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tigriswolfFandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: Not my characters. Just for fun. All of the Creations and the Father don’t belong to me. It would be cool if they did, though. This characterization, however, is mine. The human Fate was is mine, as well. (And I just realized how awkwardly that sentence reads. Please don't think that's a mistake of some sort, for 'twas entirely on purpose.)
Warnings: AU; blasphemy
Pairings: incestuous slash of the beautiful boys; implied Dean/one-sided many
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 2720
Point of View: third
What would you give up for your brother?
Anything that was mine to give. And probably some things that weren’t.
----
Fate didn’t understand about love until she ran smack-dab into Dean Winchester. She was the second Fate, actually, not even the original, and she’d once been human. She’d once had all those weak emotions, once felt rage and hate and fear—but not love. Never love. Sad as that may be.
Maybe it was the life she’d had, back in the darker part of the Middle Ages. Not very many people felt love back then; the world was too hard, too cruel, too... well, dark. Life was painful, full of blood, death, rage—not good. Not fun at all.
She’d lived to be thirty—an old maid, back in those days—and died as a witch. Tortured, beheaded, burned. Apparently, the world wasn’t ready for someone like her. Someone gifted... someone better.
Looking back, she was a fool to tell that noble his wife would cheat on him with the knight, but she’d never claimed to be smart.
Visions of the future were a part of ‘evil’ magic back then—of course, to be fair, all magic was ‘evil’. Even the healers had to hide in that bitter, rage-filled world.
So she died. She’d expected something, anything but what she got, which was a beautiful man smiling at her and saying, “About time.”
----
Dean Winchester knew something was following him, something powerful, but he hadn’t a clue what. It had been there for weeks, on the edge of his awareness, eyes he couldn’t locate or shake.
It didn’t feel malevolent; it wasn’t a threat. It was just there, constantly, wouldn’t leave him alone.
----
He wore clothes she recognized only from visions; his hair was long and black. He grinned at her, an infectious smile that had her grinning back.
“Why were you waiting?” she asked, reclining on the bed he’d so kindly provided. She sipped wine from the silver goblet and watched him walk over to lie beside her.
“Because I’m tired,” he said, reaching over and taking the cup. He took a long gulp, handed it back, told her, “Good luck,” and vanished.
All the knowledge spilled into her head, everything he knew, everything he was, what she had become.
Fate. The Fate. The writer of lives, the weaver of destinies. She laughed, drained the goblet, threw it against the wall, rolled over, and fell asleep.
---
He thought about calling Dad up, asking him what it could be. He thought about calling Sam, just to talk, just in case.
In the end he did neither, choosing to face whatever it was on his own.
In the end it wasn’t his choice at all.
----
For a thousand years she wrote the stories of people’s lives, penned the sonnets of their deaths. She chose when, where, and how for each of them, but sent Death to claim their souls.
She was happy, finally felt whole, and then—fuck it, she was Fate! How could something creep up on her?—she saw him. He was more beautiful than the previous Fate had been, a gorgeous manchild, still growing into his skin—and what perfect skin it was.
Fate fell hard and Fate fell fast and Fate was fucking pissed about that.
It just wasn’t fair, honestly, because she was the writer of destiny! She couldn’t be entrapped by anything because she knew everything.
Hell, she’d been the one who wrote the mother’s death, the father’s quest, the boys following—so how could she have been so completely blindsided? Her?
-----
Dean turned around in the middle of the forest and there she was. He knew instantly she had been the watcher, the one following him.
“Who are you?” he asked, fingers tightening on the gun. She didn’t look like a threat, and still didn’t feel like one, but a hunter could never be too careful.
She smiled, stepping forward, and said, “I’m Fate.”
He began at her hair and worked his way down. Her hair was a deep black, eyes a dark green, and skin bronzed tan. She was maybe five-three at the most, beautiful. Not his type, but then—honestly, only one person was his type.
“You’ll get him.” Her voice broke into his thoughts.
“What?” He could feel his eyes widen in shock, felt his heart stop—someone knew? No one could know! Dad didn’t know, Sammy didn’t know—how could this woman know?
“I’m Fate, Dean.” She smiled at him again. “I know everything.”
----
Yeah, so what if he was the most beautiful thing ever created? So what if he was the perfect mixture of Light and Dark? That didn’t matter—she was Fate, for fuck’s sake! She had beers with angels on the weekend and hung out with demons! She... she...
She fell in love with the one being she could never have. The one person out of her reach.
