Fic - Shape the Invisible
Title: Shape the Invisible
Book Three: In the House of Stone and Light
Author: Lady Eternal
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Word Count: 75,446
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Fractured fairy-tale. Heaven's prison. Sam’s Powers. Pre-series/Season 1. Bareback. Fellatio. Wing Kink. First Time. Zachariah is a dick in any universe. Bobby Singer = Grumpy Bear. Pining!Castiel. Virgin!Castiel. Bottom!Dean. Bottom!Gabriel.
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with these worlds for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
Author’s Notes: Please see the Master Post for complete summary, warnings and acknowledgements.
Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
Music:
Temple of Love - Sisters of Mercy
Shape the Invisible - Martin Page
Breath of Life - Florence and the Machine
The Light - Disturbed
The Sweetest Taboo - Sade
~ooooOOOoooo~
The Winchesters weren’t dead.
He couldn’t sense where they were, but Castiel could still feel both of the Winchesters’ pulses beating in his heart. Quick from anxiety, but strong and steady and alive. Both of the Winchesters were still alive.
He should have anticipated something like this; realistically, it was the simplest strategy Heaven could have taken in the matter. Stepping through the gate one at a time made them easy to pick off, to quarantine and deal with separately. It was the weakest point in their plan, overall, and one there had been no way to plan a defense against.
Dean was still alive, wherever he was. Which meant that he would be returned to Earth unharmed, no matter what happened next.
It was that thought to which Castiel anchored as he turned to face the angel into whose presence he’d been carried the moment he’d crossed the threshold of the Eastern Watchtower. Hair and wings like burnished bronze, with eyes as dark as a night without stars: a stark contrast to the pearl white of his skin. “I have to say, brother,” the angel said, voice deceptively mild. “Even given your attachment to your charge, I never expected this. Not from you.”
Dean is alive. That’s all that matters. “I hadn’t expected it to be you, Kushiel,” he replied calmly.
A smile of bronze-tinged lips. “Not everything is as it appears, Castiel. Even in Heaven.”
* * *
Blinking in confusion, Sam found himself gazing out across a vast, open ocean as his senses realigned themselves. The gentle lapping of the water blended seamlessly into the choral adulation that once again filtered into Sam’s mind; confirmation that his previous dreams had indeed been some kind of astral journeying rather than just visions.
But he hadn’t expected to find an ocean in Heaven. Or to be alone on its edge when his brother and Castiel had gone through to gate before him.
Tearing his eyes away from the almost-hypnotic ebb and flow of the water, Sam fought to breathe normally and assess his surroundings. He was standing atop a great wall, crystal clear and stretching for miles to either side of him. The thickness of it almost suggested that it was some kind of dam, and when he fully turned away from the water, the impression was reinforced when he could see several places where the crystalline matrix sloped down in long, gently curved buttresses.
He needed to get down. Regardless of how he’d gotten here, or why he was alone, he couldn’t do anything from atop a giant quartz dam. It dawned on him with some dismay, however, when he realized that there were no access points such as might be found on a human-built dam. Angels had wings; they didn’t need ladders or mechanized lifts to go from the ground to the top and back again.
“It is the Vessel.”
Startled by the unexpected voices, Sam spun towards their source. The ultra-smooth surface of the crystal wall lent him more inertia than he’d bargained on and he flailed as he tipped backwards, lost his footing, and plunged over the side towards the unforgiving ground below.
* * *
Dean circled warily, eyeing the archangel across the room. “Where are Sam and Cas?”
“You don’t need to worry,” Michael assured him. The corner of his mouth remained ticked up in a half-smile, as if Dean’s apparent readiness for a fight amused him. “You and Sam will be returned to Earth safely. But I understand you had some things you wanted to say to me, so I thought we’d take the opportunity of you having gotten this far to have that conversation.”
“Oh, yeah? And how’d you know about that?” There was something about the confidence of the angel’s stance… something that glinted in those almond eyes that raised every hackle down Dean’s spine…
“Come now, Dean,” Michael reproved lightly. “Surely you’ve already deduced that. Why play the mortal game of making me state things you already know when it only wastes the already-short window between us?”
“Where’s Cas?” Dean demanded again.
