SPN DCBB14: Worlds That Never Were (Chapter 3/5)

[the_diggler]

Worlds That Never Were ~ Chapter 3

Please see the fic masterpost for warnings and other information.





Castiel dreams of a world where he isn’t “encouraged” to marry Daphne after he is made a Commander. Where his suspicious and ever-vigilant superiors do not require that he solidify his position in the new world order even further by proving his emotional stability and happiness in a new relationship as well.

Of course, in this world he dreams of, Castiel’s every move isn’t being watched and monitored, and he doesn’t have to do whatever it takes to survive. So he has no reason to marry her. Castiel is grateful to her, and he does feel some affection for her, but he can’t love her the way she deserves.

Sometimes Castiel dreams of a world where he lands somewhere else after Stull Cemetery, and it’s Meg who finds him instead. There was always some kind of spark between him and the mutant from Lucifer’s faction, and given the right conditions, that spark flares into something hot and wild. But he still doesn’t love her like he should.

Sometimes it will be Castiel who is dead instead of Dean, or perhaps Castiel never met Dean at all, or only briefly, and Castiel will find Dean in the arms of another – Lisa, Cassie, Benny – though he never seems to love as strongly as Castiel knows he’s capable of. But as long as Dean is alive and safe and somewhat content, Castiel thinks it might be better that way.

But in most worlds, Castiel meets Dean on a Thursday, in the depths of Lucifer’s base of operations, otherwise known as The Pit.  Dean has been captured by one of Lucifer’s most notorious interrogators, Alastair, in an attempt to coerce Sam into joining Lucifer’s side. And unwilling to risk someone with Sam’s power in the enemy’s hands, Michael orders his forces to raid Lucifer’s headquarters.

It takes several of Michael’s faction infiltrate Alastair’s torture pit, and they lose many. But it’s Castiel who manages to find Dean and pull him from The Pit, half-conscious and body half-torn apart, but with a heart that fights to survive from the strength of his will alone.

So, yes, there may be others that Castiel has grown fond of, seeking comfort or companionship or whatever else there may be in their embrace. But from the moment Castiel first laid a hand on Dean in that dark, grimy hell, he was lost.



They arrive at “R&D” early in the morning, most likely transferring Dean under the cover of night to protect his identity as much as possible. At first Dean is confused when they arrive at what looks like an old office building for Sucrocorp, but when they descend into the building’s lower levels, he discovers that there are extensive research facilities underground. A little too extensive for such a seemingly innocuous office building. But it just confirms Dean’s suspicions that most corporations are evil anyway.

Under a shroud of silence Dean is led down several winding corridors, through numerous locked security doors, further and further into the depths of the building. There are almost too many turns to remember, but his daddy trained him good, so Dean always makes sure to know where the exits are, and exactly how to get to them. The building seems deserted, almost bizarrely barren of life save for Dean and his escort, but Dean sees the security cameras sweeping the hallways, and he knows better.

Finally they reach their destination – a closed-off area with its own guard sitting at the desk outside. Inside appears to be some kind of cell-block, doors lining each side of the corridor with small observation windows made of thick-panelled glass. As Dean is led past he sees a few faces peering at him from behind the windows. He thinks he even recognizes a power-draining mutant with tattoos along her arms. But the thick mass of dark curls Dean remembers is mottled and tangled, and her already fair skin is almost sickly pale.

“Please! Please help me!” she calls out, though Dean can barely hear her through the thick glass. “You gotta get me out of here. Please! You gotta get me out of here!”

“Keep moving,” one of the guards growls, shoving him forward.

They take Dean to the door at the very end of the corridor, and when he’s shoved inside he finds that yes, it is a prison cell, complete with a bed and a toilet and padded walls. As they lock the door behind him, Dean snorts with incredulity once again, because what kind of corporation has its own prison cells? And they’re good prison cells too. Well maintained. He can’t find a single loose nail or bed-spring or pipe to use as a weapon or lock-pick.

