Notes:

For the record: before anyone reads this and gets on my case about historical/biblical accuracy? I. Don't. Care. This is a work of fiction that I wrote on request and let me tell you right here and now, after going back over the movie canon and historical canon, I can say from the bottom of my heart that EVERYTHING about this family is fucked up.

Honestly, as much as I messed with things here, I don't think I'll ever get over how fucked up everything about canon was, wtf... I mean, some of the characters had redeeming qualities (JUDAH JUDAH JUDAH) but if Jacob existed today I think I'd go Junior Rodeo on him.

The Request Applicant: ItsJosieDuhh

Let's suppose that Joseph was not the only one among his brothers that had a gift-curse-different kind of special to call his own.

Being able to wade through garbled information taken from sleep and deciphering it for the waking world to see what lies ahead with fate isn't the most important thing in the world, it just…seems the most useful at any given time.

Jacob would not have noticed. Jacob had four women he took to in his long life, Rachel being the youngest and–admittedly–most important and interesting to him. He had his studies and his leadership role in Canaan; he didn't often have time in the lives of his children to do more than teach them to read and write, honor the integrity he bestowed onto them, show them how to do basic work and labor.

Joseph could see visions of the future, and Jacob believed this was because he came from Rachel, the love of his life.

(Benjamin sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, tucked inside covers that didn't belong to his own bed, tucked under the pleasantly strong, warm arm of his elder, but not eldest contrary to popular belief, brother that might as well have been his second father or what a mother was supposed to be.

Sometimes he would wake up with a sick taste in his mouth and a feeling not unlike what floating in water for hours was like; memories not his own sticking inside his head, heavy and…somehow warm?

He'd wake up in those dark nights before the dawn and think, 'How I pity you, Jacob…')

Rachel should never have gotten pregnant again, almost every woman they spoke to after her blood stopped and the confirmation was undeniable had agreed to this.

She might have been Jacob's favorite among his wives and (whored out servants) 'the help' but she was frail as a dove and despite her trust in the Lord, was also terribly scarred from birthing Joseph. Jacob denied that something would go wrong, they were blessed with a second chance at a son (all said within earshot of his other children, of course) and even when Rachel told him that she wanted a priest kept nearby when the time came, he still denied stubbornly that something would go wrong.

Judah had taken his penance by diving in head-first to help the woman as much as he could when she started growing heavy again, not so different from the first time, but with a little more consideration to when her ankles swelled and she took herself outside the family tent each morning to heave thick yellow bile for over an hour, handing her water when he felt she was in danger of fainting and drawing up red-tinted foam. His giant hands and figure dwarfing her, but lending a thick shadow to keep the deadly sun rays from heating her too much, and keeping her out of sight from travelers that came to Canaan here and there and had a look tilted her way that made Judah's skin crawl.

Reuben, Levi and Simeon hissed insults at him for the first five months, their other younger siblings (deemed even less in worth by Jacob) doing so as well near the tail end when the three eldest stopped and just gave angry, judging looks.

Being the middle child had never been more apparent in these months than in the entirety of Judah's life, but he still kept to his decision, kept alongside Rachel and kept the woman's confidences when she broke down near the eighth month when she lost her favorite weaving needle.

"It's not that bad, it's not that bad, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she'd choked into his shoulder, ugly rivulets of snot and tears soaking his shift and wheezing breath load as thunder and hurricanes to his ears while he rubbed along her back and tried not to allow himself to seem uncomfortable and unsure when she would probably break worse in the face of such, "I don't know what's happening."

Judah had gotten to a priest when the labor pains started, dragging the man to the birthing tent with specific instructions to give last rights if he thought things were going bad, even if he had to do it under his breath, "I don't care if my father wants it or not; this is for her benefit, not his."

When Rachel was finished screaming, begged Judah to lend her just a bit more of his strength, rather than Jacob or God or the other women spreading her legs open to help her force out the small being that would kill her, she thanked Judah for the help, asked what the child was.

