off and slug Michael like he absolutely fucking deserved right now (only because it would make a scene and fuck up the night), but the temptation was nearly overwhelming. For ten straight minutes, he'd had to listen to the fucker ranting about the venue and the set list and why can't we get free beer at the show and, most infuriatingly, Lu's seeming lack of interest in any of it. He opened his eyes as Michael continued bitching and cast a glance at the other three who comprised his band.
Raphael was sitting behind his drum kit, lazily spinning on his stool. As he spun, the back of his sleeveless leather jacket with the studs along the shoulders and seams swung into view. Ray, as they better knew Raphael, had stitched his stage name Sizzler across the back in red. The asshole—and here, it was a term of affection, because Michael was the only one in Blue Archangel that Lu couldn't stand—was also clearly not paying attention to a word Michael was saying. He was obviously more interested in the décor and tapping on any flat surface he could find with his drumsticks.
Castiel, who they had dubbed Steal at the band's inception, leaned against the nearest amp, absently running his fingers over the strings of his guitar. His own leather jacket was ripped, torn, and held together by safety pins, and his jeans were now more paint than the original blue color. He sighed softly and ran his fingers through his dark hair, messing it up even more thoroughly than it had been before. Castiel's hair was hopeless no matter how much spiking glue Ray and Lu used to try to tame it, so he just gave up on it. He was only half-listening to Michael's steady stream of complaints because he, like Lu, just wanted to continue the fucking rehearsal.
Gabriel, on the other hand, had settled onto the floor near Castiel's feet and just grinned. The smug asshole reveled in chaos and his favorite form of it was witnessing a free-for-all Michael-versus-Lucifer shouting match. Lu sincerely hoped it wouldn't come to that right now, but with the way Michael was whining, Lu's last nerves were fraying. Gabriel, who went by both Loki and G-Man onstage, didn't necessarily like to see Lu or Michael in genuine distress, but he confessed that he found their squabbles hilarious at times. He pulled one denim-clad knee up to his chest and leaned forward, tilting his own guitar out of the way for a moment before finally sliding the strap over his head. He shifted his position again to rest his guitar in his lap, still smirking.
Sometimes, Lu really wanted to punch Gabriel, too. Fortunately, this happened much less often than the desire to punch Michael.
Finally, though, Lu couldn't take it anymore. "Michael," he said suddenly, sweetly. Michael shot him a suspicious look.
"Keep your fucking mouth shut unless you're singing, alright?" Lu yelled.
"You fucking—!" Michael charged forward, but Gabriel was suddenly there, holding back Michael to keep him from swinging at the bassist. Ray was out of his seat, too, twirling a drumstick through his fingers as though preparing to crack it over someone's head.
"Hey, hey," he said. "Chill out, both of you. We have to get ready for the show tonight, yeah?" Ray held out the drumstick like a pointer, waving it between his feuding bandmates. "Your bickering isn't helping out. Michael, you wasted almost fifteen minutes. Now don't make me come over there."
Lu very nearly smirked at that. "Can we carry on please?"
Michael shot him another withering look as Gabriel released him. "Fine. Let's take it from the top of the fucking set list—which, by the way, is fucking shit!"
"Oh, for fuck's—you're the only one who thinks that, you know," Lu snapped.
"Am I? Cas, do you like this fucking set list?" Michael said, twisting to meet Castiel's blue-eyed gaze.
"It's fine," Castiel mumbled, quickly looking down.
"Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck are we playing 'Smash Street'?" This, Michael directed back at Lu, who had thrown together the set list since they were, technically, all his songs. "No one fucking likes it!"
"Actually," Gabriel said, holding up a forefinger, "I believe you are, once again, the only one who doesn't like it."
"Yeah, and I'm the fucking one who has to fucking sing it! None of you ass-clowns are about to do it!"
That much, Michael was right about. Castiel had a voice like an angel but he absolutely hated to sing—he hated having that much attention on him. Ray could carry a tune fairly well, but he was behind his drum kit and couldn't be bothered. Also, for how well he could sing, he hated it, and for the same reason Castiel did. Lu, too, could sing pretty well. Not like Castiel or Michael, but at least his voice didn't cause ears to bleed like Gabriel's did. Lu just didn't want that attention, either. He was perfectly content with letting Michael, six feet tall, blue-eyed, heroin slim, baby-faced, be the pretty-boy frontman. He generally had a low opinion of singers anyway, so assigning his least-favorite person to the task was just an added bonus.
