#I LOVE TOTA SO MUCH AND I LOVE WINCEST SO MUCH THANK U FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME NONNIE *HUGS*

[meowmeowmessi]

TotA AU where the Score prophesied that Sam will be a Fon Master who will have to sacrifice to save the world, and when Dean is old enough to understand his brother's fate, he promptly says "Fuck you" to the Score and does his best to overthrow the Score even if it means forsaking the world (Sam being Sam only wants the best for the world even if it means sacrificing himself just like what the Score says)

(Later it turns out that the sacrifice the Score meant was Dean's death as Dean means so much to Sam that his death is considered Sam's sacrifice)

OMFG ANON. THIS IS GREAT. I FUCKING LOVE THIS???

I can totally imagine little Dean, who's interested in all things fon-tech, wanting to be a fon-tech expert, just like his dad. When he learns that the Score dictates he must be a Fon Master Guardian, he's so upset that none of the words from his mother and father can placate him.

"It's supposed to be an honor, kiddo-"

"I don't wanna be a stupid Guardian for a stupid Fon Master! I wanna work on Albiores like you, Dad!"

Mary's soft laugh can be heard from the kitchen. "You can't change the Score, Dean,"

Dean stamps his foot, chubby hands clenched into fists. "Well the Score's stupid!"

Once his little brother is born, Dean's petulance at his Score is temporarily put on hold. From that day onwards Mary and John find Dean's bed more often than not empty, Dean having climbed into Sam's crib, arms wrapped tight around the little bundle of wispy brown hair and sunflower eyes that they call Sammy. Dean's fiercely protective of him, cleaning the blood from his scraped knee and wiping away his tears and maybe even beating up his bullies if the situation calls for it. And little Sammy looks at Dean like he hung the Fon Belt around Auldrant. He's Dean's biggest admirer, hanging onto his every word, following him all day around like a lost puppy.

John and Mary think it's adorable.

Few years later, part of Sam's Score is read on his birthday in front of his entire family, and it says he's meant to be a Fon Master. Suddenly, everything clicks into place for Dean.

Sam, the Fon Master, and Dean: his Guardian.

His adamant refusal to be a Guardian seems so ridiculous now. He's been protecting Sam all his life, and the Score says he's meant to be his Guardian. Even before he was born Sam was his.

Why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

Later that night, Sam's standing outside Dean's door, shuffling his feet. He swallows, nervous. No sooner does he raise his hand to knock than Dean opens the door.

"Dean!" Sam says, with a start.

Dean keeps the door open and sits down on his bed, so Sam follows him inside and takes a seat next to him.

"You've been standing outside for 10 minutes now, You have a nightmare?" Dean's voice is soft, and Sam catches the sleepy rasp in it. The covers on his bed are rumpled, his short hair tousled, and Sam feels guilty for waking him up.

"Sammy?"

Same shakes his head. "No, I-" He takes a deep breath. "Dean, I'm sorry."

Beat. Then:

"See? I knew you ate the last slice of pie I'd kept in the fridge,"

Bitch Face Number 34. Dean laughs. Sam lets out a sigh and grows quiet again. Dean feels his heart constrict in his chest at that. He turns toward Sam, knocking their knees together. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"About my Score," Sam blurts out, "actually, it's more about your Score- Dean, I know that you always wanted to be a fon-tech expert. Like Dad. Not-Not a Fon Master Guardian," Sam looks away. "Not my Guardian."

Dean's heart thumps against his ribcage. Sam's Guardian. The words sound good. Right. Perfect.

Meant to be.

What's Sam talking about?

"And I know you hate that you have to be my Guardian because the Score says so" Wrong. So, so wrong. "And for that I'm sorry-"

Sam suddenly finds his face pressed into Dean's shirt collar, Dean's arms wrapped around him, his scent engulfing him. When he says, "You couldn't be more wrong, kiddo," his voice is warm and smooth in his ears, and it makes Sam shiver.

"Listen up, Sammy," Dean says. "My Score ain't wrong, 'kay? I'm happy to be your Guardian. I wouldnt have it any other way."

Sam frowns. Pushing away from Dean's hold, he looks at him. Dean's hands slide down to Sam's hips and stay there, his expression fierce, determination etched in the furrows of his brow.

"But you always say that your Score's wrong," Sam says, and Dean resists the urge to smooth out the wrinkles that appear between his eyebrows with his thumb. Instead, he huffs.

"Okay, so I think the Score sucks -- some times." His parents are always telling him to respect the Score -- it's practically religion -- but Dean can't find it in himself to care. Not until now, that is. "But I can't deny that it's right about some things, like the fact that it says I'm awesome," -- Sam snorts -- "you definitely stole my leftover slice of pie," -- Sam giggles. Dean smiles at that, then pulls him into his arms again and buries his nose in his hair -- "and you're my Fon Master and I'm your Guardian."

That night, they both fall asleep in Sam's bed, Dean's chest pressed to Sam's back and his arms looped around his waist like back when they were kids sharing Sam's crib.

