Chapter 1

In the Beginning, there was nothing, only a big black void of emptiness. Then, from this Nothingness came the entity known as God, Chaos, or Yggdrasil, among many others, sometimes even varying from religion to religion. God looked out at the Void that he emerged from and decided that he was going to Create something beautiful, visions of it already floating behind his eyelids. His mind expanding, imagining what he was to Create. Suddenly, God's thoughts halted, realizing that he needed a helping hand. He needed something to judge his work and take care of it, something to help him decide which decisions to make and to nurture the ones he Created. He needed something to judge and decide how a life will play out, and to decide when to stop it.

The Something that God Created was small enough to what would eventually be known as a baseball, the small sphere of solid golden energy seemed to hold no weight at all. Wisps of the energy were always lazily floating off of it, fading slowly into the atmosphere. This energy was this Something's Grace. When in contact, one would feel warm, content, and safe- as if you were wrapped up in a blanket of your best memories.

What the Something is a difficult to get exactly accurately. The Something was a caretaker, a selfless being. This Something was Time.

Soon after God Created Time, he stopped and thought. He thought about what he wanted to do. Gathering strings of his own thoughts, God began to weave them together, elaborately creating scene after scene. The woven tapestry of thoughts and ideas soon began to depict every being that would ever exist. Smiling, God stood up after centuries of weaving the thoughts that Time had gathered for him every day.

Thinking long and hard, God regarded his masterpiece. But like any other artist, he had to refine his work, and deliver the final product. So God got to Creating, causing the Something to become bored with being unable to help his Father. He didn't have God to converse with. So he took to rolling around what was soon to be called Heaven, the large white expanse only held God's loom and stool. Wanting to have something to do, Time continuously nudged God's ankles. After a few moments of persistence, God finally looked down to see his First Creation 'looking' up at him. Looking was an objective term because Time, while able to see, was simply a ball of light, having no eyes or other limbs or wings.

Seeing his Creation appear lonely, God smiled down at the ball and he knew what he had to do first. He would Create his Angels first, to see how Time would adopt to the new additions. Thus, God Created the First Angel, to be named Michael. The constant humming that emanated from the Something took on a slightly new pitch, as if it were cooing at the new presence that was created from Grace. Flying up, Time leaned into the Angel's feathers, straightening them out neatly. The warm, caring touch caused the Angel to purr, which then caused Time's humming to fluctuate with laughter.

Each and Every Angel that God Created from then on was cared for by Time. It taught them and nurtured them- and Time loved every single moment spent with its Angels. It taught them to fly, and was there when they fell. It was there when they got hurt, when they were scared, and when they were happy.

Time would always be moving, rolling, or flying around the vast expanse of Heaven. The once totally white landscape was flooded full of color and the air was full of Grace. As Time traveled around, it would expand its signature Grace, caressing each Angel's Grace, leaving none feeling left out. And in turn, the towering Angels extended their Grace to Time. Warmth from the beings inhabiting Heaven warmed the atmosphere around them, reflecting their happiness.

But soon enough, God called the cherished being of Time over to Him. He told Time about his other Creations, the different races, that he had Created while Time was happily occupied by the Angels. And so He tasked his beloved Time with a new job. To take care of each new race, especially the beings of Earth. Thus, God Created a body especially for Time, a body that would fit in with where God was about to send Time.

Then, at God's command, Time went into the body, growing three pairs of wings- of which only God and himself could see, which was different from the wings that were always seen by their fellow angels. Each wing was midnight black, their iridescence causing them to verge into a deep, dark blue. Scattered liberally throughout the wings were golden feathers that seemed to pulse and let off golden Grace, much like how it would normally when Time was in his original form.

God promptly hid Time away before he sent it away to the beings that were aptly named after Time, those odd beings that were alive for centuries before Time even joined them and hid among their ranks. With this difference, it was able to stop the Angels from being suspicious of where Time was hiding. The Angels would not afraid to smite the whole planet if they were suspected of taking away their Time away from them.

Over the years, wherever Time was, it was the odd one out, even among those who had taken his name. Even with the seclusion, Time didn't mind. It made friends with a boy who sadly always heard the call to war. The never ending drum beats. Time knew what it was like, although on an entirely different level. Instead, Time heard singing. Whenever the Something was sad, lonely, angry, or even hurt, it listened to its sibling's singing- the singing of the ones that it helped to raise- trying to lead him home.

After a few hundred years in hiding, Time heard God call out to him. To leave the Time War and go do its duty to protect the humans in the way that only Time could. So, Time left to go do its duty.

Time was soon stolen from the planet it was on by a box. A wonderful magical box that easily held its Grace. And Time loved every second of it.

Time, wonderful Time, the thing that God created first took a new name in order to hide in plain sight, his body mimicking the ones that he had stayed with for so long. He was called the Doctor.

The Doctor was seen as a saint, a savior, a god. But that was not what he really was. He was just a traveling man with two big hearts full of love. He traveled from place to place, and if he had to save people, he would do so willingly, gladly.

