In Supernatural TV/Vampire Diaries with The Force as the Chosen One

The pearly gates of Heaven stood before the three Fates, their light casting strange shadows across the ancient goddesses' faces.

Clotho shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the guardian angels. The celestial beings towered over them – massive constructs of light and energy that bore little resemblance to their depictions on Earth.

Each stood taller than skyscrapers, their forms composed of overlapping wheels of fire, countless eyes blinking in perfect unison.

"We seek audience with the Healer," Clotho announced, her voice carrying despite its softness.

The nearest guardian tilted its burning crown of eyes toward them. When it spoke, the sound resonated from everywhere at once.

"THE FATES ENTER HEAVEN UNANNOUNCED. UNUSUAL."

Lachesis stepped forward, her silver-streaked hair pulled tight against her scalp. "Our business is urgent. The natural order is threatened."

"WAIT." The command echoed as the guardian's attention shifted upward, clearly receiving instructions through the celestial network.

Atropos clicked her golden shears impatiently. "All threads must be measured properly. Even yours, messenger."

The guardian's many eyes blinked in sequence, a ripple of light cascading across its form. Before it could respond, a new figure appeared beside the gates – more humanoid than the guardians, though still radiating immense power.

"The Moirai," Zachariah greeted them, his vessel's face arranged in a smile that never reached his eyes. "What an unexpected pleasure. Heaven so rarely entertains... pagans."

He spoke the last word as if tasting something unpleasant.

"Zachariah," Lachesis acknowledged coolly. "We have requested audience with Raphael."

"Yes, yes, so I've been informed." Zachariah straightened his perfectly pressed suit. "Though I must say, I'm curious why three such... autonomous entities would seek Heaven's assistance. Having trouble keeping your little threads in order?"

Atropos raised her shears. "Our business is with the archangel, not his errand boy."

Zachariah's smile tightened. "Let me explain something to you, ladies. I'm not an 'errand boy.' I'm the head of Heavenly Intelligence and Operations. I manage the prophets, oversee earthly interventions, and report directly to the archangels. So perhaps-"

"Will you take us to Raphael," Clotho interrupted, "or shall we wait for a more accommodating angel?"

Zachariah's false pleasantness dropped for a moment, revealing the ice beneath. Then the mask returned.

"Follow me, friends. I'm sure we can get this little matter sorted out efficiently."

He turned, gesturing for them to follow as the pearly gates parted, revealing a blinding light beyond.

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The journey through Heaven's spheres was disorienting even for beings as ancient as the Fates.

Each level they ascended shifted in appearance and composition – from vast libraries containing every book ever written to endless meadows where souls wandered in peaceful contemplation.

"The human perception of Heaven is so limited," Zachariah commented as they passed through the fifth sphere, "They expect harps and clouds, not realizing each soul creates its own paradise."

"Humans understand more than angels give them credit for," Clotho observed, watching a soul reconstruct the perfect memory of a child's birthday from 1954.

Zachariah scoffed. "Hairless apes who live less than a century. What could they possibly understand about eternity?"

"They understand endings," Atropos replied, her ancient voice rasping. "Something angels have always feared."

That silenced Zachariah temporarily as they continued their ascent.

The sixth sphere gave way to the seventh, and suddenly the landscape changed dramatically.

Here, the architecture became distinctly crystalline – massive structures of diamond and light that served as the administrative heart of Heaven.

Angels in their true forms moved through the celestial corridors, many pausing to watch the unusual procession with their numerous eyes.

"The Palace of God," Zachariah announced with rehearsed reverence, gesturing toward a structure of impossible proportions at the center of the sphere.

The Fates gazed upon the celestial palace. Four towers surrounded it, each distinct in appearance and energy.

"The archangels' towers," Lachesis murmured, her eyes assessing each one.

The first tower amber and bronze, radiating authority and martial power. "Michael's," Zachariah confirmed. "Empty now, as he maintains his vigil before the Throne."

The second tower caught their attention immediately – constructed of pure white starlight, but marred by jagged cracks that ran its length. Darkness leaked from these fissures like blood from a wound.

"Lucifer's," Clotho whispered, feeling the ancient pain emanating from the damaged structure.

"We don't speak of it," Zachariah said curtly, turning away.

