God Works In Twisted Ways

by Lexiconish

In post-revolution Russia, rumours begin to circulate that one member of the royal family may have survived: the Grand Duke Castiel. Ex-palace servant and skilled conman Dean Winchester sees an opportunity when he comes across orphan Cas who is seeking his family. The resemblance is uncanny between the orphan and the Duke, but there's no way they could actually be the same person..

Title: God Works In Twisted Ways
Author: Lexiconish
Fandom(s): Supernatural/Anastasia
Rating: T (subject to change)
Main Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Crowley, Anna Milton/Anael, Meg Masters (Meg II), Lucifer, Raphael.
Other Characters: Chuck Shurely, Becky Rosen, Michael, Gabriel, Balthazar, Rachel, Mary Winchester, John Winchester, Zachariah, Uriel, Bill Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Andy, Ash, and cameos by just about every other character I can think of.
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, slight Bobby/Crowley, background John/Mary, Chuck/Becky
Summary: In post-revolution Russia, rumours begin to circulate that one member of the royal family may have survived: the Grand Duke Castiel. Ex palace servant and skilled conman Dean Winchester sees an opportunity when he comes across orphan Cas who is seeking his family. The resemblance is uncanny between the orphan and the Duke, but there's no way they could actually be the same person, right?
Notes: My first author's notes are always quite long, but they're worth reading, I think and I will try to be brief. This is a story loosely based on the 1997 Anastasia film; however it will contain several subplots and will also more closely follow the history of the Romanov family. I'm not an expert on them, but I did do quite a bit of reading in preparation for this story (as well as for my own interest in the subject) and I like to think I'll reflect that in this fic. There will be some (probably a lot, actually) historical inaccuracies, and a few thin cover-ups of little plot holes but I hope you can forgive them for the sake of the story. For one thing, I don't think that the tsar's sister would be the Dowager Empress – that's for the tsar's mother, I believe. And the number of European names is a bit unavoidable. But I'm bending the rules just a little bit. I'm still getting used to the Supernatural characters and I've also had really bad writer's block lately, so if they're out of character please forgive me. And without further ado, enjoy!

~.~

Chapter One: The Mark of Mary Winchester

It was winter, and in Russia, winter meant snow. Lots of snow. It swirled through the air, biting and beautiful, settling all over the ground to be kicked up in flurries and wet splashes by carriage wheels and horse hooves and many hundreds of feet.

Inside the palace, it was warm and brightly lit, and the snow couldn't be further from the occupants' minds. Glittering women and dashing men came sweeping in from the silvery night outside and entered a different world entirely. The palace was always exquisite and everything shining, but tonight it was positively dazzling. Chandeliers glimmered up above, elegant dresses swished with the movements of dance, the wine in sparkling glasses was rich and plenty and the music brought everything to life.

Mary Winchester stood behind a red curtain just behind the thrones, for she might be needed at a moment's notice, but should otherwise be out of sight and out of mind. Holding tightly to her skirts was a small boy with an untidy mop of blonde hair, her three year old son Dean. She had told him he must be very quiet and not to leave her side, and now as the royal family entered the ballroom, she hushed him.

"The man in the front is the tsar, Dean," she whispered, "that's like a king. He rules Russia. Isn't that exciting?"

Dean's eyes were wide as he gazed at the man dressed in white with gold threads and buttons and medals. He didn't look like Dean imagined kings; he had neatly combed brown hair and a neat beard, and though he carried himself quite proudly Dean thought he looked very uncomfortable.

"When he became tsar," Mary continued, "he had to change his name – his real one doesn't sound very royal. He is tsar Nikolai Carver Edlund Novak, but his real name is Chuck." She giggled with her son. "It is because his mother was a funny woman from England, and she was quite delirious when she named him." She directed his gaze to the pretty blond woman at the tsar's side. "That is tsarina Rebekah Alexandra Rosen Novak. I'm her maidservant. She's from England too, but her father is an American man, like us. She has to spell her name differently in Russia too."

Dean frowned and wrinkled his nose. What was all the fuss about names?

"She's very nice, a little excitable. She's married to the tsar, so she's like the queen. Understand?"

