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~
July 9, 2005
When the Winchesters landed, they were alone, surrounded by red earth foothills at the base of granite mountains. Sunlight blazed, making both men wince at the drastic difference from the darkness they had been removed from only a heartbeat earlier.
“Goddamn,” Dean muttered, shading his eyes with one hand and wishing he’d thought to grab sunglasses from the Impala before they’d left. “You see that stuff he set aside for us anywhere?”
Sam scanned the area, his own eyes squinted almost shut in the brightness. “There,” he said after a moment, starting for the pile of rocks that Castiel had told them concealed the supplies he’d arranged.
They assessed what the angel had gathered for them quickly enough: packs containing rations for four days’ hike up the mountain pass, water, matches and tinder for making nightly fires, and bedrolls. It wasn’t quite what either would’ve brought on an extended camping trip, but it would get them by. Dean huffed as he set his pack in an order more to his liking and flicked a glance back up at the brilliant azure sky. “Woulda been nice to get dropped off a little higher up the trail since we’ve gotta walk it. You think that village he talked about is close enough that maybe we could hike down and rent a couple donkeys to ride or something?”
Sam rolled his eyes as he got up to his knees and shouldered his own pack. “It’s the best he could do, Dean. We both know how much he’s risking to help us. And last I knew, neither of us speak Turkish, Persian, Armenian or Aramaic.” The unamused expression that Dean threw at him in response needed no translation, and Sam chuffed a laugh as they both pushed to their feet. “C’mon: the sooner we start out, the more ground we can cover before dark.”
* * *
It was a long trek, and a largely silent one. Neither brother wanted to waste energy or oxygen on talking overmuch as they followed the trail deeper into the mountains, and they’d mastered the use of military hand signals so long ago that it was second nature to them now. They’d even expanded the lexicon to include American Sign Language in the darker years between their mother’s death and the accident that had finally sent John to join her, for both practical and emotional reasons.
There was something about the mountains, too, that suppressed almost all thought of speaking aloud. Something that was at once serene and menacing, inspiring hushed murmurs when they did need to speak and leaving them both contemplative and wary as they walked.
Castiel could not join them openly even when they camped for the nights, either. Though the full light of the sun was lost earlier among the peaks than it would have been in the villages below, the brothers didn’t dare push along the unfamiliar trail when twilight made their surroundings hazy, and the temperature dropped too quickly for them to go without a fire once they stopped for the evening.
It made for a tense three nights, with sleep coming only in shifts and both brothers keeping weapons close at hand. The vague sense of danger that whispered in their minds during the daylight hours was easy to rationalize away: unfamiliar territory meant unknown hazards both from men and nature, after all, but they could marshall arguments in their own minds to counter each potential threat. In the darkness, though, it was impossible to ignore the Presence that seemed to hover at the edges of their firelight, as if they were voles daring to sleep beneath the shadow of a hawk’s wings.
{We’re definitely being watched,} Dean signed to Sam on the third night as they were bedding down after a meager dinner.
{Not by a human,} Sam agreed, checking his 9mm before settling down for his turn to sleep. {You think it’s him? Or maybe the angels sent someone because they’re getting suspicious, like Cas thought they would?}
{Too many suspects.} Dean’s eyes scanned the darkness, glittering with something almost predatory in the flickering firelight. {We don’t find this place tomorrow, though, and I get the feelin’ we won’t be wondering for long.}
{We can handle it,} Sam assured him, the motion of his fingers crisp in an attempt to convey confidence. {Wake me if you get tired.}
Dean nodded, waiting until he heard Sam’s breath even out to let his fingers murmur: {Glad one of us is sure of that.}
* * *
July 13, 2005
Mid-morning on the fourth day was when they caught their first glimpse of their destination.
The trail plunged down so steeply that it almost gave them vertigo when they came to the crest overlooking a complex that seemed hewn from the very rock surrounding them. The narrow valley in which it was nestled was cast in perpetual shadow, the light of the sun never quite reaching past the peaks to touch what lay cradled beneath them.
“I guess whoever named it wasn’t just going through a Goth emo phase,” Dean breathed, his eyes huge as he stared down into the valley. From their vantage point, they could see no evidence of habitation: only grey stone walls built out from the cliffs to block the trail, and a gate that might have been forged sometime during the Bronze Age.
“It’ll take half the day to get down there,” Sam guessed quietly, gauging their descent. “And no cover, either. They’ll know we’re coming.”