"Get over yourself!" Lu barked. "You're such a fucking diva!"
Michael's eyes flashed dangerously and Lu braced himself for the impending punch to the temple, but it never came. Their manager, Jeremy Crowley, appeared out of nowhere between him and Michael.
Crowley was a Scottish import who Blue Archangel had found by pure chance. It had really been because of Lu that they even knew him—Crowley had wandered into the grocery store Lu worked at on the day after Lu got a giant script FUCK on his left forearm. Crowley had joked, "You must be in a band or something," to which Lu answered, "Yes, I am, actually." As it happened, Crowley had been looking for a few local bands to represent and after hearing Blue Archangel in Ray's garage a year before, he agreed to manage them. He'd been diffusing the time bomb that was Michael and Lucifer ever since.
"Hello, boys," Crowley said in that "I-know-something-you-don't-know-and-you-are-not-going-to-like-it-but-it-amuses-me-greatly" tone he was so fond of using on them. "I see we're having a bit of an Angel spat, yeah? Um, I have a suggestion," he said suddenly, as if the idea had just occurred to him. "How about, Michael, you quit acting like a right tosser, and Lu, you quit provoking him, yeah?"
"But he—!" both Lu and Michael started, pointing at each other in a manner reminiscent of brothers trying to blame each other.
Crowley held up both hands in what was probably supposed to be a placating gesture, but it just pissed Lu off further. For the most part, he was fairly likeable and Lu genuinely respected the guy, but right now, so close to the end of his patience with Michael, Crowley was dangerously close to setting him off. "Boys, boys. Shut up. You have a show in four hours, and I would certainly hate it if Lu gave Michael a black eye and ruined that pretty face of his." He quickly tugged the bottom hem of his suit jacket, straightening it, and then brushed off his sleeves.
Lu sneered but thought Michael's looks would only be improved with a black eye. Failing that, a pissed-off, beaten-up Michael would only help their perception as a serious punk band. Besides, Lu would feel a sense of pride knowing that he gave Michael a black eye or busted lip or broken nose.
He and Michael shot each other fiery glares but Michael finally said, "Alright. 'Let It Crumble' it is, then."
Crowley smirked and stepped back as Gabriel slid his guitar strap back over his head.
Michael suddenly screamed, "One, two—one, two, three, four!"
The flick of Ray's lighter and his sudden inhale drew Lu's attention as the five of them waited backstage for the second opening band to finish and get off the stage. Castiel kept peeking out the door at the crowd and exhaling sharply. "That is a big crowd," he murmured, chewing on a fingernail.
Sometimes, Lu wondered what the fuck Castiel was doing as the lead guitarist of a punk band. The kid—as Lu typically called Castiel in his head even though he was only a year younger than him—was wide-eyed and innocent looking. With his fucked-up leathers and battered, well-played guitar, he looked like a twelve-year-old kid playing Rock Star for the day. And then he let loose one of his ear-shattering chords and Lu remembered. For how young and sweet Castiel appeared to be (and genuinely was), he could play guitar like a motherfucker.
And then Lu wondered what would happen if he pushed Castiel—if he would break or if he would push back.
Michael held out a hand toward Ray, who sighed and dug another cigarette out of his pack. The drummer was still in his sleeveless jacket but he'd switched out his jeans for his leather pants and studded belt, and he'd spiked his hair into a wicked fro-hawk. Gabriel absently fingered his guitar and looked around at everyone. He was probably irritated that his boyfriend hadn't shown up tonight, but it was probably for the best—he tended to smirk a bit too much when he was there.
Finally, though, Crowley returned from talking with the venue manager, a bottle of Scotch in his hand and black suit still flawless. He handed the bottle to Lu, who unscrewed the cap and took a swig before passing it to Castiel. Once the bottle made its way around the band, Crowley picked it back up and said, "Alright, boys. Get out there and piss people off."