The third tower shimmered with emerald and sapphire light, radiating a healing energy that made the air around it feel cleaner, more vibrant.

"Raphael's domain," Zachariah said, leading them toward it. "The Tower of Healing and Knowledge."

The fourth tower, golden, stood slightly apart from the others. It appeared abandoned, dust gathering on its surfaces despite the conventional impossibility of dust in Heaven.

"And Gabriel's," Atropos noted. "Long empty."

"Another we don't discuss," Zachariah replied sharply. "Now, shall we proceed? Lord Raphael doesn't appreciate his time being wasted."

As they approached Raphael's tower, the Fates felt the power of the archangel washing over them – ancient, vast, and utterly different from their own.

Where their power was specific and focused on mortal destinies, an archangel's grace was primordial and all-encompassing, a direct extension of God's will in creation.

The tower's entrance adjusted its size as they approached, growing from impossibly tall to merely intimidating.

Inside, the space expanded into a vast library that seemed to contain every medical and scientific text ever written – and many that never were.

"Wait here," Zachariah instructed, leaving them in an antechamber while he announced their presence.

The Fates stood in uncomfortable silence, each contemplating how to present their case to the archangel.

They had dealt with many powerful beings throughout their existence, but archangels were different – volatile, immensely powerful, and increasingly unpredictable since God's departure.

"He will see you now," Zachariah announced upon his return, leading them deeper into the tower.

They entered a circular chamber where shelves of ancient texts lined the walls from floor to the high ceiling. At the center stood a figure with his back to them, seemingly absorbed in a floating book that hovered before him.

"The Moirai, as requested, Lord Raphael," Zachariah announced with a bow.

The figure turned, and the Fates collectively froze in shock.

Before them stood not the expected manifestation of celestial light, but a man – tall and imposing with long brown hair and intense blue eyes.

His face bore a vertical scar beside his right eye, identical to the one they had glimpsed in the clouded future of Lucien Winchester. Most striking were his hands – blackened and charred, the skin cracked and damaged beyond normal healing.

The book before him turned its pages without being touched, manipulated by telekinesis rather than his injured hands.

"Thank you, Zachariah," Raphael said, his voice cold and precise. "You may remain."

The Fates exchanged glances, their thoughts racing. The resemblance was unmistakable – Raphael had taken the form of an adult Lucien Winchester, down to the most recent injuries.

Vessel resonance.

The term echoed in their minds.

When an archangel's true vessel approached readiness, the connection between them strengthened, sometimes causing the archangel to unconsciously mirror their vessel's appearance or condition.

Atropos nearly dropped her shears in shock.

Lucien Winchester – the anomaly they had come to complain about – was Raphael's true vessel.

"You appear surprised," Raphael observed, his eyes studying them with detachment. "Did you expect wings and halos? How disappointingly human."

Clotho recovered first, offering a respectful bow. "Great Healer, we thank you for granting us audience."

"I admit curiosity when entities as old as yourselves request Heaven's intervention," Raphael replied. His damaged hands remained at his sides as he telekinetically closed the floating book. "What matter of fate requires archangelic attention?"

Lachesis stepped forward. "A human is changing destiny, Lord Raphael. Not in the small ways mortals occasionally manage, but permanently altering the fabric of fate itself."

"Impossible," Zachariah interjected with a dismissive wave. "Humans cannot-"

"Silence," Raphael commanded without raising his voice. Zachariah immediately fell quiet. "Continue."

"This human defies the natural order," Atropos explained, her ancient voice trembling slightly. "When mortals change small fates, through unnatural powers – saving a life destined to end, for instance – the pattern corrects itself. A life saved here means another taken there. Balance maintained."

"But this one's changes become permanent," Lachesis added. "The pattern does not correct."

Raphael's expression remained impassive, but his eyes sharpened with interest. "You speak of someone specific."

The Fates exchanged uncomfortable glances before Clotho answered. "Lucien Winchester."

The temperature in the room dropped perceptibly. Raphael's gaze intensified, though his voice remained measured. "Winchester. John Winchester's son?"

"His second-youngest," Lachesis confirmed. "Born to Kate Milligan."

"Interesting," Raphael said, the word carrying layers of meaning. "And what exactly has this boy done to so disturb your carefully measured threads?"