“Well, then let’s just hope they put dinner on for us. It’ll probably be goat.” Dean adjusted his pack on his shoulders, his expression grimly determined. “I hate goat.”
“You’ve never had goat,” Sam argued pointedly.
“We’re about to go knock on the door of a guy that’s older than anything else we’ve ever even heard of,” Dean shot back. “And you’re sassing me?”
“Get over it.” Sam angled to slip past him and started to work his way down. “Remembering all the times you’ve wanted to shoot me’ll give you something in common with him.”
Dean’s eyes rolled Heavenward and he sent up a silent prayer to Castiel for strength before he moved to follow his brother down.
Although both brothers tried to keep an eye on the monastery complex as they descended, neither had seen the emergence of the brunette monk that was waiting for them at the gates by the time they reached the point where the trail finally leveled out again. The great metal hinges had apparently made no sound when he’d swung them open, and he stood just within the threshold with no trace of hostility or suspicion in his body language. Appearing no older than thirty, he kept his arms folded at his waist and the wide-mouthed sleeves of his simple, hooded grey wool robe concealed his hands from view. A gentle smile ghosted around his mouth as they approached, his eyes holding neither fear nor surprise nor even mild curiosity.
“Looks like he’s the welcoming committee,” Dean murmured to his brother. “Like to know how he got out here and opened that up without us seein’ him.”
“Not sure we’ll like it much if we find out,” Sam countered, his lips scarcely moving around the words and his eyes fixed on the monk. The man never moved as they closed on him, his head tilted ever so slightly as if listening to something the brothers couldn’t hear. “Um, hi? Do… uh…”
“Good day.” Both brothers startled as the man spoke in clear English, an accent neither could identify brushed along the edge of each syllable. “Rooms have been prepared for you; please come in and refresh yourselves.” Dean’s spine went rigid and the pale bronze skin around the man’s brown eyes crinkled in the faintest trace of amusement. “We offer no deception. It is not necessary in this place.”
“Awesome.” Dean’s voice was like ashes as they passed through the gate, falling into step behind the monk. Sam took position at Dean’s four o’clock, and Dean let his eyes sweep around the courtyard as they moved towards the complex. Glancing back once to check their six didn’t help the unease steadily blooming in his gut.
Without so much as a sound to hint that it had happened, the gate had somehow been closed in their wake, as if it had never been opened at all.
* * *
Though there were other monks walking the halls, no one spoke as Dean and Sam were escorted to the rooms that their guide had spoken of. Sallow light flickered from strange-smelling torches lining the walls, casting everyone that glided through the honeycomb of passageways in the same dusky pallor and making it difficult to tell how old or young any one of them might be. No one stopped to question their guide about them, or even visibly reacted to the two brothers in any way, but there was no doubt in either brother’s mind that every person they’d passed had marked their presence and would know them from their brethren on sight.
“You are welcome to join us for our evening meal,” their guide offered politely as he opened a door and stepped inside it ahead of them. There were oil lamps burning within, revealing a neatly kept room that might have looked like a study in another time and place. “There is a bath just beyond that door, and sleeping chambers through the others.”
“Didn’t know monks got to live in this kinda style,” Dean commented, checking the corners as best he could with the dim light.
“Our dormitory lies elsewhere.” Remaining perfectly still, their guide watched as the brothers slowly moved into the common area of the room, missing none of the signs that they were gauging defensible angles and possible dangers. “This place is for honored guests from the outside world.”
“Is that what we are?” Sam asked, one eyebrow twitching as he turned to face the still-nameless monk.
“If you were not, you would not have been permitted beyond the gate.” All at once, the flames in all of the lamps guttered, almost driving the brothers to reach for their guns. “If you do not wish to join us in common, I will arrange for something to be brought for you at evensong.”
“We’ve been walking a while,” Dean answered, watching for any reaction he could catch as he said it. He didn’t know if he was more frustrated or disturbed when there was none to see. “Doubt we’ll be up to much socializing tonight.”
“As you wish.” Turning towards the door, he reached up and took hold of a rope hanging against the wall to the right of it. “Should you require aught, merely pull this bell. One of us will present our services at once.”
“Swell.” Dean fought the insistent need to have his .45 in hand. “You got a name, pal?”
