Disclaimer: Unfortunately, my little fangirl heart does not own Supernatural, Anastasia, or its respective characters. I am making absolutely no money out of this and, if I were, I can guarantee you I would feel a lot less guilty about posting this and ignoring my exam revision.
Summary: At the beginning of the Russian Revolution, a young boy awakes on a train station platform with no memories of who he is, the only clue being a chain around his neck that directs him to Paris. Ten years later, with a new name and a determination to find his family, Castiel meets a conman by the name of Dean Winchester who convinces him to pretend to be the long lost Prince James, the son of the last Russian Tsar, all the while avoiding an evil mystic named Lucifer who seems to be out for Castiel's blood. Based heavily on the Fox movie 'Anastasia'. Castiel/Dean, Sam/Gabriel.
AN: I didn't really want to post this when I haven't really finished any other chapters yet, but I honestly wanted your opinion before I post any more. After a quick glance, I saw that there weren't many of the Anastasia inspired SPN fics around (and if they were, they were brief and unfinished). So I thought I'd add mine to the pile. WARNING: this is going to be long. Like, hella long. Longer than anything I've ever done before. Posts may be far and few between because my muse is flitting about like a yoyo at the minute, but I'm going to try my best. The wonderful SameDestination has agreed to beta this fic for me, so snaps and virtual cookies for her, guys! :D Any other mistakes that you find here are entirely my own.
Prologue
There was a time, not very long ago, when the people of Russia lived in an enchanted world. Work was easy to come by, families were fed and clothed with minimal fuss and, to those who could afford it, most nights were overflowing with grand parties inside elegant palaces.
The year was 1916 and Balthazar Novak, a tall man with a kind face and a firm hand, was the Tsar of Imperial Russia.
The night that our tale begins was the 300th anniversary of the Novaks' rule over Russia and, in celebration of the event, the palace of St. Petersburg was home to a majestic party. The Grand Hall was filled with the sound of music and joyful laughter and men, women and children alike had travelled from across the country to be a part of the commemoration.
Not a frown, nor a tear, nor a furrowed brow could be seen throughout the entire palace on this fateful night.
Michael Novak, the Dowager Emperor of the Novak family, entered the party fashionably late (as always). He settled gracefully onto the throne at the front of the Great Hall and his blue eyes searched through the crowd of dancers, finally settling on the figure of an eight year old boy dancing with his mother. A small smile crept onto the Dowager's aging face as he waved at the child.
The boy, James, was Michael's youngest grandson.
Once James had spotted his grandfather perched upon the throne, he stopped and returned the smile brightly. Giving his mother a peck on the cheek followed by a humble "Thank you for the dance, Mama," he ran towards the aging man with a piece of paper clutched tight in his hand.
"Grandpa, Grandpa!" he cried, almost tripping on the stairs in his haste to reach the Dowager Emperor. "Look! I drew you a picture!" He thrust the drawing into Michael's hand before he could object and crawled onto his lap without invitation. The child's body was shaking with excitement as he pointed to the colourful drawing. "See, it's Uriel! And he's sat on the foot stool that you brought back from your holiday to England! And look, I even shaded in his hair!"
"Yes, James, I can see that," Michael replied with a chuckle. James's joy was always catching and, even if he was in a terrible mood, mere moments with the young boy would always brighten his day. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome, Grandpa," James replied, and his face suddenly turned glum. "I thought you could keep it with you when you return to Paris and that way you wouldn't forget about us and would want to come back quicker."
Michael gave a watery smile.
"I know you don't want me to leave, Jimmy, but you know that I must." James gave a small nod, eyes downcast. "But I have a present of my own to give you, if you wanted – oh, but no. You couldn't possibly want a present. What was I thinking?"
James's face brightened in seconds in the way that only a child's could, almost comical in the sudden change of disposition.
"A present? For me?"
He jumped down from Michael's knee and stood expectantly in front of his grandfather, hands twitching in anticipation.
Michael reached deep into the pocket of his suit before extracting James's present and holding it towards the child. James gasped in admiration, excitement shining in his eyes.