“He will be judged,” Michael told him, the note of finality in his voice made all the more chilling by the nonchalance that underscored it.
“Like fuck he will.” Dean felt his fists close and he took a menacing step towards the archangel. “You ain’t laying a finger on him.”
Michael had the audacity to chuckle. “Of course I won’t. I am the First, but judgment is not my province. Castiel’s fate is in the hands of another, far from this liminal place.”
Dean could feel his body vibrating with the need to throw a punch. To find a weak place in the walls and batter his way through. To provoke Michael into threatening him so that Castiel would be drawn to his side, where Dean could protect him. “What about Sam?” he asked instead. “What’ve you got planned for him?”
“He will be brought here,” Michael explained. “And you will both be returned home.”
Something in the archangel’s tone still set off alarms in Dean’s mind. His eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”
“For your own good, your memories will be altered.” It was said with chilling mildness, as if Michael was discussing the weather. “Once you are returned to Earth, neither you nor Sam will remember any of this: not Gabriel. Not Castiel. Neither Heaven nor Caine nor anything else about these events. Your lives will be your own again, with no traces of seraphic misdeeds left behind to trouble your minds.”
Dean stared at him in horror.
“So I suggest that you take this chance to have your say, Dean,” Michael continued. “Because once you leave this place, you won’t even remember what it was you wanted to tell me.”
* * *
They caught him before he was even halfway to the ground.
Almost in the same instant that Sam understood that he was falling, the angels had changed position, moving as one unit into the path of his descent. Hands as light as air took hold of his body as if he were lying still rather than freefalling in mid-air, and Sam’s mind struggled to catch up as he was lowered gently to the ground.
Ten of them. Each with wings like living magnesium flame, their flowing hair and eyes of molten silver. Their tunics were pure white, the symbols that edged each a different color. They stood in perfect stillness around Sam once they’d set him on his feet, and he found himself turning with growing uneasiness to look at each in turn. “Um… thank you.”
“You are early.”
Sam’s brow furrowed. The strange pronouncement was made all the more eerie since all ten angels had spoken in unison, but Sam couldn’t let himself get lost in the curiosity of it. “What do you mean, ‘early’?”
“You are early. You are yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam replied, still turning to look at each of the strange new angels in turn. “I don’t know what you mean. How am I early?”
“You are the Vessel,” they replied. “The Seals are still intact. The Morningstar is still Caged. You have not given consent.”
Realization dawned, and Sam felt a mounting nausea creeping up his throat. “I’m early,” he whispered.
“You are yourself.” As one, their heads each tilted to a perfect forty-five degree angle. “Tell us why.”
* * *
“I do not understand.” Castiel’s brow furrowed as he held Kushiel’s amused gaze. “Your province is to punish mortal souls.”
“True enough,” Kushiel replied.
“So why are you here instead of Raguel?”
The other angel’s smile drew a little wider, his bronze wings flexing behind his back. “Because not all things called a sin actually are... and unlike so many of our siblings, I understand what it’s like to love a mortal charge too well.”
Castiel’s eyes went wide.
* * *
“I’m here to rescue Gabriel,” Sam told them. “I came with my brother and his guardian angel, Castiel, but we got separated. I need to find them so we can free Gabriel.”
“They cannot release him,” the strange new angels told him. Their voices were all still perfectly synchronized; Sam couldn’t help thinking that Dean would be comparing them to the Borg if he was here.
“We have to try,” Sam insisted. He turned around again, looking at each of them in turn. Other than the colors of the sigils on their tunics, there was no way to tell them apart. “Who are you?”
“We are Sefirot.”
Their alien stillness never wavered, no matter which way Sam turned. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, or if he was starting to discern tiny distinctions within their voice. “I need to find my brother and Castiel so that we can release Gabriel,” Sam repeated. “If you can tell me how to find them-”
“You will destroy us.”
Sam blinked. “What?”
All as one, the Sefirot began to move; it belatedly occurred to Sam that their feet weren’t even touching the ground on which he stood, essentially floating in a slow circle around him. “You will consent. The Morningstar will destroy the Herald. Then the First. Then all the Host in turn. You will destroy us.”
“I won’t,” Sam promised, bile rising in his throat. “I would never-”
“You will consent,” they repeated, still moving as one. “You will destroy us. The Morningstar will release the Darkness. He will bring the Dark as he once brought the Light. She will destroy him. She will destroy God.”