Dean collapses back on the mattress and resigns himself to getting some sleep. There’s no telling what kind of “further examination” they’ll put him through tomorrow.

“Shifter! Hey, shifter!”

“Oh for the love of… You all need to get into your heads to stop calling me that,” Dean grouses, rolling his eyes. But when he looks around, no one’s there. Not even at the window.

“Just calling it like I see it, brother,” the voice says.

“What the…?” Dean whips around, startled, because the voice sounds like it’s coming from inside his head, and Dean’s only ever known one person who could do that. But it doesn’t sound like Bobby. It sounds like… “Benny?”

The voice seems surprised to be recognized. Well, the presence that the voice belongs to does anyway.

“Uh… Benny? How are you in my head?” Dean asks, confused.

“I drained a telepath before they locked me up in here, and it hasn’t all left my system yet,” Benny explains. “Don’t tell anyone, though. The guards haven’t quite caught on yet,” he adds, and Dean picks up the familiar smirk in Benny’s tone.

“Huh,” Dean nods. That makes sense. The Benny from his own world could siphon off other mutants’ powers too, and use them for a little while, depending on how strong the power was or how much he drained. If he took too much though, he could end up killing them. But the Benny from his world had stopped doing that a long time ago. Well. Desperate times, Dean guesses.

“Hey, it wasn’t an old guy in a wheelchair and a trucker cap, was it?” Dean narrows his eyes. He’s not sure if Benny even knows who Bobby is in this world. Bobby might have died in the blast before they got the chance to meet.

There’s a pause, in which Dean gets the distinct impression of a confused frown, before Benny answers, “If you’re talking about Bobby Singer, I heard he died in the blast.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I guess he did.”

“Besides, it was some uppity bureaucrat type. But she turned herself into diamond before I could do any real damage,” Benny explains.

“Okay,” Dean nods. “So where are you right now?”

“Look across the hall,” Benny says. Dean gets up off his cot and goes to the door. In the dim light from the hallway Dean can see Benny’s face in the window directly across from his own.

“Man, it’s good to see you,” Dean grins.

“You too, I suppose…” Benny says hesitantly.

“It’s me, Benny,” Dean sighs wearily. “It’s really me, but from a different world than this. I know it sounds crazy, but, if you’re in my head you can look around and see that I’m telling you the truth.”

Benny frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Just… be careful,” Dean says, bracing himself. This kind of thing can be dangerous if done wrong, but it’s not like he has much else of a choice.

Benny nods, closing his eyes in concentration. Dean sits down as he feels a familiar tingling sensation probing the edges of his mind, willing himself to relax and open himself up to it. It’s not as focused or as thorough as when Bobby used to do it, but it seems to be effective nonetheless, if Benny’s expression afterwards is any indication.

“Okay, I believe you,” Benny says, confused but grinning at the same time. Dean grins back. Benny never lets him down.

“If only it were that easy for every for everyone else,” Dean huffs.

“…Castiel?” Benny says.

Dean heaves another sigh, not even bothering to reply. Benny’s seen what’s on his mind.

“What is this place, Benny?” he asks instead.

“High level research and development,” Benny explains. “From what I’ve gathered? They’re rounding up any mutants that can manipulate other mutants’ abilities – drainers, neutralizers, enhancers, mimics, channels – anyone who can affect what you’ve already got, and studying how that works. It’s dangerous business, brother.”

Dean nods. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d feared would result from the Mutant Registration Act. It seems that in both worlds there’s demand for mutants who can augment other mutants’ powers. It’s always about power. And there’s only so far a silver-tongue can go to recruit powerful mutants to one cause or another. Why recruit power when you can just find a way to enhance your own? And the Mutant Registration Act provides an easy way to track down mutants like Dean and examine exactly how to go about doing that.

Castiel probably doesn’t even care if Dean’s really who he says he is at all.



