Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Behind the Wall Where Men and Angels Fall

Chapter One

Third Person POV

"And now, my children...let us all pray the Holy Rosary together..." the priest spoke with practiced ease to the churchgoers that filled the wooden pews of the Santa Maria Cathedral, his smile seeming almost too big across his thin cheeks and gilded eyes that peered keenly through the people while he continued with the service.

The catholic church swelled with the monotonous sounds of the prayer being said by the attendants of Mass, everyone speaking the ancient words they had memorized as they prayed to the Mother of Jesus...all except one man.

High above their heads, perched atop one of the the large, wooden support beams that ran horizontally across the grand stone cathedral, ice-blue eyes watched over the service with calculated patience.

The man's long white robes covered almost his entire body, his deep hood pulled over his head and shadowed the top half of his face as he watched as the day's mass concluded and the people filed to the front of the church to shake the father's hand and exchange a few words on the way out.

Father Alistair was a valued member of the clergy within this part of the city, his opinion held in high in several communities, and his status quite impenetrable as as result.

The hooded male watched as the priest waved at the last person before turning around in his place so he may begin heading towards the back rooms of the cathedral.

The white-clad male dropped down silently to another section of wooden beams that criss-crossed below him, the tall-reaching, stained-glasses windows creating a colorful parameter around each side of the building, as he placed his hands along the edges of the smooth grain and let his weight descend down.

His breathing was steady, his mind crystal-clear as he knew to keep his muscles relaxed while he waited, bode his time and paced his strength, ignoring the dull aching creeping into either of his shoulders as they supported all of his weight currently hanging suspended in mid-air.

Father Alistair finally closed the door behind him and no later had he done so did the hooded male release his grip from the wooden beam so that he first landed on the back of one of the pews on his toes before he gracefully hopped down to the marble floor.

The information that the general public did not know about the good priest was that he was also an extremely important arms dealer within one of the most powerful syndicates in the area.

Alistair was in the business of trading lives for weapons, for smuggling what an average crook could not and profiting greatly because of it.

The man dressed in flowing white robes and red sash walked briskly down the main aisle towards the same room, already knowing what he would have to do and the manner in which he would do it.

It was only a matter of time.

The hooded male immediately turned around and pressed his back to the stone wall beside the outer room, able to hear as Alistair as poured a drink and then noisily gulped it down before slamming down the glass.

He took a deep breath and held it, knowing from observing the priest for a few days prior that he would always go back to that room to indulge in the sacrificial wine before reappearing back inside the main area of the church to lock down the doors.

"Ugh...fucking people...good for nothing, all of them...only good for the money they give...ha!" Alistair muttered angrily to himself as he threw open the door and began trudging back towards the alter, walking right passed the white-robed male as he had not seem him there against the wall.

He followed the priest, easily catching up to him and grabbing one of his arms to twist behind his back while his other hand flexed out at his side and released a long blade that had been hidden in his thick, leather gauntlet that covered his hands and forearms.

"What the hell! Who are you! Release me now, you imbecile!" Alistair struggled against the man's steeled grip but his efforts were to no avail as he could not move away in the least, nor could he see the man's sharp blade coming up to his throat, "...this...this is a house of God! How dare you...!"

"Then may God have mercy on your soul," the hooded male spoke, his naturally low tone sounding like smoke wafting up from ashes to the panicking priest before he suddenly sliced through Alistair's vulnerable throat with his blade, not even waiting for blood to spew forth before retracting his weapon and snapping it back in its secret sheathe along his arm.

The hooded male turned his back to the bleeding body now lying at his feet and staining the otherwise pristine marble, as he sprinted towards a pew a few yards ahead, and, with a mighty step off of it, propelled himself up towards one of the nearest flag poles that hung down.

On the balls of his feet, the master assassin balanced his weight on the narrow, metal flag pole before leaping to the next one that was further towards the back of the cathedral.

His footing was expert and careful, none of his movements wasted as he quickly climbed from his new position out of the opened window that he knew would lead to the eastern balconies and his escape.