They stood up and headed to the stage. Michael hung back for a moment to sweep his shirt over his head and tucked it behind him in the waistband of his jeans. A moment later, he burst out and dashed to the microphone stand. "HEY, PEOPLE, FUCK YOU!" he screamed, drawing jeers and catcalls from the crowd, but it was all joking—at least, Lu was fairly sure it was a joke. He actually wasn't too sure how their fans really felt about Michael, but sometimes it seemed that he was the least popular. He knew Castiel was definitely the crowd favorite, at least among the people who were into guys and guitar players.
"Alright, Madman," Ray said warningly, using Michael's stage name.
Michael went on, ignoring his tone. "It's fucking lame to be here, but we got no choice. Fuck, I don't fucking care. Let's just get on with it. One, two—one, two, three, four!"
Fortunately, Lu and Ray were ready for his abrupt count-in and they jumped right into the song. One measure in, Castiel and Gabriel joined in, Castiel shredding his opening chord. Lu very nearly smirked.
"My city's on fire and I got no water. Even if I did, I wouldn't care. This place is a mess and I can't go home. Even if I could, I wouldn't care, so let it crumble, let the flames surround me…"
Lu loved his lyrics but hearing Michael sing them irritated him a bit, especially with that snide way he had. He wondered if he layered extra snark on his words just because he knew they were Lu's.
He kept his bass line up but rolled his eyes as Michael went on, prowling around the stage like an animal and screaming into his microphone, blatantly ignoring the feedback squealing through the speakers. To distract himself from the annoyance personified that was Michael, he scanned the crowd and somehow detected this blonde leaning back against a pillar.
The blonde was the only one who wasn't jumping around or screaming along with the crowd. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the stage, his arms crossed over his chest. His utter calm in the sea of bedlam made him stand out, drawing Lu's gaze right to him. And then the blonde looked right at him.
Electricity sparked between them, so quick that Lu wasn't quite sure he felt it until the tall blonde smirked. He definitely noticed Lu's attention. He was glad his bass playing was so ingrained into him because he probably would have frozen otherwise. He hated to admit it, but the man was distractingly attractive, his black jacket hugging his shoulders just right and that leer hinting that he'd like to bend Lu over his amp and—
"Fuck, I don't know, this all seems just fucking great and all, but…" Michael's voice cut right through the haze in Lu's head, bringing him back to reality with an unpleasant bump. "But I'm really ready to just call this done right now."
Lu snapped his head toward Michael as the rest of the band did the same.
"You cannot be fucking serious right now," Lu said finally. They'd only played one freaking song! Then again, they didn't just call him "Madman" because it was a play on his middle name being Adam.
Michael threw his hands up in the air and somehow caught a beer someone tossed at him. He cracked it open and took a swig as he started heading backstage.
Even Gabriel looked surprised and annoyed by this turn of events, but Lu was the only one who reacted. Slowly, methodically, he slipped the strap of his bass over his head and set it on its stand next to his amp. Calmly, he followed Michael offstage and grabbed him by his upper arm. With barely a flicker of anger, he jerked Michael around and sank his fist right into his jaw.
It is really hard to write fake lyrics to fake songs. I did have this idea where Lu and Michael did this pissed-off duet with each other, singing Social Distortion's "Bad Luck" and kind of screaming it at each other. But they're really pissing each other off right now, so...nope!
By the way, I wasn't really on board with Crobby until a few days ago and then I discovered that Mark Sheppard and Jim Beaver ship it. If it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me! Also, Mark Sheppard is positively adorable.
Still trying to join ArchiveOfOurOwn, so if you're a member, send me an email please! I need an invite! Don't make me wait until October to join, because I won't be able to join then anyway! I'll be underway on my six-month deployment!
Finally, let me just apologize for not updating my fanfics in awhile - last week was hectic and this week, I will be exploring West Hollywood and downtown Los Angeles. It was also my birthday on Saturday (the 23rd - I turned 22!) and I got a(nother) tattoo! I got a candy skull (like a Dia de los Muertos skull) on my arm and it's fucking huge. It's probably about eight inches long or so and I'm pretty pumped about it.