Chapter Text
They came in the night.
The crusaders, invaders. Sure that their cause was right, sure that their cause was just. Their cause to erase this pagan religion from the earth, stomp it to dust, so that their own beliefs could spread instead.
But how do you kill a culture, a belief? Why, you steal its future. You steal its Omegas.
So they came. They came with fire and iron and horses, burning everything they came across, sniffing out Omegas, taking the ones they could, killing the ones they couldn’t. They even took the children.
And, in that night, the god Dean, the god of families, started from his work, as though his heart had been pierced through with a thousand knives.
He rushed to save as many as he could, fueled by the rage at the thing he loved, the thing he lived for, being destroyed before his very eyes. He burned chariots, burned those invaders from the inside out, burned their weapons from their hands.
But they expected that. That’s why they broke down each of his sacred stones they came across.
So it was too late.
They were too quick.
He’d been able to save some Omegas, and some had been able to hide, but they were so few. So few.
And Dean’s heart broke.
He, the guardian of families, had failed his charge, had failed them all.
That night, the land rang loud with the weeping of its bereaved.
He tried to help them rebuild, but there weren’t enough anymore. Weren’t enough of them. Weren’t enough Omegas for the remaining Alphas.
So they left.
Many at first, then a few at a time, until, at last, the final family packed up its cart and left.
And Dean’s heart shattered to pieces.
He was alone with his own family. They were hurt, but not nearly as much as he. He’d lost everything. Everything he’d ever known and loved was gone. Had left him. Had been taken away. Had been killed.
He took to wandering alone in the woods, where once families lived, brushing his hands along the walls that had once echoed with the sounds of children playing, where once hearths burned bright with fire.
His brother tried to comfort him, but he would not be consoled. His soul was so broken he couldn’t even allow himself that.
So many had been killed due to his lack of diligence. So many families. So many Omegas. So many children.
And now, with so much sadness salting the earth, it was as if his lands themselves were tainted. As if he was tainted. His very heart turned back, veining his sorrow, his poison through his body.
He deserved this, now. It would be better, anyway. To be Forgotten.
For, even those that had once followed him, once believed and prayed to him, so many stopped upon his failure, and those that didn’t began to die off. One by one, the world forgot who he was. That he even existed. The God of Families that couldn’t even protect his own people.
His brother couldn’t help but notice as color drained from his face, from his eyes, as the markings that signified his power faded from his body, as the god Dean withered away.
For that is what gods do when they are forgotten, when they are no longer revered. They fade and return to the earth from whence they came.
So, one day, as he walked through the barren woods, among the remains of houses now dilapidated and grown over from over a century of disuse, Dean’s strength failed him, and he fell.
He was going to die.
Warmth slowly left his body, his limbs from his fingertips inward slowly turning back to the ash he was made from. His sight grew dark, and the fire that once burned bright in his heart was now but a cold ember within his chest.
Gathered around him was only his torn and threadbare cloak and the dying leaves of this dying forest. His only pallbearers, his only mourners.
And there he lay, the God of Togetherness, dying alone.
All alone.