“You don’t know that!” Sam shouted. Taking an angry step towards them proved fruitless; they shifted away from him without so much as glance at one another, movements perfectly coordinated. “I’d kill myself before I ever let that happen!”
“The Morningstar will take you from Death.” Said so matter of factly, as if resurrecting someone from the dead were as commonplace as healing a papercut. “You will consent. You will destroy us. The ink is dry.”
* * *
“You listen to me, you sonuvabitch,” Dean snarled. “No way am I letting you play around with me or Sammy’s memories; I don’t give a shit who you are. Now where the fuck are they?”
“Threatening me won’t do you any good, Dean.” Michael took a slow step, starting to mirror the way Dean moved. Matching his stride until they were circling one another like predators about to vie for the same territory. “You’ve learned nothing about angels that would tell you even how to harm us, or you would have tried to bring such weapons through the gate with you. The only weapon you had was Castiel, and he’s been removed from the equation.”
Dean was watching Michael’s face, tracking the tiny muscle shifts. He suddenly grinned, tight and vicious. “You don’t know where Sam is,” he guessed; the flicker in Michael’s left eye his only confirmation. It was more than enough. “You got me and Cas in your net, but Sammy slipped through somehow, and now you can’t find him. So rather than just Eternal Sunshining me, you’re hanging onto me here as bait.”
“He will seek you out, or he will attempt to find Gabriel and free him on his own,” Michael conceded. “Either way, we will have him back under control soon enough, and you will both be returned to Earth. Say your piece while you still have time, Dean.”
The admission uncurled the fight-ready coil in Dean’s spine. He straightened, spreading his arms wide as having more leverage than he’d anticipated began to sink in. “Y’know, Mike,” he started smoothly, grinning just a little wider at Michael’s obvious irritation over the nickname. “For all that you’ve had a few dozen centuries’ more experience at it, you really don’t know anything about little brothers, do ya?”
“Comparing the Host to mortal familial relationships is far from accurate,” Michael returned coolly. “We aren’t just family; we are also an army. Each one of us is a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent, made to serve His Will.”
“But you’re still the oldest,” Dean countered smoothly. “They’re still your brothers. All of ‘em… even Lucifer.”
“Tread carefully, Dean.” The warning was a soft snarl, his lips half-curled in anger. “You know less than nothing about him, or what has passed between us.”
“I know Sammy drives me up the friggin’ wall some days.” Dean shrugged as they circled, no longer needing to posture for dominance. “I know he’s stubborn, and too damned serious for his own good. He makes decisions that make me wanna shake sense into that college-boy head of his, and worst of all? He keeps it from me when he does, because he knows how I’ll react.”
“And how is any of that relevant?”
“Because none of it means a damn.” The teasing expression on Dean’s face dropped away, his eyes glinting in the light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Doesn’t matter how crazy he makes me. See, I made him a promise, back when Mom finally quit lyin’ to us about who we were and what Sammy’s dreams meant. I promised him that I’d always keep him safe. I’d learn everything there was to know about hunting, and I’d do whatever it took to make sure that yellow-eyed bastard never got within a mile of him ever again.”
“A promise that you have no capacity to actually keep,” Michael pointed out. “Especially given that Azazel has any number of imps and sycophants that can influence Sam without your even suspecting his involvement.”
“Oh, I suspect everything: that’s why I flipped out over Gabe not being human. Sammy had no idea that he was nailing an archangel, and I don’t put anything past Yellow Eyes when it comes to getting his claws into Sam.” Dean’s smile had a self-mocking slant, even as he watched Michael’s brow knit. “You still don’t believe it, do you? That Sam had no idea he was an angel.”
“Gabriel didn’t need Sam to know in order for him to influence your brother’s mind.”
Michael’s response was almost prim, but there was an undercurrent of doubt that made Dean want to crow in victory. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
* * *
Unwilling to listen any longer, Sam craned his head to see beyond the ring of angels. The crystal dam was vast, stretching as far as he could see in either direction. Across what seemed like a wide stone boulevard was an equally-long wall, with great doors that reminded him of set pieces for movies set in ancient times. Throwing caution to the wind, Sam started for the stone walkway, intent on following it until he found the silver-white building where they were keeping Gabriel or…
He wasn’t really sure what the other options were in terms of where this might lead him. But anything was better than staying in one place listening to more pronouncements about how he was going to let Lucifer use his body to destroy Heaven.
