SPN DCBB14: Worlds That Never Were (Chapter 2/5)

[the_diggler]

Worlds That Never Were ~ Chapter 2

Please see the fic masterpost for warnings and other information.





Castiel dreams of a world where he is never made a Commander. Where Raphael doesn’t step in to take Michael’s place after what comes to be called the Morningstar blast, and use that horrendous display of mutant power to establish a new world order, preying on the fear of that power to subjugate the human race. Raphael’s ability to control lightning is just as devastating as Lucifer’s power, and in the aftermath of the Morningstar disaster, all it takes is the utter decimation of one single gas station to prove it, solidifying his position.

Castiel also dreams that Crowley doesn’t step in to take Lucifer’s place, leading the mutants living underground, too ‘different’ in appearance to pass as human. Crowley has always been a power-hungry pest. A red-skinned mutant with a tail like a demon and the ability to create and control dog-like beasts, he’d spent his life exiled with the rest of Lucifer’s faction amongst sewers and abandoned buildings, dealing and manoeuvring himself into a position of power, and ever hungry for more.

In this world Castiel dreams of, where the government does not cower in fear, the continued infighting amongst mutants never results in the Mutant Registration Act. Therefore Raphael cannot use it as another means to track and eliminate his mutant enemies.

Hundreds of innocent mutants never die, caught in the crossfire, falling victim to Raphael’s extremist measures. So there is no need for the Resistance to form in response. Mutants and humans who want nothing more than to live peaceful lives do not have to band together to fight for their survival.

Not that Castiel has ever had anything to fear from the Mutant Registration Act. He has always been loyal to his brother Michael, and Raphael in turn – in fact, he played a crucial role in Raphael’s rise to power. And it was for that very service, he was rewarded with the position of Commander.

But not in the world Castiel dreams of.



“Cas?” Dean gasps, a whisper of a sound, barely able to believe what he’s seeing.

Castiel’s expression turns livid when he sees Dean kneeling there on the ground, and for a long moment he glares down at Dean in stony silence.

“Put him in isolation,” he finally barks.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Commander. What? Cas, what’s going on?” Dean gasps in desperation, struggling against the guards’ hold, confused and overwhelmed and wanting nothing more than to touch Castiel with his own hands, see if he’s real. “Cas!”

“And shut him up,” Castiel growls, before whipping around and stalking away.

“Yes, sir.”

The last thing Dean sees is the back of Castiel’s trenchcoat, before he feels the familiar stun of a shock-rod, and blacks out.



Isolation turns out to be no more than a glorified tool shed, big enough to store the kind of heavy-duty lawnmower that would be required to maintain an entire summer camp, though there’s no such vehicle to be found. The shed’s been emptied entirely of all its previous tools and gardening equipment, though there’s a strong earthy smell that still clings to the floors and walls. There may have been shelves on the walls at one stage too, but now the entire structure is completely gutted, not even tool hooks left for a prisoner to hang themselves with. And the corrugated walls are too thin to attempt any kind of escape without someone easily hearing him. Not that Dean has the strength or energy to get very far. By the time he regains consciousness, he’s parched and hungry, and no matter how much he yells at the guards just outside his door, they pay him no heed. Apparently isolation also means starvation.

Dean loses track of the days, spending most of his time asleep as his body tries to conserve what little strength he has. It’s only when he no longer has the energy to yell at the guards that they open the door, checking to see if he’s still alive. Dean doesn’t know how often they check, or what the point of it is if they just want to starve him to death, but he supposes they must be waiting for something.

It’s when things get really bad that Dean sees Cas.

Sometimes it’s Castiel “the Commander” who comes. Grabs him by the face and twists it harshly side to side to examine him. Dean can never make his throat work, can’t even lift a hand to reach for him. But Castiel can probably tell what he wants to do by the look on his face, because as soon as he tries to do anything, Castiel leaves again.

But sometimes… Sometimes, it’s his Cas, come to tell him to hold on, never give up. Because Cas loves him. Will always love him. No matter what. And then Cas will kiss him, so soft Dean can barely feel it, but it breaks his heart just the same. And Cas will follow the trail of his tear-streaked cheeks, from his lips to his eyelids, and whisper, “Shut your eyes, Dean,” until blackness overtakes him again.

Dean’s not sure if they’re nightmares, or starved hallucinations, or both. He begins to wonder if the Castiel he saw that first time in the middle of the camp was real either. But he doesn’t really care. He would rather have these twisted visions of Cas than nothing at all.