Dean nodded.

"That boy coming out behind them is their eldest son, Mikael Nikolai Novak. He's the first born son, so he's the tsarevitch. He's the prince, but he's the first in line for the throne. And behind him are his brothers, the Grand Dukes Gabriel and Balthazar Novak. There's another son too, but he is only two years older than you Dean, so he's too little to come to things like this. He'd be in the nursery with his baby sister." Mary rested a hand on her as yet flat stomach. "Maybe you'll get a baby sister too."

Dean didn't get a baby sister. In November, Mary gave birth to another son, whom she named Samuel after her father. Though she spent every spare minute with her baby, Dean never felt any jealousy. He knew his mother was extremely busy and tired, and she was the most wonderful woman in the world. Dean now had four years of her attention and he figured Sam deserved some bonus time if he was going to catch up. His father, John, spent lots of time with him anyway.

But though Dean knew his mother looked tired all the time, he didn't know that it was more than the stress of working and caring for a baby that was affecting her.

Mary was handmaiden to Tsarina Rebekah and the tsarina looked upon her fondly. If their situation were different, they might have been friends. So when Mary being tardy became a regular occurrence, and she often grew short of breath, and her skin grew paler every day, Rebekah noticed. "Mary, are you quite all right?"

Mary jumped, startled by the younger woman's voice. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry?"

Rebekah smiled uncertainly. "It's just that you've been looking a little off lately, and you seem distracted."

"I'm sorry. It won't affect my work, I assure you. I'm just a little tired; a baby boy is a lot of hard work." Mary bowed her head. "But you would know that of course, having had four boys!"

The tsarina's expression fell. "I don't know nearly so much as you would. I spend what time I can with my children but," her shoulders rose and fell, "well, there's just so much to do. And Chuck is so stressed out, he makes me stress out." She paused. "But it's you I am concerned about right now. Would it help if you had some time off? I can have another girl look after me for a few days, perhaps a week?"

Mary shook her head again. "No really, Your Highness. I am all right. Just tired and perhaps a little woozy some days; it's really nothing though."

"Very well. But promise me if it gets any worse, you will tell me?" Mary nodded, thanking her for her consideration. "Right, now. I need your help with this dress, and then you need to take this down to the laundry girls, and then you can accompany me to Mikael's chambers, I want a word with him…"

~.~

Dean raced through the palace halls, colliding with various servants and guards, not stopping to apologise. He had to find the tsarina, his father had told him.

But Dean was having trouble doing that. The palace was enormous, full of hundreds of grand rooms where the tsarina might be, and he had no idea where she went to when not at court or asleep. Of course she could be asleep at this fairly late hour, but Dean didn't know these halls well. He would get lost looking for it. So instead he was searching methodically and trying to avoid getting twisted up.

He was creating quite a stir and it should perhaps not have surprised him when one of the guards finally gripped his arm before he could dash onwards. "Stop," the guard ordered him, even as Dean continued to wriggle for freedom. "What are you in such distress over?"

Panicked, Dean faced him. "Please sir, I need to find the tsarina, it's an emergency!"

"The tsarina is with her children right now. Should you not go to the tsar if it is so important?"

"No, it must be the tsarina, please, where is she?"

The guard pursed his lips, but directed Dean to follow him. As it turned out they were not too far from the richly decorated playroom where the tsarevitch and the dukes and duchess played. Dean had never seen inside, but his mother had told him it was full of all kinds of wonderful toys that Dean would love to play with. The room was guarded by two more uniformed men, one bearded and one not, who immediately moved to halt their passage.

The guard escorting Dean saluted them and got straight to the point. "This boy needs to see the tsarina. He says it is an emergency."

"He can't see her right now. She asked for no disruptions. What emergency is so great that it cannot wait, but is brought to us by a child?"

They turned to him expectantly and Dean took a steadying breath, trying to make his case clearly. Adults tended to listen best when he did that. "My mother is her handmaiden, and she told my mother to come to her if her illness got any worse, and it has, and she's," he swallowed thickly, "I think she is dying and I need to see the tsarina, please."