Rather than breaking formation to let him pass, the Sefirot moved with and around him, their silver eyes unblinking. “You are determined.”
“You’re damned right I am,” Sam snapped, suddenly furious. “Look, I’m just gonna say this once: the only thing I’ll ever say to Lucifer if the time comes is ‘get fucked’. If you don’t believe that because of some holy prophecy, then there’s nothing else I can do for you. Gabriel’s the only angel I’ve ever met who seems to understand that I know my own mind, and I need to go get him. So either help me find my brother so we can do what we came here to do, or get out of my way.”
The last word of his tirade had barely drifted into the wind when they were suddenly closer. Sam all but stumbled backwards as one of them was practically on top of him, the delicate tip of the angel’s nose barely an inch from his own. “You have not answered,” they said, their voices still synchronous.
“Answered what?” Sam demanded.
“You are early,” they repeated. “You are yourself. Tell us why.”
“I already told you that.” Sam tried to push forward, to move around. The Sefirot had him hemmed in, unable to find an opening unless he was prepared to make one. His temper was starting to fray, a pressure he’d never felt before building up in his fingertips. “I’m here to rescue Gabriel.”
“Tell us why,” they repeated again.
“You know why!” Sam shouted. “It’s my fault he’s in prison! I have to get him out!”
“Tell us why.”
The pressure was spreading up into his hands now, making them curl into fists against the need to break it. Up his arms, suffocating its way into his chest until he was shaking from the force of it. “Why do you keep asking me that? I’m telling you the truth.”
“Tell us-”
“Because I love him!” The pressure crested as the words burst free, breaking loose in a tangible wave of power that swept the Sefirot away from him, scattering them like sparrows in a storm. Sam’s eyes were closed against the exhausting, explosive force of it, his breath ragged and tears burning the corners of his eyes.
When he opened them again, the one that had been nose-to-nose with him was still there. The forest green sigils on the edges of its tunic seemed brighter, somehow, and those silver eyes seemed far less detached than they had before. Its head was tilted in consideration, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden manifestation of Sam’s power or by how the others had been blown around by it like leaves.
Slowly, Sam’s heartbeat came back down to normal as he held that curious, strangely compassionate gaze. It was almost easy to sink into the connection that was forming, as though the angel was reading every thought that had ever passed through his heart.
“You are yourself.” The voice was shockingly singular, almost unbearably soft. And, most surprising of all, it sounded convinced.
A truth so simple that Sam wanted to bury his face in his hands suddenly dawned. “I am,” Sam agreed. “He didn’t do that to me. He didn’t need to.”
The other Sefirot were standing now, gathered beside their comrade. “We believe you.”
* * *
“Know what, Mike?” There was another tic that betrayed Michael’s irritation; Dean couldn’t help savoring it. “You’ve got me wondering: what was it?”
“What was what?” Michael was circling again, eyes narrow and growing more dangerous with every heartbeat.
Dean was matching him step for step. “The promise you broke.”
The archangel’s expression flared at the accusation, his fingers flexing into fists and back again. “I have never broken my word.”
“Yeah, you did.” Dean’s grin was vicious, victorious. He was winning the game, and it was exhilarating. “You wouldn’t be so quick on the trigger with the rest of the angels if you hadn’t.” Something twisted in Michael’s face, almost too fast to see. “It was a big one, too, wasn’t it? You promised Lucifer something, and when the time came, you reneged. And now you’re tryin’ to run Heaven like an army instead of like a family because somehow that’s easier than living with yourself.”
“I’m not you, Dean.” The words were almost gritted out, the archangel’s fists clenching and relaxing again. “Trying to get into my head by implying otherwise isn’t going to get you anything more than threatening me directly would.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Dean shrugged, his eyes lit and his gamine smile firmly in place. “I mean, after all: I wouldn’t have left the back door open.”
Just as he’d predicted, Michael’s gaze shot to the weakest point of the magic barricading them in. What had been a blank wall with a table and candelabra in front of it was now a set of tall, filigreed double doors… and Dean was closer to them than Michael was.