Dean supposes the guards find what they’re looking for when he finally gets moved. He wakes up in a cabin, sprawled on his ass and handcuffed to exposed piping. A real 5-star facility. Better than the tool shed though.

It seems like it used to be some kind of living quarters. There’s a sink/kitchen area along one side of it, but from the looks of it the place has been converted into an office of sorts. There’s a table nearby with what looks like a computer console on it, except the screen looks like it’s been rotated 90 degrees, so it’s standing taller than it is wide. He can also see just far enough over the table top to find the contents of his pockets strewn all over it – his phone, and every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that was taken from him in processing.

Dean thinks he knows where this is going. It’s interrogation time. The whole isolation and starvation thing was just softening him up for it.

For all that Dean’s gleaned from his surroundings though, he’s still completely unprepared when Cas walks through the door.

“Cas,” he gasps, like he’s been punched in the gut all over again.

Castiel’s eyes narrow into a venomous glare as he approaches, but he doesn’t acknowledge Dean in any other way. Balthazar is following closely behind, and the two men come to stand in front of him, close enough to loom menacingly, but still just out of Dean’s reach.

Dean doesn’t know how long he stares up at Castiel, taking in the sight of him, familiar features he never thought he’d see again. Those piercing blue eyes, the stubble-rough jaw, rumpled dark hair – though there’s tiredness in the dark lines under Castiel’s eyes, a tension in his jaw and coldness in his gaze that Dean isn’t so familiar with. Even though Castiel’s suit may be crisp and uncreased like Dean’s never seen, it looks to Dean like he’s falling apart.

And yet, he’s still the most beautiful sight Dean’s ever seen.

“Is this real?” Dean breathes. “Are you really alive?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be asking you that?” Balthazar drawls, the sardonic arch of his eyebrow finally revealing some of that snarky personality Dean’s familiar with. But even if Dean wasn’t already used to ignoring the man, he would anyway, still entirely focused on the sight of Castiel standing, alive, before him.

“I thought you were dead!” Dean chokes out, straining against his bonds as he subconsciously tries to get closer, anyway he can. “Your wings were so damaged, I thought for sure you were stuck in the blast. How--”

“Is this some kind of protest?” Castiel growls, talking over him. “Some kind of statement? Taking on the appearance of Dean Winchester?”

“What? No…” Dean stills, ceasing to struggle in his confusion.

“To be honest, I’m more impressed that he’s still managing to hold that appearance after this long,” Balthazar interjects.

“That’s because I’m not a shape-shifter!” Dean huffs in annoyance. Balthazar’s other eyebrow arches up to join the first as he crosses his arms over his chest, staring down at Dean and waiting for an explanation.

Dean takes a deep breath, looking up at Castiel. “It’s really me, Cas. Can’t you tell?” he asks, searching Castiel’s eyes for some kind of recognition, any hint of anything resembling the way Cas used to look at him. “Cas?” he whispers, pleading.

“Stop calling me that,” Castiel snarls, turning away.

Dean recoils, stunned as if he’s just been slapped.

“You have to believe me,” he whispers disbelievingly. “Please! It’s me! You saved me! Whatever you did to get me out worked--"

“What are you talking about?” Balthazar leans forward, brows furrowing. “Out? Out of where?”

“Kansas,” Dean frowns, his confusion increasing. “The blast.”

“You’re saying Castiel saved you from the blast,” Balthazar says.

“No!” Castiel suddenly barks, whirling around again. “Dean Winchester died the day of the blast.”

Dean reels back once more, shocked by the wild look in Castiel’s eyes, the vehement certainty in his tone. “No I didn’t, Cas. It’s really me,” he replies, willing Castiel to believe him. “I made it,” he shrugs. “But where I landed, I got no idea. I thought it was the future, but the dates are the same. And it seems like the blast happened years ago even though it was only yesterday, and now there’s this Mutant Registration Act that came out of nowhere--"

“Wait,” Castiel interrupts again, eyes narrowing as he steps forward. “You said before that my wings were injured, did you not?”

“Uh… yes?” Dean answers.

“Then how exactly, did I supposedly get you out?”

“You didn’t use your wings. You used your halo,” Dean replies, hoping that the explanation will finally make them believe.

Both men react forcefully at that – Castiel staggering backwards in shock while Balthazar darts forward with sharp interest in his eyes.