Stopping in the doorway, the young man turned back towards them. The play of the light almost hid the smile that once again ghosted around his lips. “Mehujael. But you may call me Jae, Dean Winchester, as you are likely to do so anyway.” Ignoring the stunned expression on both brothers’ faces, Mehujael bowed. “Call upon us if you have a need.” And with that, he left, closing the door behind him.
Unfrozen by the click of the latch, Dean immediately crossed the room. Testing the door revealed that it was not locked or barred in any way, though the passage outside their rooms was empty. “How the fuck does he move so fast?” he sniped as he closed the door again.
Sam’s 9mm was in his hands, his steps careful as he moved to clear the adjoining rooms. “You always did resist learning the genealogy parts of the lore. Mehujael’s listed in Genesis as one of Caine’s great-grandchildren.”
They finished clearing the rooms before Dean spoke again. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this, Sammy. First we’re being watched the entire hike up here, and then the welcome wagon is Caine’s great-grandkid? Who, by the way, already knows our names, speaks perfect English, can move faster than we can see and open up gates that shoulda rusted shut in the Stone Age without making a sound?”
“I don’t much like it either, but it’s not like we’ve got a lot of alternatives,” Sam pointed out reasonably. “I doubt we’d be allowed to leave at this point even if we wanted to without Caine’s permission.” Shrugging out of his pack, Sam started rummaging for one of his last bottles of water. “They drew a hot bath for us, y’know. You can see the steam curling off the top.”
Something in Dean’s mistrustful expression rearranged itself, and it was all Sam could do to not laugh. “Well… as long as we’re here…”
“Go,” Sam urged on a chuckle. “I’ll take my turn when you’re done.” Dean turned and went eagerly, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. We’re coming, he prayed silently, doubting that Gabriel could hear him but unable to help hoping it anyway. Just a little while longer. I promise.
* * *
July 14, 2005
Despite the unfamiliar surroundings and the sense of foreboding hovering in the air like an unbroken thunderhead, both brothers found themselves sleeping deeply in their respective beds that night. Dinner had been a hearty goat stew which Dean had devoured despite his prediction being proven correct, and being clean and warm and well-fed made it almost impossible to consider sleeping in shifts as they had on the hike up the mountain.
A tug on the bell when they were up and dressed brought Mehujael again, a tray with bowls of warm porridge, small cups and a jug of water in hand. “I trust you slept comfortably,” he greeted them as he set the tray on the small common table.
“Yeah, thanks.” Dean swiped a finger into the porridge and tested it for strange reactions or aftertaste.
“You will be unmolested here,” Mehujael asserted again.
“Well, excuse me for old habits, huh, Jae?” Dean replied snippily as he sat down to tuck into his breakfast. “We don’t take a lot on faith where we come from.”
Amusement twitched briefly at Mehujael’s lips, catching Sam’s attention. “You say we’re honored guests, Mehujael, but it’s not like we’re here at someone’s invitation.”
“It does not follow that uninvited means unwelcome,” Mehujael countered smoothly. “Your lineage is unbroken, written for such as we to read in every vein. And your purpose in coming here is the source of great curiosity.”
“From you and the other monks, you mean?” The question was met with a beat of silence, and Dean paused in scraping his bowl to look up at the monk. “Or is it somebody else that’s all fired up about us?”
“Rest for now,” Mehujael finally said, sidestepping the question. The implication behind that non-answer seemed to roar in the air around them. “Perhaps later, you would like a tour of the library?”
“That’s not why we’re here,” Sam told him seriously.
Dark eyes fixed on Sam, Mehujael’s expression now almost grave. “Perhaps you will enjoy it, anyway.” Without another word, he turned and left them to their remaining breakfast.
Pouring himself some water, Dean’s face spoke entire volumes of disquiet. Sam finally sat and ate his breakfast, noting the unusual flavor, as if the porridge had been cooked in broth rather than water. “We’re in deeper than we figured, aren’t we?” he asked Dean carefully when he was finished.
“Yup.” Dean’s eyes were trained on the door, his generous mouth drawn into a tight, unhappy line. “If Caine or the angels don’t kill us, Bobby just might when he finds out.”
“What’s say we don’t tell him, then?” Sam suggested.
“Good luck with that,” Dean snorted.
* * *
Several hours passed before Mehujael returned to their rooms, though the only way the brothers knew that for certain was from Dean’s watch. The lack of windows in their rooms, as well as everywhere else in the surrounding wing that they’d dared explore, otherwise obscured all sense of the passage of time. Given their purpose, neither of them wanted to push too hard against the boundaries that had been so politely set around them.