The guards' expressions softened, but the one on the right of the door shook his head sadly. "Sorry boy, but we can't let you in. I'm sure your mother is a lovely woman, but she isn't the tsarina's concern. She is a busy woman and needs to consider the entire country, not a single maidservant."

Dean scowled. "But she asked my mother to come. She likes my mother! And she isn't doing anything important; surely… it'll only take a moment."

"I'm sorry but she said not to disturb her unless the country was under threat or something of that nature. Don't worry; I'm sure your mother will recover. Why don't you go back to her now?"

"Not without the tsarina!" Dean shrieked.

The guards' faces hardened again. "Look boy, we're trying to be nice here, but we'll remove you by force if need be. Get going!"

"No! I need to see the tsarina! Please, it's my mother! Don't you get it? She's dying! Please!"

A guard knocked him roughly to the ground. "Shut up, you'll wake the whole palace. Go away!"

So occupied by the argument were they that none of them heard the faint creak of a door to the side opening, and a curious child's face observing the commotion somewhat dispassionately until the boy spoke. "Pardon the intrusion. What is the matter?"

The guards snapped to attention and Dean jumped at the interruption, but spun pleading eyes the other boy's way. If he affected the guards like that, maybe he could help. "Please," he began but the bearded guard cut him off.

"Your Highness," he bowed, "we're sorry for the disturbance. We will remove the boy immediately."

"Wait a moment. You haven't answered me," the boy said, "What is the matter?" His blue eyes fixed on Dean. "You tell me."

"It's my mother, she's dying, I need to see the tsarina," he spluttered.

The boy narrowed his eyes. He recognised Dean, though he had only seen him once clinging to his mother's skirts last year. And his mother was the tsarina's handmaiden whom she was very fond of. He turned to the guards. "One of you fetch the physician. Take him to this boy's mother. Then resume your post," he ordered.

"Yes, Your Highness." The guard who had brought Dean here moved away and Dean started to follow, but turned back to thank his saviour. But the other child was gone already, as if he had never been there at all.

~.~

Rebekah heaved a sigh, staring absently at the mirror across the room. She looked so tired, she hardly recognised herself. She hadn't always been like this, hadn't always been Your Highness. Once, not so long ago, surely, she had been Becky Rosen, bright and vivacious, always full of energy and wide-eyed naivety.

And then she'd met Chuck. Well, originally she'd barely glanced at him. Becky was a Duke's daughter, and her parents were always having important people over. She hadn't a clue what a tsarevitch was, and she didn't much care either. She was more interested in the tall, handsome viscount she'd met three days ago, who had seemed so deep.

But Chuck had noticed her, and he kept coming back while his family was visiting England. Once, when left alone together at an afternoon tea, Chuck had told her his real name; up until then she'd heard him called Nikolai.

"It's not my real name, actually," he'd stammered (another thing she'd found odd, that a nobleman would be so nervous all the time), "My mother insisted they name me Chuck."

"Chuck? That doesn't sound very regal."

"I know. That's why the public call me Nikolai. It wouldn't do to have a leader called Chuck, I suppose."

Her curiosity piqued. "A leader? Just what is a tsarevitch?"

"Oh uh, I guess it's like your crown prince. Next in line, in any case."

Her eyes brightened. "A prince? Really?"

And because Chuck had seen her interest, at last, he had indulged her questions which were occasionally rather rude, and he'd flattered her in a way she couldn't remember any other man doing before; by being genuine. The more often they spoke, the more she came to think that viscount had been quite vapid, and that Chuck, while not especially deep, per se, was more interesting, more genuine, and she felt sadly, more world-weary. He was such a young man, and she could already see a great deal of strain in his features.

He'd returned to Russia, of course, but he came back when he could, and she could feel herself becoming enamoured and then, quite suddenly, she realised she might actually be in love with this unexpected shy little man.

She'd accepted his proposal at once, but there'd been some controversy over his decision to marry her. She was proud to say they'd fought for what they had.

Even in moments like these, when she peered at her reflection and wondered where on Earth Becky Rosen disappeared to, when she became as world-weary as her husband.