The Fates hesitated, reluctant to admit their humiliation.

"We attempted to... correct the anomaly ourselves," Clotho finally admitted.

"We directed him toward his death," Lachesis added. "A vampire named Damon Salvatore."

"Yet he survived," Atropos finished, clicking her shears in agitation.

Raphael's expression didn't change, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "You targeted a child for death because he disrupted your plans?"

The room's atmosphere grew heavy, charged with power.

"An anomaly," Lachesis corrected hastily. "His very existence was not written in the Winchester family's fate."

"We brought him to the Realm of Possibilities to end his interference," Clotho continued, her musical voice strained. "But he..."

"He overpowered you," Raphael finished, his tone indicating he found this difficult to believe.

Atropos nodded reluctantly. "He broke the chains that bind all mortal destinies. No human has ever done this."

Raphael studied them for a long moment, his damaged hands flexing slightly at his sides. "Show me."

Without warning, he reached forward with his mind, penetrating their thoughts.

The Fates gasped in unison as Raphael extracted their memories of the encounter – Lucien suspended in the cosmic void, breaking free of his chains, channeling crimson lightning that nearly unmade them.

When Raphael withdrew, his expression had shifted subtly from skepticism to contemplation.

"You believe him to be psychic," he stated rather than asked.

"It is the only explanation for such power in a mortal," Lachesis replied.

Raphael turned away, pacing slowly across the chamber. "Zachariah, in your knowledge of the prophetic lineage, is there mention of a prophet named Lucien Winchester?"

Zachariah looked surprised by the question. "No, Lord Raphael. Such knowledge would be inherent in my being, and I have no record of this name among past, present, or future prophets."

"That is... odd," Raphael murmured. "The only ones whose fates remain unwritten are the prophets – vessels of the Lord's voice."

He paused, considering. "Their miracles have been known to defy natural law, though none have demonstrated power of this magnitude before."

"Could his abilities stem from being your vessel, Lord Raphael?" Zachariah asked cautiously.

Raphael's eyes flashed dangerously. "That information was not for sharing, Zachariah."

Of course, he knew the Fates already realised it, but Zachariah should learn to control his tongue.

The lesser angel bowed deeply. "Forgive me, I assumed since your form has taken his appearance-"

"Assumptions are dangerous," Raphael cut him off coldly. "But no, these abilities cannot be explained merely by the status of being my vessel. Something else is at work here."

The archangel began walking back and forth throughout the room, moving his head, up and down, to the sides, as he was thinking and thinking, before he finally stopped.

"The closest possibility is that Lucien Winchester's abilities were destined to a soul that at first was destined to be my Father's vessel - like various other prophets before him. Though not all, as the current one has no such destiny. I reason that when God died-"

All four beings winced at the words, Zachariah trembled, while the Fates cringed.

They all remembered how a near on a century ago, Raphael tired of Michael kneeling before the Throne of Heaven since the War- putting all responsibility of the Host inadvertibly on the Healer's shoulders - confronted Michael, and stated God to be dead.

The two came to blows.

Five to be precise.

And from it, the two World Wars came into being.

As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth

Raphael uncaring continued. "Whatever ability was possibly destined for John Winchester, the representation of Father on Earth, his reflection, as the four brothers are ours, but mistakingly entered my vessel, and he gained those miraculous capabilities."

Unlike the rest of the angels, Raphael held no distaste for Fates, since they completely were loyal to him, and never disobeyed him. 

The Fates hearing this exchanged nervous glances. This was an explanation to what happened, but that's not what they came for.

Atropos lowering her head, began speaking again. "Great Healer, we come with a request. The boy's precognitive abilities allow him to interfere with destiny. We ask that you block this sight, as we have proven unable to do so ourselves."

Raphael regarded them silently, his gaze so intense that the ancient goddesses felt like insects under a microscope.

The moment stretched uncomfortably as the archangel seemed to weigh things beyond their understanding.

Finally, he spoke a single word: "Done."

Before the Fates could process this, Raphael continued, "Zachariah, escort our guests out. I have matters to attend to."

"But-" Clotho began.

"Your request has been granted," Raphael stated with finality. "The boy's precognitive abilities have been suppressed. Is there something else?"