“Are you implying you’re from a parallel universe?” Balthazar exclaims.

“Balthazar!” Castiel hisses in reprimand.

“…What?” Dean gapes, dumbfounded.

But even as he tries to wrap his mind around what Balthazar’s just said, there’s something in him that already knows it’s true. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing that explains why the date is the same but everything is so radically different. Maybe the blast really did happen years ago, in this world. And maybe Dean really did die, in this world, and Castiel – this Castiel - got out of the blast instead.

If this Castiel was even anywhere near the blast in the first place.

For all Dean knows, this Castiel might never even have known the Dean in this world at all. They might have been absolutely nothing to each other.

The thought cuts through Dean like a knife. For some reason, it feels like a betrayal. Dean knows it makes no sense, but in a way it feels like Castiel’s turned his back on them, like he’s denied everything they’ve been through together. Everything they meant to each other. Everything he still means to Dean.

Castiel sweeps angrily towards the door, Balthazar following hot on his heels and looking contrite over his little slip. Ushering Balthazar outside before him, he turns to glare at Dean one last time as he goes.

“Cas,” Dean can’t help but whine as their eyes connect, the sound a broken and desperate thing, even in his own ears.

Something flickers across Castiel’s face then, for the briefest of moments. Too brief for Dean to decipher exactly what. But it’s a crack, all the same, and it makes something in the empty ache of Dean’s chest dare to hope.



The next time Dean wakes up, he’s back in Isolation. The ground is cold and damp underneath him, and the smell of old dirt fills his nostrils. At least his hands are free again, but the skin around his wrists is chafed and sore where they were bound before.

He doesn’t remember being moved back here, and while he isn’t entirely comfortable with that, he’s not surprised either. He’s pretty weak at the moment, and he can’t really stay conscious for long before passing out again. What worries him more is why he’s back here. They can’t still think he’s a shape-shifter. Not after starving him out this long.

Or maybe, Dean thinks hopefully, they finally believe it’s really him, and they just need to keep him somewhere out of sight. After all, he’s some kind of martyred hero in this world, of course they’d want to keep him a secret from the Resistance here.

In this world.

This world where he’s supposed to be dead and Castiel is alive and everything is so completely screwed up.

It still doesn’t seem real. He doesn’t think he could imagine something like this, even in his most twisted nightmares. He’s almost afraid to wonder what else is different.

Thankfully, he doesn’t get a chance to ponder the possibilities, as Dean soon hears a commotion outside the shed. He hears the door unlock from the outside, and has to squint against the harsh sunlight when it opens, but he can at least make out the outline of a large figure being shoved into the shed with him. Then the prisoner trips over Dean’s legs in the dark and sprawls on top of him, crushing and winding Dean with his weight. The guy’s damn heavy. He must be huge.

“Sorry, sorry!” the guy apologizes as he scrambles off Dean, and if Dean hadn’t already lost his breath on impact, that would’ve done it, because he knows that voice.

“… Sam?” Dean croaks, breathless and disbelieving.

The figure freezes on top of Dean. And then he whips his head up, peering through the dim light with a matching expression of disbelief on his oh-so-familiar face.

“Dean?” Sam gasps, eyes darting over his features, taking in the sight of him. Dean knows he’s doing the same, as he clutches desperately at Sam’s shoulders. It’s his brother! His little brother is alive in this world! Before Dean knows it he’s yanking Sam close, crushing his little brother as tight as he can in his arms.

“Sammy! You’re alive!” Dean breathes into Sam’s shaggy mop of hair.

“I’m alive?” Sam echoes, “You’re alive! Damn it, Dean!” Sam nearly sobs, clutching Dean just as tight.  Dean’s heart aches at the raw pain in his little brother’s voice. He knows first-hand what his brother must have been going through.

Is this why his Cas sent him to this world? Is this what Cas meant when he told Dean he wouldn’t be alone? But the blast still happened in this world, regardless of when it did, so how did Sam survive?

“How did you get out? I thought you died in the blast!” he asks, pulling away to look at his brother in amazement again.

“Cas got me out,” Sam answers. “It wasn’t pretty,” he explains grimly. “My powers were out of control, and I did a lot of damage before I finally passed out. But yeah, he saved me.”

“He did?” Dean says, that hollow part in his chest surging with hope again. Maybe Dean did mean something to Castiel in this world. Enough for Castiel to pull his brother out of Lucifer’s blast. And maybe it means something now, that Castiel would let him have this time with Sam.