Yet.
“What made you decide to learn English?” Sam asked Mehujael while the monk escorted them to the library as he’d promised. “I can’t imagine you get a lot of English-speakers up here.”
“You imagine correctly,” Mehujael agreed. “Nor is there more than a handful of people in the villages with which we trade that are even familiar with it. I have a… gift for tongues, and I am not so young as I appear. Setting oneself a challenge for its own sake fills many hours that would otherwise be empty, and all accomplishment has value, regardless of its relative practicality.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dean glanced sidelong, once again looking for micro-expressions in Mehujael’s face. He wasn’t used to being so completely unable to read someone. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Old enough for that question to be relatively meaningless.” The doors of the great library parted easily at the monk’s gentle push, and he flicked a glance at Dean as he led them inside. “But you’ve already guessed as much, haven’t you?”
Dean’s teeth ground. “Why the Hell is everybody I run into lately being such cagey bastards? Does lack of sunshine make you just forget how to give a straight answer or something?”
Before Mehujael could answer, another voice sounded from within the shadows of the library shelves. “Pressing even the most gifted mind into finding answers is always more rewarding than simply giving them.”
Instinct kicked in; both brothers drew down on the stranger to whom the voice belonged, falling back into defensive positions against the wall. There was a faint cast of disapproval in Mehujael’s eyes as he stood to the side, but otherwise he seemed neither alarmed or intimidated by the firearms that had suddenly appeared in the Winchesters’ hands.
“Those won’t do you much good here,” the voice continued, drawing closer as its owner emerged from the stacks. He was of a height with Dean; the long hair tied back at his nape and his short-cropped beard were both dark and shot with grey. Unlike the monks, he wore pants and a short-sleeved tunic, belted at the waist. His skin was even paler than that of the monks they’d seen in the hallways, and his eyes were the bright blue of a summer sky. “The Order of Shadows cannot be harmed by bullets, and considering what my Grandfather did, using them on me would be even less advisable.”
Sam’s heart gave a strange kind of lurch. He lowered his 9mm even as Dean kept his .45 leveled at the newcomer’s head, gaze raking over the man until he saw what he needed to see: a mark like a crimson scar on his right forearm. Even at a distance, Sam could feel the hum of power layered into it. A warning in more ways than one.
Without taking his eyes away, Sam’s hand reached out to find Dean’s arms and pressed down, making his brother lower his gun. When Dean made a sound of protest and tried to raise them again, Sam held on tighter, stilling the motion. “You’re Caine,” he asserted softly, almost breathless at the realization, the reality of it.
A smile touched his lips, and Caine nodded. “I believe you two came a long way to talk to me.”
* * *
“So, tell me why you’ve come.”
Caine’s apartments were secreted on the other side of a passage beyond the library. The receiving room to which he led the brothers was arranged in a style reminiscent of ancient Mediterranean cultures, with three reclining couches grouped around a low table and the fourth side open to allow for service. Just beyond the seating area was an open balcony, allowing a filter of daylight and breaths of cool mountain air into a space that would have seemed cavernous by comparison. He gestured for the brothers to seat themselves, taking up his own couch between them. “If it’s sanctuary you seek, there is no place in any realm more heavily warded. Michael and the Morningstar can’t breach them even to enter your dreams.”
“Our dreams?” Dean echoed, sitting almost warily. His eyes flickered to the monk serving them with goblets of something warm and smelling of spices before refocusing on Caine. “They can do that?”
“Outside of this valley, yes.” Caine took a sip from his goblet, his eyes speculative as he considered the brothers. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”
“We need your help,” Sam told him, the words rushing out. “Or… more like a favor, really. We need to get to the Eastern Watchtower, and we were told that the only way to get there is by passing through this monastery.”
Caine’s expression went still; sitting up, he set down his goblet with a deliberate motion and looked both of the Winchesters over intently. For just a moment, Dean got the impression that Caine’s eyes had changed focus to somewhere else, reading something unseen in the air around them. By the time Caine sat back again, his eyes were normal. “Well… that explains why Castiel is waiting so anxiously outside my borders.”
“Whaddyou know about Cas?” Dean demanded.
“I’ve known him since I was a child, actually.” Caine lifted his goblet to his lips again, bittersweetness making his smile brittle. “My brother and I grew up in the shadow of Eden, and played the unnameable games of childhood beneath the wings of the angels that guarded it against my parents’ attempts to return. Castiel was one of many that knew us in those days, and one of the few that my father was certain had meant every word of his Holy Oath.”