She was Fate... but some things even Fate can’t control. And Dean Winchester’s destiny was beyond her. Completely out of her reach. It had been set by the previous Fate, she knew now, after scouring her memories. Set by order of the Father.
Why, though, she couldn’t comprehend. Why give this gorgeous, kind, sweet boy—why give him that painful life? Painful love? Painful death? She dare not ask; the Father was even beyond her, beyond Death, beyond Time itself—the end all and be all of the universe.
----
“Do you know what killed my mom?” he asked immediately, lowering the gun.
“I do,” she said, nodding and stepping closer. She wasn’t about to tell him, though, that she set that destiny. This boy, something told her, could destroy her—even if he didn’t know it yet, and wouldn’t for some time.
Well, relative time. By her standards, it was merely an eye-blink. By his it was a lifetime. And then, there was Time’s standards—but that was neither here nor now, and Fate pulled her attention back to the boy in front of her.
The boy she loved. The boy she couldn’t save, by decree of the Father—the only one in all of creation she might defy the Father for.
-----
She studied every bit of the destiny written for him. She searched her infinite knowledge for the loophole that had to be there.
If she had anything to say, his life would not end like that.
Of course, she had nothing to say about it. The Father didn’t care, didn’t listen. He’d had this planned from the beginning, before Death and before Time, when only He and Vengeance existed.
If Fate got in his way, all He had to do was will her gone—and she wouldn’t exist anymore.
Was Dean worth it? Could anyone be?
----
She looked into his eyes and decided he was. She quickly left, vanished from his sight, and talked with Death, with Time, with Fear and Hope and all the rest. She explained to them everything—at first they didn’t want to listen, because she had once been human, not a Creation like them, but quickly they saw her point. Saw why the first Fate had chosen her as his heir.
She had been human. She understood love, even if she had never felt it before.
She understood about sacrifice, which Dean Winchester was, which he embodied—which just wasn’t fair or right, and never would be.
Fate emphatically told them how wrong it was, this destiny of Dean’s. How it showed just what the Father had sunk to.
“And what do you want us to do?” Death asked, cathedral bells and thunder storms in his tone.
“Together,” Fate answered quietly, “we can overpower him.”
Silence, louder than anything had ever been before, surrounded them. The audacity of that statement stunned them. If the Father had been paying attention, she would have been destroyed then and there.
But He wasn’t. More fool Him.
---
She realized that there was only one way to keep Dean’s destiny—and all that would come after—from happening.
His brother had to be with him, when the time came. In the destiny set by her predecessor, Sam stayed at Stanford with his soon-to-be-wife, miserable. John still vanished and Dean still searched for him, alone and lonely. Sam never knew anything was amiss, until—
But it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen. Fate sent Dean to fetch Sam, so they could search together, and then sent Malor to kill Jess, so they’d stay together.
The Father, of course, was pissed beyond all reason and comprehension, but He decided to see how it would play out. Fate knew then—He was beyond His prime. He wanted only to further His kingdom and no longer cared for the subjects. He’d fallen in love with power.
So she watched and plotted. She called up all the rest—and after the explanation, they agreed. The time had come—the Father needed to fall.
----
Fate showed the others Dean’s childhood, his training, what the first Fate and the Father had planned. She showed them why this boy was enough to start the revolution. They watched and they fell in love, too.
“He is Sam’s,” Fate said softly, to both Hope and Fear, who loved him the most. They longed to claim him, make him their own. Fate knew that unless she did something, they would go to war after the Father was dealt with. “He is his brother’s, and his brother is his. I doubt even the Father could change that now.”
Hope and Fear looked from each other to her; they knew the truth. “He is so beautiful,” Hope whispered, looking down at Dean, as he and Sam battled the fake-god, the Scarecrow. “How could I have never noticed him? I visited him so often...”
“As did I,” Fear murmured, “and I never noticed, either.” He looked up at Fate. “Did you have something to do with that, Sister?”
Happiness suffused her—she was acknowledged as one of the them. “No,” she replied, a smile crossing her face. “I didn’t make him unnoticeable to us. Someone... else... must be interested.”
“Well said, child,” came the dark voice and the First stepped into their range of sight.
-----
In the beginning there was the Father. There was something before Him, but no one knew what it was. He was alone for a time, just... well, no one knew what He was doing.
And then He started shaping the worlds, forming the universes. He imagined and they came to be; He was the Father, after all, the supreme being. And then He began thinking of the creatures to populate His worlds with. He decided to create helpers, beings like Him. And the First of those creations, those gifted with powers so like His own, was called Vengeance.