She couldn't manage a smile when he told her it was a boy, but just blinked slowly at the newborn in her step-son's hands; tiny digits holding to his one thumb with barely a sound echoing in the tent but his mewls and tired breathing, the smell of blood and shit in the air accenting the smell of the midnight blue-black cord still tying her and the infant together.

In the years that followed, he would flinch whenever a priest came near Benjamin and reserve the urge and impulse to rend and tear, no better than the wolves that still circled the area no matter how often he and the others struck out to drive them off; the priest that stood in the tent had not been gentle when he'd blessed the water from a sitting basin and flicked it along Rachel's dead cheek, equally so when he'd done the same to Benjamin.

After Jacob had been informed and hugged her corpse, screaming and crying, rocking her back and forth for two days without asking after the child, Judah took it upon himself to have her resting place dug, adding dried flowers along the bottom of the hole and had Simeon and Levi pry her away from their father.

Benjamin was the name suggested, though he couldn't recall who'd made the offer, too busy looking after the baby and everything else while his father mourned; and all the while during the funeral thinking, 'Holy water is just dirty water,' keeping Benjamin dry and clean and tucked close to him.

The years moved on, but Judah never really stopped being brother and parent to Benjamin, no matter how much the others eventually warmed up to him; whether through guilt over Joseph or guilt over Rachel was anyone's guess, but Judah didn't complain if it meant they didn't have to have a repeat of the previous two decades of jealousy and favoritism.

More balance with one than the other, as Jacob was rendered paranoid beyond imagining when Benjamin learned to run almost as fast as he learned to walk, understanding written word by age four and actually better at some things than even Joseph had been at his age. He insisted on Benjamin being kept out of the sun and away from the fields, only allowed to tend the sheep and cattle if Judah was nearby and nobody else was available.

Benjamin voiced his displeasure with this arrangement only after he started stringing sentences together when Judah felt it was time to start looking for a wife of his own and their father threw insults at him about shirking his responsibilities very loudly.

He'd waited until Jacob had gone off to work speak with some of the priests on the other side of Canaan before venturing out from behind the bound up wool and tucked his hand into Judah's hanging one.

"I don't think he should yell at you for wanting something. It's not right."

"No, but he has his reasons," he'd answered, drawn and tired, but still kind to the bright boy almost two decades younger than him; young enough to be his own child.

"I know. It's because he's scared."

Judah smiled and picked Benjamin up to carry on his back, somehow knowing they shouldn't have this conversation, but it was going to happen anyway.

Though, not quite so quickly, as Benjamin remained quiet until the nightfall...

He climbed into Judah's bedding, much like every night that he couldn't handle their father coming back home from time with the priests, much more affectionate with him than he (and Judah) were comfortable with; too much hugging, kissing the top of his head, telling him how much he looked like Rachel, and all the time smelling like the heavy drink the priests kept in their private stock.

The moment Judah heard the tent flap open, he lifted his blanket and the small, bird-boned child would slide in beside him, curling into him like a kitten beside a fully grown lion and Judah wrapping a protective arm around him when he brought the blanket back down to keep in the warmth.

This was almost routine, as any other activity they'd grown accustomed to in the decade since his birth, both of them settling in to go back to sleep; until Benjamin asked, whispering in the calm.

"Did Joseph really see the future in his dreams?"

Deep brown eyes blinked open like a flash, and Judah tried to keep his breathing from stuttering to a halt that would scare the other.

"I...I'm not really sure, Benjamin. He thought he did, and so did father. But I wouldn't know. It wasn't my place to know."

"Is that why the others were... so angry at him?"

Judah closed his eyes and thought for a moment, "That was part of it, but not the whole of it."

He felt Benjamin curl a little closer while he replied, "I know that. Father was too proud about him and made you and the others feel bad."

"Who told you that?"

Benjamin remained silent.