“But Dean, what about you? I saw you! You were dead!” Sam’s voice cracks, and Dean’s heart clenches again. Even though he knows logically this isn’t his Sam, he doesn’t care. They were still brothers in this world and that’s enough for him. Hell, even if they weren’t brothers in the world, Dean would still want to protect any Sam, any way he can.

“It wasn’t me you saw, Sam,” Dean finally says.

“Huh?” Sam loosens his hold, pulling away to look at Dean in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t me,” Dean explains. “It was Adam.”

“Adam?” Sam echoes, brows scrunching up in confusion, and it suddenly occurs to Dean that Sam might not know about their half-brother in this world. There might not even be an Adam in this world.

“Adam,” Sam says again. “Right,” he nods. But there’s something in the way he drawls the word a little too long that gives away his uncertainty. He doesn’t have any idea who Dean’s talking about. But he’s going along with it anyway. And that makes no sense. Dean may be pretty out of it, but he can’t think of any good reason why Sam would do that.

Dean frowns, carefully reaching out to grip Sam’s arm. If Dean really had been a shape-shifter, he’d be too weak to keep using his powers by now. But he isn’t one. He’s barely been using his powers at all. So he isn’t as weak as they think he should be. And at this close range, it doesn’t take much at all to concentrate on what’s right in front of him.

Light flashes around him, like a bulb flickering on and off, too quick to really see anything in detail, but enough to know that there’s no one kneeling on the ground in front of him. In fact, the ground looks a lot like the floor of the cabin he was tied up in before. He’s probably still there. Probably has been all along, still tied up to the pipe under the harsh lighting.

It’s not much, but it’s enough. The illusion is broken.

“Dean?” Sam’s face flickers in front of him in concern and Dean scowls, yanking his hand back.

“Who are you?” he growls menacingly, looking around.

“Well!” a voice scoffs from the other side of the room. And just like that the illusion is dropped, confirming Dean’s suspicion that he’s been in the cabin all along. “I guess there’s just no fooling you, Dean,” the voice sneers, and Dean turns to see a sickeningly familiar face.

“Zachariah,” Dean seethes. In his own world, Dean’s already killed the illusionist. If he’d known the man was still alive in this one, maybe he wouldn’t have been so trusting. “Why haven’t I killed you yet?” he scowls, wondering how that went awry here.

Zachariah huffs a derisive laugh. “Unfortunately, as much as I share the sentiment, we have other plans for you first,” he smirks.

Dean narrows his eyes at that, but gets no further information as Zachariah heads for the door, the smug grin on his face taunting Dean the entire way. When he opens the door, Castiel re-enters the room.

“Well, Commander,” Zachariah says. “It seems he either truly believes he’s Dean Winchester, or he is Dean Winchester.”

“Impossible,” Castiel glowers.

“Is it? He wouldn’t be the first… survivor we’ve found,” Zachariah says, eyeing Castiel suspiciously. Dean frowns in confusion, wondering what that could mean.

“No. There’s no way,” Castiel replies, his tone resolute.

“Then what? He’s just that powerful of a shifter? Who’s also been brainwashed? You yourself said no mutant could keep up that appearance for so long, and under such duress. And he was able to neutralize my power of illusion, so he certainly has Dean Winchester’s abilities as well. What other explanation is there?”

Castiel doesn’t reply to that, and suddenly Dean gets the impression Zachariah might not know about the parallel universe situation. It could be that Castiel is trying to keep that particular ability close to his chest, judging by how angry he was at Balthazar for giving it away. And by the fact that his own Cas didn’t even tell Dean about it, though he doesn’t know why.

But that’s probably a good thing in Zachariah’s case. Dean shudders to think about the things the man would get up to with that ability at his command.

“Well, who he is, is irrelevant to what he can do. Have him transferred to R&D for… further examination,” Zachariah orders Castiel, before approaching Dean again. “It’s a good thing we found you when we did,” he sneers. “There have been rumours of Lucifer loyalists in Jackson County, and there’s no telling what they would’ve done to you if they caught you first, wearing the face of a Winchester. They do miss daddy-Lucifer so,” Zachariah mock-pouts. “They would’ve had a field day!” he laughs.

On second thought, Dean’s glad the man is alive in this world, because he’s going to enjoy having the chance to kill him again.