“Further examination” is worse than Dean thought it would be. Some of it’s expected, like being strapped to an examination bed for hours while Castiel runs endless tests on him, poking him with needles over and over again and running the bloodwork through numerous machines, examining the data with an ever-present frown on his face. But Dean thought there would be more interrogation at least. More curiosity about his identity or his world, even if Castiel thinks he’s lying or deluded or crazy. Instead, Dean’s worst fears are confirmed. Castiel doesn’t seem to care if he is who he says he is in the slightest.

Dean supposes he’s lucky he hasn’t been tortured yet, but he still wants to scream his lungs out. Castiel will hardly even look at him, even when he has to ask Dean to do basic things like, “look up at the flashlight, please,” or, “stick your tongue out, please,” or, “clench your hand into a fist, please,” when Castiel wants to take his blood. It’s the “please” that hurts the most, the formality of it creating even more distance between them than if Castiel had just barked orders out at him.

The times his own Cas had given him the silent treatment weren’t nearly as bad, not even the times when he’d been so fed up with Dean, their arguments had come to blows. Because at least then Dean knew that Cas cared, that Dean meant something to him. More than the total stranger Castiel is treating him like now.

And he knows that in a way, they are strangers. He knows this Castiel isn’t really his Cas. But he needs this Castiel to acknowledge him at least. Maybe then Dean can find out why this world turned out so differently. Why this Castiel is so different. And if there's any chance Dean can make it right. It hurts to see Castiel like this – going through the motions, completely closed off – a pale shadow of the person Dean knows he can be.

“Aren’t you going to interrogate me anymore? Don’t you need to ask me things to prove I’m really me?”

Castiel huffs an annoyed sigh. “Things like what?”

“I don’t know, things about my past? About us? Like how we met? How we became--“

Castiel gives him a sharp look and Dean swallows down the rest of his sentence.

“… How we became friends?” he says instead.

“What would be the point?” Castiel replies, not even bothering to look away from his strange perpendicular computer screen. “Anyone from the Resistance could have provided you with that information. And if you got anything wrong you would simply claim it’s because it was different in your world.”

Dean frowns. “I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. “But can’t you admit that it’s at least possible? I mean, can’t you use your halo to sense that I’m from a different world or something?

Castiel spares him a glare. “That’s not how it works.”

“Well, I don’t know. How does it work then?” Dean asks.

Castiel snorts. “You expect me to believe you are who you say you are, and that we’re… friends… But that I never told you how my power works?”

And that stings. Because for the life of him Dean still can’t work out why Cas never told him.

“I don’t know why you never told me. The only time you ever kept anything from me was to protect me. But I don’t see what’s dangerous about it.”

Castiel looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “There are dangers,” he finally replies quietly. As he turns back to his desk, Dean sees him glance briefly at the security camera in the far corner.

Dean looks up at the small camera, trying to work out if it’s picking up audio as well as visual. It looks like it’s only visual, but the technology is just different enough that he can’t be one hundred percent sure. And if Castiel is trying to keep the full extent of his abilities under wraps for some reason, Dean probably won’t be doing himself any favors by being the one to out Castiel’s secret.

“Can they hear us?” he murmurs under his breath.

“No,” Castiel replies.

“Okay,” Dean exhales in relief. “So explain it to me then,” he shrugs. “I get that you use your wings for normal teleporting, but the only time I ever saw your halo was when you sent me here. So what, is your halo a different thing or an extra level of power or something?”

“Something like that,” Castiel answers, though he doesn’t turn away from his screen.

Dean’s brows furrow in thought as he tries to consider the logistics involved in something like that. “So how do you know where to go?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel frowns.

“Do you just… make the jump and hope for the best?”

“Of course not,” Castiel huffs. “I have visions.”

“…Visions,” Dean echoes. “Like Chuck’s?”

“No, not waking visions. Mine only occur during sleep. Like dreams,” Castiel explains.

“Uh…” Dean’s frown deepens. “Then how do you know they’re not just dreams then? I mean, no offence, but I’ve had some pretty damn vivid dreams, you know?”

“Yes, but, no matter how vivid the dream, they are still limited. You can’t count or read in dreams. And you can only dream faces of people you’ve seen in real life.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Dean concedes. “But how did you work out you could actually go to those places?”