At the centre of Michael's palm sat a beautiful ornament, about the same size as James's fist. It was round and made of silver with intricate designs that had been etched into the metal with great care and attention. The ornament stood upright with the help of four feet in the shape of feathers reaching out from underneath and engraved on the top of globe was a majestic set of wings.
James's mouth opened in awe.
"For me?" he asked quietly. "Is it a trinket box?"
Michael shook his head. "Look," he replied and reached to his pocket one more time, extracting a silver necklace with a circular pendent. He brought the necklace to the ornament and slotted the two together at a secret opening hidden at the side before turning the necklace twice.
The wings at the top of the sphere opened outwards, acting as a cover to reveal the figure of an angel underneath. And as the angel started to turn and rise out of the centre, music began to play.
James's smile, if possible, grew bigger.
"It plays our lullaby!" he exclaimed.
Michael nodded.
"You can play it at night before you go to sleep and pretend that it's me singing to you."
James swayed with the music, holding desperately to his grandfather's hand. As the music reached its peak, Michael took a breath and began to sing.
"On the wind, 'cross the sea, hear this song and remember...
Soon you'll be home with me, once upon a December..."
James took an elegant bow as the angel returned to the confines of the music box and the lullaby came to a halt. He glanced up at his grandfather with a coy smile.
"There is one more thing, James," Michael whispered, as if what he was about to divulge was of utmost secrecy.
"There's more, Grandpa?" James asked, his eyes wide with adoration.
Michael handed over the silver necklace and gestured towards the pendant.
"Read what it says."
The pendant, a set of angel wings, in itself was rather small but the letters etched around the centre were clearly visible.
"'Together in Paris'..." James read before turning to his grandfather with unconcealed hope. "Really? Oh, Grandpa!" And with that, the young boy threw himself into Michael's arms.
But the two would never be together in Paris.
A dark shadow had descended upon the house of the Novak's, a shadow that brought nothing but fear.
His name was Lucifer.
Balthazar had once thought him to be a holy man, but he was nothing more than a fraud. He was obsessed with power and had wormed his way into the inner folds of the Novak family under the pretence of acting as a close friend, but this could not have been further from the truth.
The celebration was in full swing when Lucifer made his appearance. The crowd parted as he stepped into the hall, the dancers repelled by the callous look on his once pleasant face.
Balthazar met Lucifer at centre of the room, his often kind eyes hardening in anger. "How dare you return to the palace?" he spat.
Lucifer gave a sly smile. "But I am your confidant," he replied, arms gesturing outwards in mock innocence.
Balthazar scoffed.
"Confidant? You are nothing but a traitor! Remove yourself at once!"
The act was dropped instantly and Lucifer's face twisted into newfound rage.
"You think you can banish me? Oh, I beg to differ. By the holy powers vested in me, I banish you and your family with a curse. You and your children will die within the fortnight. Mark my words, Balthazar." He gave a twisted grin. "I shall not rest until I see the end of the Novak line forever."
With a simple flick of his hand, a stream of fire soared towards the regal chandelier at the roof of the hall. It fell to the floor with an earth shattering crash, plunging the room into darkness.
When the candles were lit and the guards were assembled, Lucifer was nowhere to be found.
Consumed by his hatred for Balthazar and the Novak family, Lucifer sold his soul for the power to destroy them and in doing so, opened the gates of Hell. And destroy them he did, with thousands upon thousands of demons set free from the fiery depths and all under his command.
From that moment on, the small spark of unhappiness in Russia grew into a flame that would destroy the lives of the Novaks forever.
Fourteen days following the fateful celebration, the mobs of enraged civilians crashed through the barriers of the Novak palace. Fires were started, windows were smashed and the Novak family, fearing for their lives, did the only thing they believed they could do. They fled.
But one little boy, grasping on to his grandfather's hand, stopped suddenly. He turned, running in the opposite direction.
"James!" Michael cried, racing after the boy.
"My music box!" James exclaimed. "I have to get my music box!"
He ran to his bedroom and dived underneath his bed, grabbing a hold of a wooden chest. He searched desperately, bypassing drawings and toys and pieces of candy, before a glint of silver caught his eye. He grasped it desperately in his hand before running towards his grandfather.