A half-step and he was launched, flinging his entire body at the aperture and crossing his arms over his face to protect it. He could see the magic woven into the barrier starting to seal against him even as seconds dragged into slow-motion and Dean closed his eyes, willing himself to make it…
Impact. The delicate illusion splintering under his weight as he crashed through and landed, rolling on instinct and fighting to keep his breath, to find his feet. “Run,” he ordered himself, scrambling for traction and refusing to let himself look back because the bastard had wings and he didn’t and he needed to get to Sam…
“Dean!”
It wasn’t his brother, and it wasn’t Michael. Dean glanced up to his right in time to see Castiel in the air above him, inky wings flared wide and garbed a tunic of midnight black. There was another angel on Castiel’s flank, this one with wings of glittering bronze, and they were both diving straight for him. Without a second’s hesitation, Dean put on a burst of additional speed and threw his arms up into the air, ready to catch the angels’ hands when they were close enough…
The shout that left him as they caught his arms and pulled up out of their dive was part terror, part triumph. His feet scrambled for purchase out of instinct, frantic for contact with the ground even as the angels hauled him up until he was bracketed between them, their wings beating until they were flying at dizzying speeds and Dean could only close his eyes and grip Cas that much tighter…
* * *
Something like a cry of fury. The Sefirot all turned their heads towards the sound, their eyes unseeing for a moment as they seemed to read the meaning of it in the air around them. “What is it?” Sam asked.
“The First.” It was the one whose sigils were sewn in silver. They were all speaking individually now; a shift that made Sam just faintly suspicious. “Your brother has escaped him.”
“Escaped?!” Sam scanned the skies, a fist clamping around his heart at the thought of what that could mean, and then turning back to the Sefirot. “You have to tell me how to find him; he needs my help.”
“We were to bring you to him,” said the one whose sigils were worked in sunset orange. “We still should.”
“No, Gevurah.” It was the one with the green sigils again. “He is wrong, and his pronouncement of guilt affected the judgment of Raguel.”
“You would have us defy him, Chesed?” asked the one with sigils wrought in violet.
“We serve the Will of God, Da’at,” Chesed reminded gently. “And His Name is the only Truth.”
Something passed between them that Sam couldn’t quite read, their silver eyes steady and unafraid and for once not focused on him. And yet, as much as it was a chance to break from them and try to find Dean, instinct told him to remain. Something important was happening: too important to turn from just yet.
They moved again: this time not in unison, but flowing together, their movements an intricate dance that stilled Sam’s breath in his throat. It ended with all of them once more arrayed in a circle, each facing another’s back, their glistening silver wings shifting and spreading and their pale hands reaching in, fingers nimble as they smoothed through the feathers.
And then, as one, each drew their hands back. Each cradled a silver feather from the one whose wings they’d been grooming, and they turned in unison, all extending the feathers towards the center of the circle. One by one, the feathers rose from their palms as each said their names, then slipped into a rounding chant in a language Sam had only heard Gabriel use in unguarded moments… the feathers came together, pressed into one another, folding and shifting and flashing so bright that Sam had to shield his eyes…
When the chanting died away, so did the flare. Sam opened his eyes to see Chesed stepping forward, right hand extended and offering something out to him.
It was a strange, shimmering silver key.
“This will open the Herald’s cell, and unlock his bonds.” Chesed’s silver eyes were intent as they met Sam’s, grave and certain. “The First will not be distracted for long, even with our help. You must go now, and seek your brother when the Herald is freed.”
A lump closed Sam’s throat, and he took the key from Chesed with shaking fingers. “I… don’t know how to thank you for this.”
“Refuse the Morningstar.” With the key in his hand, their names rang like bells in Sam mind: it was Netzach speaking now. “Resist him with all of the strength you possess. The same ferocity with which you fight to be returned to the Herald’s side.”
“I will,” Sam vowed earnestly, his fist closing around the key. The first real sign that what he’d come to do was achievable after all. “I promise.”
They all nodded as one, accepting his word, and then each raised their hands, holding their palms open facing Sam. The strange vista around him dissolved in a soundless shout before Sam even had a chance to say good-bye.
Chapter Five