"No, Great Healer," Lachesis answered quickly. "We are grateful for your intervention."

Zachariah moved to usher them out, his corporate smile back in place. "Well, ladies, wasn't that efficient? Problem solved, cosmic balance restored, all wrapped up in a neat little package."

As they were led away, the Fates cast one last glance at Raphael. The archangel had already turned his attention back to his books, seemingly dismissing them from his thoughts entirely.

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Alone in his library, Raphael stood motionless for several minutes after the Fates departed. His expression remained impassive, but his mind worked rapidly, processing what he had learned.

He looked down at his charred hands – a perfect reflection of the injuries his vessel had sustained.

Vessel resonance had occurred before, but rarely with such specificity. It suggested the connection between them was unusually strong.

Raphael had known of Lucien Winchester's existence, of course. Heaven kept close watch on all potential vessels, particularly those of archangels - let alone their true vessels.

As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth, as they say.

Four brothers, four true vessels.

But he had paid little attention to the boy's development, assuming there would be time enough to claim him when needed.

Now, it seemed, his vessel was far more interesting than anticipated.

The memory he had extracted from the Fates played again in his mind – a child channeling power that should have been impossible for a human. Breaking the chains of fate itself. Generating lightning that could harm primordial beings.

"Curious," he murmured to the empty chamber.

The damaged state of his hands drew his attention again, prompting a memory from long ago – when Heaven was new and Earth barely formed.

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(Flashback)

"Four vessels I shall create for you in due time," their Father had explained, His voice resonating through the newly formed celestial spheres. "Physical forms fashioned from your grace, your other halves, who will understand each of you as no other being can."

The four archangels had listened with rapt attention – Michael standing tall and proud, Lucifer radiating beauty and light, Raphael solemn and attentive, Gabriel fidgeting with barely contained energy.

"When the time comes, these vessels will house you on Earth, allowing you to walk among my newest creation without destroying them with your true forms."

"Will they be strong, Father?" Michael had asked. "Worthy warriors to fight beside us?"

God had smiled. "They will be exactly what each of you needs, Michael."

"As long as mine's taller than Michael's," Lucifer had quipped, earning a glare from his older brother.

"Mine has to appreciate my sense of humor," Gabriel added quickly. "Otherwise we'll drive each other crazy."

Raphael alone had remained silent, making no requests for his vessel's qualities.

"Raphael?" their Father had prompted gently. "Have you no preferences?"

"I trust your wisdom, Father," Raphael had answered simply. "Whatever form you deem appropriate will suffice."

God had studied him with knowing eyes. "Perhaps that is why yours will understand you best of all."

(Flashback End.)

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The memory faded, leaving Raphael contemplating the cosmic irony. His vessel – the one he had expressed no preferences for – was proving the most intriguing of all.

He extended his awareness downward, through the layers of Heaven, past Earth's atmosphere, focusing on a small hospital room where his vessel lay unconscious.

The contrast was striking – Raphael in the form of adult Lucien, while the real Lucien remained a small, injured child.

The boy's hands were as charred as his own, the skin blackened and blistered from channeling power beyond his body's capacity to contain.

A fresh scar ran vertically beside his right eye – a perfect match to the one Raphael now bore.

Decision made, Raphael opened a channel through angel radio.

"Uriel."

The response came immediately. "Yes, Lord Raphael?"

"Take a vessel and go to Earth."

"What are my orders?" Uriel asked, not questioning the command itself.

"There is a boy in Roanoke General Hospital – Lucien Winchester. Without alerting his family to your presence or identity, heal his hands. Only his hands. Leave the eye scar as a reminder to be more cautious in the future."

"I understand," Uriel replied. "It shall be done."

Raphael broke the connection as Uriel departed for Earth. A small, satisfied smile crossed his face as he looked down at his own damaged hands.

"I am allowed to be vain occasionally too," he murmured to himself. After all, these hands would one day be his to inhabit. It wouldn't do to have them permanently scarred.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.

Do tell me how you found it.

So... The foreshadowing was incredibly subtle (honestly, don't know if it even can be called that), but I hope some realised it.

Remember what Lucien's full name is officially?

Lucien Raphael Milligan.

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)