But through his travels, the Doctor met new friends and lost them. He could see golden strings of life, threaded together where people interacted. But he could also see where those lives started and stopped. The Doctor did his best to save lives, but when he couldn't, he could feel their strings snapping. It hurt being able to feel everyone's string snapping when their time was up. He mourned every loss of life, but was reassured because he knew Death and his Reapers were taking care of them.

Even though he had many faces, he remembered each and every face he saw. The Doctor remembered every single thing that was important. But then again, everything in the universe was important. It had to be, seeing as God Created every being by hand, and loved each and every one, whether or not they were seen as an abomination. So, if God cared that much, then so would he.

Now, seeing as Martha had left, for good, and Jack was unavailable, Time thought that he would just travel. Just travel through time and space happily, seeing things happen. So he switched on his TARDIS, the being that carried and took care of some of his endless Grace, and started to travel.

You see, his Grace could be found anywhere if one knew where to look for the residue of Time. The Time Lords were the best at detecting his Grace- they even found a way to harness it and use it for time travel. Depending on the amount found, it was called different things. The type 40 TARDIS, the one that stole the Doctor, was designed to run on a less potent amount of the time energy. But luckily the Doctor fixed his TARDIS to hold the true force of his Grace.

Now that all of the TARDIS' were destroyed in the Time War, the Doctor's Grace came back to him bringing pain and sadness to the last Time Lord. Feeling his Grace return just cemented that the people who had raised him as their own were totally and utterly gone. The day that his Grace returned was the day he fell into a deep depression. He hid deep inside his own TARDIS, and started to groom his wings. The return of a large portion of his Grace had called attention to his neglected wings and his body's declining health. The Grace had swept through him, easing his pain and getting his body back to normal. The grooming itself allowed him to think upon everything he had done as he felt each cell of his body and wings get renewed and replenished. But that had been years ago, in his ninth regeneration, before he had taken any companions.

Once done, body healed, he had stored his Grace away in his magnificent box of blue, knowing that it would help one day.

Soon enough, Time was thrust into the present by his psychic paper, which burned with a sudden intensity. He thrust his hand into his bigger on the inside pockets, and brought out the simple paper. The sheer power of the thought, of the prayer, that the paper had picked up increased the heat tenfold more than what he was used to when receiving a message. The trench coat, sandshoes wearing Doctor quickly scrambled to pick up the psychic paper that he had dropped in shock. Shaking the heat out of his fingers, the Doctor read the scrawling message.

"Cas! Oh God Cas!Somebody- anybody please help him! I don't care if you don't like us but he's your brother! Please… I don't know what to do… he's fading fast." The neat, scrawling words expressed the emergency. As the Doctor tried to hone in on the coordinates and plug them into his TARDIS, another set of words appeared. "Fuck you all- you wouldn't help your brother who protects Michaels true vessel? The angel who has done so much? Please just heal him. I can't let Castiel die. I… I have to save someone." The Doctor's hearts froze at the name Castiel, a new sense of urgency flooding him- he couldn't let his fledgling die- that would not do. Finally getting the coordinates punched in, the Doctor started his TARDIS.

He wouldn't- couldn't- let one of his fledglings die- much less Castiel who was one of the youngest and one of the last ones that he had cared for before being hidden away. Castiel still had a strong lifeline and nothing would cut it- not if he had a say in things.

His six wings flared out, pressing buttons and shifting levers. Sure, he couldn't do this with his companions around, but all alone and with urgent matters demanding his attention, his wings came out to play. But soon enough, yet too long all at the same time, the TARDIS finally landed, the Doctor only having half a mind to make sure that his TARDIS didn't land on anything of importance before he flung himself out of the doors.

Making sure to gather up his stored Grace from his wonderful box of blue, the Doctor pushed past two beings- humans his mind absently catalogued, and fell to his knees beside his dying fledgling. It hurt his Time Lord body to carry all of this Grace, but Time clamped down on the pain, his Castiel needed him.

Said angel lay broken and bloodied on the couch, a tan trench coat and suit jacket lay discarded on the floor. Vaguely, Time registered the two humans, brilliant protective humans start yelling at him to get away. Luckily, his Grace responded, creating a barrier around the two heavenly beings to protect them. Time gathered his Grace in his hands, watching as Castiel's own raced towards his fingers, wanting the familiar comfort. Time then pressed the blue Grace back into Castiel's vessel, allowing his own Gold to do all of the work, knitting Castiel's body back together. Minutes passed as the humans assaulted the golden barrier, Time's Grace arching and dancing across bloody skin, and Castiel still lay stone still.

Suddenly Castiel sat up, just in time to lock eyes with solid gold ones before the owner of them collapsed. The newly healed Angel quickly caught the man as Dean and Sam rushed towards him, guns pointing towards the intruder. Castiel knew that color and the feeling it brought to him. It made Castiel remember his days in Heaven before something special, something crucial, was taken away. Before even the sorrowful singing began, before heaven's war.

"Cas who the hell is that?" Dean growled out, posture staying stiff, ready to launch himself at the odd man if he should awake and attack all three of them at any moment.

Castiel actually let out a sob- a foreign action to the Angel.

"It's my brother. He's finally found his way back."