“It was Balthazar who worked it out. He sensed I might be able to access other dimensions. Apparently it’s similar to what he does to access different clones of himself,” Castiel explains.

“Huh. So have you ever met any other versions of yourself?” Dean asks. “Of me?” he adds tentatively. Surely if there were anything between them in this world, Castiel would have tried to find him again when he died.

Dean sees Castiel’s jaw clenching. “No,” he grits out.

Dean feels that hopeful thing in his chest shatter. He suddenly has the horrible thought that maybe his world is the only one where Cas loved him. Then what reason would this Castiel have to ever leave this world?

“Wait,” Dean frowns suddenly, “Have you even tried leaving at all?”

When Castiel doesn’t answer, it’s because Dean knows he’s right.

“Aren’t you at least curious?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Of course I am.”

“Then why the hell not?”

“Because I told you, it’s dangerous!” Castiel snaps. “There are dimensions out there full of terrible things – beings of immense power! What if one of them got through! Or what if I remained trapped there, unable to return! Using that power requires considerable control. I could be lost among the dimensions forever.”

“But there are ways to train for control,” Dean says. Bobby may not be around anymore, but Dean’s sure Castiel could find someone to help him. “And there have to be better places than here, right?”

“Better can be dangerous too,” Castiel grinds out, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.

“But wouldn’t it be worth the risk?” Dean fires back. “You can’t tell me you like it here!”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“Look at you, Cas. You’re miserable. And don’t tell me you aren’t, because I know the kind of man you could be. What we could be together. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

“I told you,” Castiel hisses, pushing away from his desk, “don’t call me that.”

This time Castiel doesn’t even bother giving Dean one last glare as he storms out of the lab.



It’s late. Not late enough to be called early, but late enough that everyone else is asleep. Dean is lying on his side in bed, spooned up against Cas’ back and lazily stroking his fingers through Cas’ wings from behind.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Hmm? Who?” Cas murmurs sleepily. Dean’s fingers tighten in Cas’ feathers.

“Crowley. I don’t trust him. You know he’s only helping because he thinks we can get rid of Lucifer for him.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cas asks, confused.

“Yeah, but he’ll turn on us as soon as he gets what he wants.”

“Then we will just have to be vigilant,” Cas says. “Perhaps more training wouldn’t hurt.”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts in response, resuming his slow strokes through Cas’ wings. They were too tired to fool around that night, but too wired to sleep, so Cas had let his wings loose for Dean to give them a thorough grooming, while they talked about anything and everything on their minds.

“That’s not all you’re worried about is it?” Cas says a few minutes later, picking up on Dean’s mood.

“It’s Benny,” Dean sighs. “He and Andrea had a real bad fight this time.”

“Hmm,” Cas hums in sympathy, and Dean appreciates it. Cas and Benny have always been a bit rocky, but at least Cas respects Dean’s friendship with the other man. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much though, Dean. You know they always work through it.”

“True,” Dean shrugs. “There’s no one more in love than those two.”

“… No one?” Cas arches an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe someone,” Dean smirks, nipping at Cas’ ear. Cas chuckles lazily, squirming away, but Dean tightens his grip, pulling Cas close again.

It doesn’t seem to work though. Cas doesn’t settle in Dean’s arms like he should. Instead Cas seems to wriggle further and further away, and no matter how hard Dean tries to grab onto him, he just can’t seem to reach. His hands only find bedsheets, more and more of them until he’s tangled up in them, choking and gasping for air as they strangle him, holding him back until he can’t see Cas at all.

“Cas!” Dean cries out, lurching awake with his hands twisted in the sheets of his cot.

“You okay, brother?” Benny’s voice asks in his head.

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the dream as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of his cot. He has to take more than a few deep breaths before he can speak again. And when he does, it’s with bone-tired exhaustion.

“Hey Benny? What happened to Andrea?” Dean asks him. “Where is she now?”