The next time Dean comes-to, he’s still in the cabin, bound by his wrists to the piping again, but he feels different. Better. Not like he’s going to pass out at any second. A couple more moments of consciousness and Dean recognizes the familiar buzz of stabilizers in his system. Sure enough, a quick glance at his arm shows the tell-tale pinprick of needles in his skin.

A few more moments, and Dean registers the low murmuring coming from the other side of the room, and looks up to see Castiel standing by the door, talking to a woman holding a medical kit. She’s tiny, much shorter than Castiel, with short auburn hair and plain features, but not unattractive. Dean’s never seen her before, but the way Castiel hovers around her implies an… intimacy… that Dean doesn’t quite know how to react to. He knows he doesn’t have any right to be jealous, but the familiarity Castiel treats this woman with leaves Dean a little stunned. The Cas he knew was hopeless with women.

But then again, this isn’t the Cas he knew.

“Thank you, Daphne,” Castiel says, finally ushering the woman out of the cabin when he sees Dean is awake.

“So…” Dean clears his throat uncomfortably, “Who’s the girl?”

Castiel spares him a disdainful glance as he crosses the room to the table, sitting down to examine Dean’s belongings. When he tries to turn Dean’s phone on, it doesn’t work, its battery already long dead.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Castiel mutters, not looking up, “But she’s my wife.”

“Your wife…” Dean echoes in shock, the word punched out of him along with his breath. He’d suspected something, but not that. He still doesn’t know how to react, but whatever he’s feeling, it makes the hollow ache in Dean’s chest sink right down into a pit in his stomach.

He’d hoped… Well he didn’t know exactly what he’d hoped, but he’d hoped.

Maybe he’d hoped he’d seen something in Castiel’s eyes. That there was a reason Castiel let him see his brother. A reason Castiel saved his brother in the first place.

He’d hoped that what his Cas told him was true – that he would always love Dean, no matter what.

But this Castiel is married. And seeing Sam was just part of Zachariah’s illusion. A test. His brother could still be dead in this world as well, for all he knows. Dean wonders if he even really saw that flash of… something… in Castiel’s eyes at all.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, his heart aching for any sign, any similarity between this Castiel and his own.

Castiel’s eyes narrow slightly in response, but he still doesn’t look up, busying himself with finding an appropriate charger for Dean’s phone.

“Cas, please,” Dean pleads, though he doesn’t know what for. To let Dean touch him? Hold him? Lay hands on him just so Dean can prove to himself that he’s really there? Real, and alive? Make him Dean’s again?

By the rigid line of Castiel’s back, Dean can tell that won’t go over well. The Castiel of this Universe seems so harsh and unyielding, much colder even than his own Cas was when they first met. His Cas had been a real dick at first, but he’d softened the more time they’d spent together. Enough to let Dean get past his defences, and make him believe that the cause Dean was fighting for was just. That mutants and humans could live together in peace. Enough to make him rebel against Michael, to fight by Dean’s side, to love him, and ultimately sacrifice his life for him.

Dean has to remind himself that this Castiel may never have done any of those things.

He wonders how someone can change so completely from one world to the next. If whatever it was that made his Cas fall in love with him simply doesn’t exist here.

“Cas, did we even know each other here at all?” Dean asks quietly.

Castiel finally gives up on the phone, heaving a put-upon sigh and looking up.

“Alright,” Castiel says, levelling him with a glare. “Let’s say I believe you, for argument’s sake. That you came here from a parallel universe, to escape Lucifer’s blast. Then what exactly set the blast off in your world?”

“Uh, okay,” Dean replies, more than willing to play along. Anything to break this stalemate. “I’m guessing it was a lot like what happened in this world. Lucifer tried to use Sam to amplify his power enough to fight Michael, but Sam couldn’t control it. And the effect on Lucifer’s powers… It didn’t end well. For anyone. Lucifer included. Serves him right, the bastard,” he adds lowly.

“Alright,” Castiel nods, “But what set Sam off in the first place? I can’t imagine he went to help Lucifer willingly.”

“Well… yes and no,” Dean hedges. “Chuck had a vision. Of me. Lying dead at Michael’s feet.”

“So Sam went to Lucifer to help destroy Michael. Yes, that’s what happened here,” Castiel says. “But how did Sam’s powers become so unstable?”

Dean sighs heavily. “It was Adam.”

“Adam?” Castiel asks, brows furrowing further. “Yes, you mentioned him earlier. Who was he?”