A knock sounded on her door and Becky ushered the maid inside without thinking. Her attention was swiftly captured by the unfamiliarity of the woman's face, however. "One moment, just who are you?"

The woman bowed deeply. "My apologies Your Highness, I am Sarah, your new handmaiden."

"My… new handmaiden? Where is Mary?"

"I'm sorry, they did not tell me, Your Highness. Shall I find out for you?"

"Yes. Yes please do." Becky felt a horrible sinking sensation in her stomach. She hadn't dismissed Mary, and there were very few reasons a new handmaiden would be sent up. She wouldn't know what to do without Mary, who was open and familiar with her, as much as her position allowed her to be. She was honest and kind and helpful and Becky missed people like that, so she'd quickly grown fond of Mary. She was as close a thing to a friend Becky had these days.

But Mary had been sick recently, hadn't she? Her stomach twisted. 'Please no, please.'

By the time the maid returned, Becky couldn't conceal her anxiety as she was accustomed to doing around the public. The maid looked truly regretful about sharing her news, and that should perhaps have told Becky all she needed to know.

"Your Highness… they sent me to replace your handmaiden because she… she passed away during the night. I'm very sorry…" She paused, seeing the devastation on the tsarina's face. "Were you close to her? I… Would you like to be alone? Your Highness? Your Highness?"

~.~

Becky summoned Mary's distraught family the following evening because she remembered Mary had children and that they had no place in the palace. She hoped that they hadn't already left, and so it was with relief that she greeted their pale faces.

There was Mary's husband, a handsome young man with dark hair and dark red-rimmed eyes. He was holding Mary's youngest child in his arms, only a baby mostly unaware that anything was amiss. At last her eyes found the other boy, younger than her sons but older than her daughter. Amidst all the other facts swimming in Becky's mind, she struggled to recall if Mary had ever mentioned their names.

"Your Highness," the man rasped, breaking protocol by speaking first, but under the circumstances Becky chose to let it slide, "why have you called us?"

"Your name is…" she chewed her lip, "John, correct?" She smiled faintly at his nod. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine what it must feel like but I was very fond of Mary. It saddens me to hear of her passing." It hurt more than she could allow them to see, actually. Mary had felt like her only friend in a complicated, cruel world.

"Thank you for your condolences, Your Highness."

"I understand…" she cleared her throat, rising from the throne and approaching the family, "I understand that none of you hold a position here. Mary was your source of income, wasn't she?"

"Yes I… I have been trying to resume my trade as a blacksmith but…" John trailed off. It didn't need to be pointed out that it was difficult in Russia these days.

"I've spoken to Chu- to the tsar. As I said, Mary was dear to me as well and I didn't want her family to worry for their livelihoods at such a trying time. There is a place in the kitchens for your eldest," her eyes landed briefly on the sandy-haired child, who was watching her with respect, but it was an expression that seemed empty. "When Sam," she remembered the baby's name from a recent conversation with Mary, "is old enough, he can join his brother. As for you, John, my husband has provided a position for you with the military. It's hard work, and it isn't a high position. I would say it's more of a service to the soldiers than anything else. But it is an occupation, and with it you may remain in your current lodgings."

John sunk to his knees before her, lowering his chin to his chest. She could see his shoulders shaking slightly. "You have my thanks, Tsarina. For your incredible kindness, I…" he choked a sob, "I didn't know what we were going to do. Thank you, thank you… you have my undying loyalty, Your Highness, your entire family. I will serve you gladly."

"I'm glad. You may stand. John Winchester, your wife was a friend to me when I had none. Her kindness repays itself now. But I appreciate your gratitude. Good luck to you, and to your sons."

At the clear dismissal, John and his family bowed and took their leave. Becky stood in the throne room for a long time, absorbing Mary's death, and letting it pass. Though painful, she couldn't allow it to weigh on her mind for much longer. There was simply too much else to worry over. She had repaid Mary's friendship as best she could by ensuring her family would be cared for, and now she would have to set her sorrow aside.

Straightening her shoulders, she swept from the room accompanied by two guards and went to inform her husband that everything had gone well, as well as to thank Chuck for his acquiescence.

Lexiconish: Review, please? I seriously need it!