So Sam becomes a Fon Master and Dean his Guardian. They move to Daath, and they're joined at the hip, like always. But the days of peace are over when The Order announces, after making Sam read it aloud from his own Score, that Sam is to sacrifice his life for the sake of the planet. Something about a war breaking out otherwise, something about miasma, somethingsomethingsomething -- but it's all white noise to Dean.

Sam's life. For the planet. For Auldrant.

Even worse: Sam accepts. He bows his head, long brown hair hanging forward, and says, voice soft, "Thank you for the opportunity."

Dean's faith in the Score crumbles to nothingness.

There had always been cracks there, fissures spiderwebbing across the surface that his job as Sam's Guardian -- as said so by the Score itself -- kept from spreading, but this revelation is the pebble that shatters the glass completely.

Fuck the Score, Dean thinks with venom. He's in his room. If he looks hard enough, he thinks he can see the emerald green Fon Belt in the night sky from his window. Sam had once told him that that the green reminded him of his eyes (Dean had scoffed and called him a girl, but secretly, his heart warmed all over). Far past the clouds, orbiting Auldrant, the Belt winks at him, as if in mocking. In victory. Of what it's going to take away from him.

He wants to scream.

"You can't change the Score, Dean," Mary's words from so long ago come whispering in his ears, and Dean swipes the lamp from his desk. There's a paper weight on the desk, made of glass and in the shape of a Cheagle, and he throws it on the ground, too. The papers are next, meeting their demise in Dean's hands, shredded like they're made of tissue.

Blood pounds in his ears; his palms itch. If anyone stands in his way right now he swears by Yulia-

"Dean?!"

Dean stills. Turns. Sam's stood frozen in his doorway, eyes wide, looking aghast. Distantly, he notes that Sam's out of his green Fon Master uniform. He's wearing a snow white tunic and loose black sleep pants, drawstrings tied securely on his narrow hips. Light from Luna casts his face in a silver glow, blurs his edges, makes him look so soft. Out of nowhere, Dean has an insane, manic urge to pull Sam into his arms and hide him away from the world -- the world that wants to snatch his baby brother away from him.

He tamps it down though, on account of the fact that he surely looks like a manic already, a wild animal standing amidst debris and destruction.

"Dean, what's going on?! You're bleeding!"

Dean doesn't notice when Sam takes his hand in his. His fist is still clenched, and Sam gently, gently unfurls it, hissing at the blood seeping his knuckles, as if the pain that he isn't even feeling -- too numb -- were his own.

"What were you thinking- sit down- getting a first aid kit-"

Sam guides him to the bed and gently pushes him down by his shoulder, making him sit, making sure his feet are on a patch of the floor that's not covered in shattered bits of paper weight.

The glass Cheagle paper weight.

That Sam had gifted him years ago.

Dean snaps out of his despair induced fog, looking up just as Sam enters his room with a first aid kit in hand. He bypasses the glass shards and sits next to Dean on his bed, placing the box by his hip. After he's done cleaning the cuts and bandaging his hands, he quietly gazes at Dean. His eyes are soft, but Dean feels like he's pinned down like a butterfly by those puppy eyes, ready to spill his heart out the second Sam asks.

Sam asks.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Dean?"

Dean spills.

"I'm not letting them do it." His voice is marble hard.

"Do what?" Sam asks, then startles when Dean cups his face in his hands -- bandaged knuckles protesting against the move -- and snarls, "I'm not letting them take you away from me!"

Sam's surprised gaze softens in understanding. "Dean, it's okay," A pause. "I can do it, you know. It's for the world- I can do it-"

"That's not the friggin' point, Sam!" Dean seethes, hands shaking against Sam's cheeks. "Fuck the world" the words are on the tip of his tongue, but then Sam brings his hands up and touches Dean's own, gently prying them from his face. Dean would feel bereft, except Sam's holding his hands now, warmth spreading from Sam's hands to his.

"Did you have dinner?"

"Sammy-"

"C'mon, there's beef stew. You love beef stew!"

Dean groans, leaning forward, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder. He can already feel the ice around his heart thawing. Damn Sam and his puppy eyes.

"And I've been waiting for you. I'm starving,"

And I've been waiting for you: and that's it. Dean buckles.

Sam can tell he's won, so he chuckles, slapping Dean on the back. "Let's go then!"

Dean catches Sam's wrist in his hand just as Sam gets off the bed. Green eyes bore into hazel. "I'm telling you Sammy, you're not doing it. I won't let you."

Sam purses his lips, then smiles. No dimples. But that's okay, because after they finish dinner, and Sam climbs into Dean's bed and lets himself be wrapped up in Dean's arms, Dean buries his nose in Sam's hair and finally understands.

The Score has only ever been right about One Thing: that he is Sam's Guardian. His protector. And if going against what the Score says means he's doing his job, then who's to stop him?

After all, why fight fate when fate has been right all along?

....

Also here's Fon Master Sam and Guardian Dean bc why the hell not (can I get an F in the chat for my art skills) (and also for Sam's fucked up left leg):

Bonus: Dean as Guy (bc carfuckerdean 🤝 albiorefuckerguy):