The sun was setting, putting the beautiful orange-pink glow of the setting sun at his back as the white-clad man inhaled the crisp evening air and then exploded into a speedy run towards the edge of the balcony.

His lovely eyes were narrowed in concentration and the wind hitting his face chilled his full lips, as he suddenly dove off of the balcony and towards a much lower building.

His feet made contact with the other building's roof within seconds, the assassin having to bend his knees and curl his body into a forward roll in order to safely absorb the impact from his leap, his robes fluttering behind him as he stood up and did not look back towards Santa Maria Cathedral.

He had to keep going; he still had much ground to cover in order to make it back to the Brotherhood and report his mission a success.

Knowing that there was a smaller shack nestled in close to this building, the man simply stepped off of the side of the roof, his robes and red sash raising a bit and showing several daggers in leather holsters strapped to his sides before he landed on top of the shack and then was able to easily navigate down to ground level.

The assassin took a moment to adjust the large, pointed hood over his head again as it had dropped back from his many considerable jumps to reveal unruly, spiky black hair and half-lidded eyes the color of a frozen winter lake, features he knew would make him recognizable to even the average onlooker.

With that done, he dropped his arms and stretched his fingers at his sides, walking through the throngs of people that were busily moving from one part of the marketplace to the next to collect their evening meals, the assassin weaving in and out of the crowds effortlessly.

It was the first rule, after all, of his creed to blend in with the rest of society and to not stand out as an assassin.

X

Meanwhile, at another part of town...

"The newest shipment has arrived, father...I made sure it was secured myself," a young man with piercing green eyes informed the older gentleman currently sitting behind a cluttered, black desk, his fingers toying with a cigar as he listened to the report.

The older male raised his aged but sharp eyes, his fingers ceasing rolling the cigar as he fixed his eldest son with a hard stare.

"Dean, I am only going to say this once..." he informed his son, watching as the younger male straightened his shoulders a little more upon being addressed by his first name, his jaw set in a hard line and his hands folded formally behind his back while he listened, "...this is important that this gets to us. No more mistakes, you understand? Our organization has a lot riding of the shipment of those packages. Do I make myself clear?"

Dean swallow hard, his eyes leaving his father's strangling stare as he placed his gaze somewhere over his head.

"Perfectly clear. I will not fail you, father," Dean replied militantly to his father, not missing the way he smirked at Dean's answer and sat back in his plush chair.

"Good...I expect nothing but the best from you and your brother," he concluded, placing the cigar in between his teeth and raising a dismissive hand towards the door, "...now go."

Dean nodded his head and swiftly exited his father's study, feeling like he was finally able to breathe once was he was outside of the darkened room and away from such a stifling presence.

As much as Dean loved and respected his father, the older man could be too intense, too ruthless with him and the rest of the subordinates.

Dean frowned as he walked down one of the lengthy corridors of their enormous manor, the eldest of the two brothers usually feeling nothing but admiration for this father, the esteemed head of the Winchester Fratello...but he could not help the growing feeling of...foreboding.

They were the most prominent group that oversaw certain businesses becoming successful, certain people becoming more than wealthy by any means necessary.

In a 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' type of economy, the Winchester Fratello thrived in selling their handiwork and expertise of getting done the tasks they were asked to do with typically no qualms about the subject.

The group profited in the long run, able to call in favors from powerful individuals when it was the most opportune time, and John Winchester had mastered how to manipulate those around him so that circumstances played out exactly how he wanted them to.

Dean Winchester had learned everything he knew about their organization from his father, was a major part of their success because of him, and due to his training in the military, had been made as one of the overseers of much of their business dealings.

Over the years, Dean had trained the organization's recruits, established and executed operations with other well-known factions, and generally was his father's right-hand man when it came to his protection.

However, something about this particular deal was not sitting right with the blonde-haired male, as if this one time, he could already foretell that something was going to go horribly wrong...

"I better go see that those chuckle-heads haven't screwed up anything yet..." Dead forced the thought inside his mind as he navigated through the main corridor and towards the gardens of the estate, needing to get to the docks across town as soon as possible.