“He was our half-brother,” Dean replies.

“Your half-brother,” Castiel echoes. “No. The Winchesters never had a half-brother.”

“Maybe not in this world,” Dean shrugs. “Or maybe Michael never found him here. I don’t know.”

“Michael was looking for him? Why?” Castiel asks.

“Because Adam’s mutation allowed him to change his appearance, and he needed Adam to look like me,” Dean explains.

“He was a shape-shifter,” Castiel says flatly.

“Yes. No!” Dean blurts, suddenly realizing how suspicious that sounds when he’s still suspected of being a shape-shifter himself. They might start thinking he’s Adam. “Okay, I know it sounds bad, but just let me explain,” Dean pleads.

Castiel narrows his eyes, considering him for a moment, before leaning back in his chair and nodding. “Start from the beginning,” he says.

“Right. Okay,” Dean nods, taking a deep breath to regroup his thoughts. He’s going to have to explain himself pretty well for Castiel to believe he is who he says he is. It would help his credibility if the Dean in this world had a similar life to his own, but Dean’s also curious to know what’s different enough that the world ended up like this.

“Okay,” he begins. “See, Michael knew that Sam would lose control of his power under a certain amount of stress. Hell, that’s how we knew Sam was a mutant in the first place. When he was a baby, a sensor named Lilith picked up on Sam’s ability to augment other mutants’ powers, so a firestarter called Azazel broke into our house one night to find out exactly what Sam could do – whether it was worth anything or not. But then mom walked in, and yeah… Azazel killed her. And the stress on Sam shot Azazel’s power so out of control, it burned down half the house.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to this, so Dean can only assume things happened the same way in this world. He continues.

“When Sam was away at college Azazel found him again, killed Sam’s girlfriend Jess. The whole building would’ve burned down if I hadn’t got to Sam in time to neutralize his power.” Dean heaves a sigh. “Her death was real hard on Sam. He never really let himself get close to anyone, see. His mutation may enhance other mutants powers, but sometimes prolonged exposure to humans actually starts to create mutation. And she seemed to be immune.”

Castiel remains silent, still watching Dean with narrowed eyes, so Dean takes his silence as a cue to keep going. “Sam left college after that to help me and dad track Azazel down. We spent most of our lives trying to find Azazel. Most of the time we just put down other mutants that got out of control, giving the rest of us a bad name. Dad was human but he did the best he could to protect us. He had to leave us alone a lot when we were younger when things got too dangerous, so I practically raised Sam. I guess it was one of those times when Dad was away that he met Adam’s mom…” Dean trails off. Castiel frowns, but still doesn’t interrupt.

“Anyway, we’re pretty sure now that they kept coming after Sam to test him, to see how strong he’d gotten. We think they’d been setting up all kinds of stress tests, but Sam reacted the most when someone close to him was threatened. That’s why they sent Ruby. Real snake. Shed her skin and all. She had a similar power to mine, except instead of healing mutation I think she just supressed it. So she was immune to Sam’s mutation as well. She got under Sam’s skin and practically delivered him to Lucifer on a silver platter,” Dean sighs again.

“When that happened, Michael grabbed me, told me it was for safekeeping as a last defence to neutralize Sam’s power if he couldn’t stop Lucifer himself. But the longer he kept me captive, we realized that Michael wanted Lucifer’s powers amplified. He wanted the world to burn. So that afterwards, when he offered the government protection and order out of the chaos, they would beg him to take over.”

Dean looks up at Castiel then, expecting the man to take some kind of offence to Dean’s implied assessment of the current regime. But Castiel seems unsurprised, and Dean wonders just how much Castiel knows, how far the similarities between their worlds go. He feels that tiny thing in his chest daring to hope again.

“So if he already had you, why didn’t he use you then? Why bother with a shape-shifter at all?” Castiel asks.

“When we realized what was going on, you helped me escape, and we ran – You, me and Sam,” Dean explains. “You helped us, kept us off Michael’s radar so he could never find us, kept us one step ahead and protected us... You gave up everything for me, Cas. You were my best friend, you were family, you were my--”

“Don’t,” Castiel hisses, abruptly standing from his chair, and that look flickers across his face once more – that crack in his stone facade.

As Castiel sweeps out of the room, Dean feels himself lurching forward against his bonds again, as if he could pry the crack open with his hands and find his Cas under this obstinate and unfamiliar exterior.

~ next