“This the same brother you murdered?” Dean couldn’t help asking, censure dripping from every word.
The way Sam made Dean’s name a quiet, appalled remonstrance was lost in the way Caine’s eyes suddenly blazed, an ancient anger rising around him like an aura. “You know nothing of what passed between us, Dean. Habel was the first and best of all I possessed, untainted by the curses laid upon my parents in the wake of their disobedience. He demanded a sacrifice, and He will accept no impure thing as worthy.”
“So you figured your brother fit the bill, huh?” Refusing to let how intimidating the elder man was in that moment show, Dean met those enraged eyes with calm, neutral challenge. “He was your brother, man.”
“And it was his idea.” There was a dreadful satisfaction in the way Dean’s eyes widened in the face of that assertion, but Caine couldn’t enjoy it. The memories were too painful for that, even after millennia. “Habel was certain that my intent would be enough. Persuaded me that He would intervene before…” The words trailed away, too heavy with grief to be spoken. “But He didn’t, and Habel died by my hand, and I was cast out for offering up exactly what He asked of us.”
“But didn’t the angels come to offer you forgiveness?” Sam asked, his voice careful around the edges of a grief undimmed by time. “You could’ve gone back, instead of… becoming…”
A mirthless chuckle left Caine’s throat. “For what should I be forgiven, Samuel Winchester?” he asked sardonically. “Habel was my younger brother. My only friend. My truest companion.” His gaze swept to Dean, whose face was grim but no longer challenging. “In your wildest imaginings, what forgiveness can He ever offer that you think I would accept?
“But rather than understanding that,” he continued, turning back to look at Sam again, “the angels each cursed me in their turn when I spurned that which they should have known I could never accept, seeing none of my grief and hearing only words spoken in a rage that has yet to die in all these centuries. Michael, who could not bring himself to strike down his most rebellious brother even at God’s command, made fire my enemy. Uriel, who if my father’s stories are true was a breath’s whisper from joining Lucifer in rebellion, cursed me to dwell ever in darkness.
“And Gabriel… my Grandfather’s mark makes it impossible for any of my father’s get to raise a hand against me, but it was Gabriel’s curse that bound me to an immortal existence. Habel’s spirit has attached itself to me, unwilling to leave my side even in death, and thanks to the Messenger I am unable to die and give him the rest he deserves unless I repent a sin that can never be washed clean.” Seeing the stricken expression on Sam’s face, Caine took a breath and attempted to regain control of his anger. “And it is he you seek, isn’t it?” he guessed. “The mating mark you bear is his, and you seek the Eastern Watchtower in an attempt to find him.”
“Yes,” Sam admitted. “The other angels… they think that he used his powers on me like the Grigori used theirs before the Flood…”
“No.”
Sam blinked. Dean sat up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Caine turned to look at the elder Winchester. “My answer is no. I will not show you the path to my father’s lands so that you and your brother may attempt to free Gabriel from whatever punishment he now finds himself enduring. If he is undeserving of that fate, so my brother and I are undeserving ours. Let it teach him some humility... and perhaps my Grandfather will in turn learn that One Whose Sight transcends Time itself should be more careful of the edicts He lays upon His children.”
“You can’t just say no,” Dean argued. “Not without hearing us out. Haven’t you ever heard of being the bigger person?”
“Being a bigger person,” Caine replied calmly, “often means allowing those who exhibit shameful behavior to get away with it.”
“You sonuva-”
“I think you should both return to your rooms.” As if the words themselves had been summons, Mehujael appeared in the doorway. “Preparations will be made to supply your return journey on the morrow.”
“Please.” Sam’s eyes were wet as he stood, his voice reedy from desperation. “We can’t do this without your help.”
“I know.” Caine looked up at Sam, something on the edges of his expression that neither brother was sure how to name. “But allowing Heaven to have any influence over your life invites nothing but blood, misery and death, Sam. Take it from someone who knows only too well, and learn from my mistakes.”
Dean came around and took his brother’s arm even as Sam opened his mouth to try again. “Come on, Sammy,” he urged quietly. “Looks like we’re done here.”
A throb of unspoken words knotted in Sam’s throat. With one last, pleading look to an impassive Caine, he followed his brother and Mehujael back down the passage into the library, dragging defeat like a chain behind him.
Chapter Two