Michael had followed James into the room and had thrown the door shut behind him, leaning against the wood with a heaving chest. But the sounds of the guards were coming closer and the smell of smoke was getting stronger with every second. Knowing that this would be the end, he clutched at James with all of his strength.
"Come on! This way! Out the servant's quarters!"
A small hand tugged at his sleeve and, with a start, Michael turned towards the young voice. A small boy, only a couple of years older than James, with a freckled face and short brown hair was tugging him incessantly towards a small opening in the wall. An opening that had definitely not been there only seconds before.
Without a second thought, Michael pushed his grandson towards the wall. "Hurry, Jimmy!"
The two squeezed into the opening as quickly as they could and Michael could only hope that James and the boy, the young boy who saved their lives, would follow behind.
But in the desperation of finding an exit, the silver music box fell to the floor with a clunk and James immediately stopped.
"My music box!" he cried, turning to find it.
"There's no time!" the boy exclaimed, green eyes wide with fear. "They'll find you! You have to go! Go!"
No sooner had the secret passage slid closed did three guards burst into the room, guns pointed at the boy stood protectively in front of the wall.
"Where are they, boy?" one asked in a gruff voice. The boy wasted no time in retaliating, grabbing the first thing he could see (a small candle holder) and throwing it at the guard.
"I don't have the patience for this," another guard growled before reaching forward and slamming the butt of his gun to the base of the boy's neck. He fell to the floor unconscious, his left hand mere inches away from a strange silver ornament etched with feathers and wings.
Outside, in the night air, snow was beginning to fall with vigour. With the palace in the distance, Michael and James were running as quickly as they could.
"Keep up with me, James!" Michael called, tugging desperately on his grandson's hand as he stumbled through the snow. "Don't look back!"
The full moon was momentarily blocked as they passed underneath a low bridge that allowed passage over a now frozen lake. And, with a cry of fury, a heavy body collided with James's.
At James's cry, Michael turned and his eyes widened. "Lucifer!"
"Let me go! Please!" James yelled, desperately trying to pull his foot free from Lucifer's vice-like grasp.
"You'll never escape me, child!" Lucifer grinned. "Never."
But, as the tears streamed down James's cheeks and Michael frantically tried to pull him to safety, the ice under Lucifer's body began to crack. As he fell inch by inch into the icy depths below, he tried desperately to reach safety. But the more he struggled, the more the ice fell away. With a strangled cry, he slipped beneath the water.
Finally free, James and Michael didn't give a parting glance as they continued to run towards their safety with the morning sun starting to ascend over the horizon.
No one seemed to notice a small, black bat land at the edge of the broken ice, watching as Lucifer's fingers fell beneath the water.
And no one seemed to hear the gentle exclamation of "Oh, bugger," that followed.
By the time Michael and James had reached the train station, the sun had begun to cast a gentle glow and the train they needed had already blown the warning whistle.
"James, hurry!" Michael cried as the train began to pick up speed. He gave a cry of relief as he was pulled on board by the passengers before turning towards James. The boy was running with all of his strength, arms outstretched towards his grandfather and unshed tears in his deep blue eyes.
"Here, take my hand!" Michael reached forward as far as he could, trying desperately to grab hold of James. "Hold on to my hand!"
Their fingers brushed and Michael held on with all of his strength, watching as James's mouth formed the whispered words of, "Don't let go."
But, with a sudden scream as he tripped on the station platform, James was wrenched from Michael's hands. He watched with panic stricken eyes as the boy fell to floor, unmoving. He tried desperately to jump from the now rapidly moving train but the other passengers (the selfish passengers, could they not see that James needed him?) pulled him away from the edge. He fell to the floor, desperate sobs racking his body, as he realised that there was no way, no possible way, that he could see James again.
On the train station platform, a small boy lay. A thin layer of snow had settled over his clothes and a small pool of blood had spread underneath his dark hair. Once he awoke, surrounded by worried passengers and disgruntled guards, he wouldn't remember a thing.