The rest followed swiftly, Time and Death and Hope and Fate—Fear came with Death, after a fashion, twins born of the same stardust. The Father smiled at His children and set them to working on the others, the ones who wouldn’t have powers.
The Father showed them how to imagine the lower beings, how to give them form and life, and then sat back to watch them play. The ones like Death, Fear, and Despair caused the lower beings to shatter beautifully; the ones like Hope and Faith—twins, like Fear and Death—helped them to rise.
And watching them all, the Father smiled.
----
Even before Death, there was Vengeance, the first and greatest of the Creations.He mainly watched, only getting involved if no one else could see the job done. Darker than Death, more powerful than Fear, deeper than Despair—he lead to the legend of the Furies, of the Crow, of hundreds of things.
Over the millennia, Vengeance had few favorites. He just watched, a silent spectator; unlike the other Creations, he never spoke to the lower beings. He was better and he knew it—why waste time, something there wasn’t enough of?
Even for them, the immortal Creations, the first and greatest children of the Father, time was something fleeting. Vengeance, Death, and Fate knew that best of all.
But then Vengeance heard the plaintive cry of John Winchester and couldn’t help but investigate. He saw how shattered his wife’s death left John, and with those two boys... the older, Dean, tugged at Vengeance. Something about him... some glimmer in his eyes of the man he would become...
And so, for the first time in over a thousand years, Vengeance marked a human, a lower being, as his own, shielding him from the machinations of the other Creations. Until the destiny that hung around the boy came to pass—or a variation thereof, since Vengeance could see Fate’s, the old Fate’s, fingerprints all over the child—he would be invisible to the others, even as they visited him.
As the oldest, the greatest, the First, Vengeance could do such things. He could anticipate the fallout around this Dean Winchester. The boy just seemed to draw love and devotion like moths to the flame.
That brother of his... together... oh Vengeance could hardly wait!
-----
The Father watched and the Father smiled and the Father knew of the only being with the power to overcome and surpass Him.
So the Father commanded Fate to deal with the insolent brat who would dare challenge Him. The Father could easily blink the boy from existence, except it would draw attention. He did not want the rest of His children to know about this Dean Winchester and whatever powers he might wield.
Fate did as commanded, with reservations, and wove a destiny so horrifying and cruel he had to retire. He could take the death of entire races, the lingering ends of thousands, but this... no, it was just too much.
So he picked a human to ascend and gave all his knowledge to her. And, buried deep within her subconscious, he left the loophole that would lead to the Father’s end.
----
Vengeance smiled at his brothers and sisters, a grin that left even Death trembling. He stepped forward into the circle and said, “Were you going to invite me to this gathering?”
He looked each of them in the eye, one by one, going around the circle. Even the Father feared this Creation, sometimes—He had poured too much of Himself into Vengeance that first time. Had given too much of Himself, which resulted in Vengeance being the closest thing to a God in all the worlds, in all the times, in everything.
“I didn’t think you’d want to be involved,” Fate replied softly.
Vengeance chuckled, a humorless sound, and stepped closer to Fate, reaching down and caressing her cheek. “He is mine, child,” Vengeance whispered, the quiet sound echoing around them. “He was mine before he was yours, before any of you even knew of his existence. Only two others have a previous claim: your predecessor, who relinquished his, and the brother. Young Samuel will never let his brother go, and I am fine with that.” His fingers dug into her skin, a warning. “I am going to join you, little Sister, to lead you. Our Father made a grave error in forcing your predecessor to weave that destiny.”
“If you’re going to lead us, Brother,” Fear asked, stepping out of the circle, “why are you treating her like that?”
Vengeance spared him a glance. “A lesson, dear Brother, merely a lesson.” He released her and moved back.
So began the revolution.
----
Dean Winchester never knew what he caused. He never saw that woman, Fate, again. He didn’t know about the power in his blood or the destiny that was averted—all he knew was hunting, pain, love, and Sammy.
And, frankly, he was happy with that.
And if sometimes, out the corner of his eye, he’d see someone—someone who radiated power, a man or woman inhumanly beautiful—he’d wonder. But he had Sammy.
Sammy to protect and Sammy to hold and Sammy to love ‘til death do them part, except—Dean knew, quite certainly, that Death himself couldn’t separate them, because at night the man who called himself Ven told him so.
And Sam agreed, with every touch.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-02-09 06:09 pm (UTC)