There’s a long moment of silence at that, filled with too many emotions for Dean to parse out. And none of them good. There’s a lot of pain there, in which Dean picks up on some anger and regret, but mostly, that all-too-familiar feeling of loss and grief.

“I’m sorry, Benny,” Dean says.

“Yeah, so am I,” Benny says.

“You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I should talk about it. Besides I get the feeling you need the company right now.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Dean huffs a low chuckle. “So what happened?”

Benny sighs. “We were living a good life, you know? We didn’t draw any attention to ourselves, kept under the radar and stayed out of trouble. Just went about our own business…”

Dean nods. That’s how Benny and Andrea lived in Dean’s world too. And they were happy.

“But after the blast, the fighting escalated, and it got harder and harder for Andrea to turn a blind eye to it. She wasn’t content to just stand by while things got worse out there, and she wanted to go join the Resistance and do something about it. We fought about it all the time. She wanted me to go with her, and I just wanted her to stay with me and be safe. But then…” Benny chokes off, a wave of emotion overwhelming him again.

“Benny?” Dean calls out tentatively.

“I lost her, Dean,” Benny sobs. “She just up and left one day, joined my old team. And by the time I pulled myself together and went after her, she’d already died in the fighting.”

“Jesus, Benny,” Dean exhales. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, shocked as well as saddened by the story. Benny and Andrea were so in love. The kind of love Dean thought could survive anything. But maybe he was wrong.



“So…” Dean begins, watching Castiel’s every movement from where he’s strapped down on the examination table again, though Castiel still seems intent on ignoring him.

He’s given up on his running commentary already, trying to convince Castiel he’s telling the truth while subtly prodding him for information about this world. The whole morning has been like pulling teeth trying to get anything out of Castiel. And Dean is aware of the irony of that, given that he is the one strapped to an examination table. It’s not that Cas won’t talk to him, but that he’ll barely offer Dean more than the most basic answers. And without knowing the right questions to ask in the first place, Dean’s getting nowhere.

Dean heaves a sigh. He doesn’t even want to think about it, but it’s been eating at him ever since he found out, and he no longer has anything else left to ask.

“Tell me something, Castiel,” Dean says, the formality of it uncomfortable on his tongue. But Castiel has made it clear that he doesn’t like the shortened version of his name. “You and Daphne… How did that happen?”

Castiel makes a little huffing noise at that, but evidently he decides the information is harmless. “After the blast,” he explains, “she found me and cared for me.”

“Huh,” Dean huffs at the short and bare-boned answer. Yet another one. But maybe this one isn’t meant to be harmless at all, maybe this time Castiel is making a point, because this time the reply gnaws at him even more.

Briefly he thinks that if he really did die in this world, he’s glad someone was there to tend to Castiel and look after him. But the aching hollow in his chest doesn’t let him believe that, not even when he knows it might be better for everyone if he did.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Castiel growls quietly, though the man’s still resolutely staring at the data on his screen.

“Like what?” Dean nearly laughs. “Like I know you? Intimately? Like I know exactly how you like to be touched? And where? The way your wings like to be groomed?”

Castiel gasps involuntarily at that, and Dean can practically see his wings twitching against his back. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas has let his wings loose at all. He has a feeling it’s been a long time.

“I know what you sound like when you come, Cas, and the sounds you make in your sleep. And I know the way you growled at me just now means how I’m looking at you is a lot more distracting than you’re letting on.”

Castiel shoots up from his chair then, rounding on Dean with a glare. “If you’re really who you say you are, then you can tell me where the bunker is,” Castiel snaps, striding towards him.

“…What?” he stammers, thrown by the abrupt change in topic. “Cas…” he frowns in confusion at the question.

But then Dean suddenly realizes that unlike his Cas, this Castiel really doesn’t know where the bunker is. Otherwise they wouldn’t still be interrogating people for the information, like Chuck told him at Camp Chitaqua.

“So you don’t know where it is,” Castiel narrows his eyes with a scrutinizing glint.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean hedges. “If you know anything about me at all, you’d know that I wouldn’t just give that information away.”

“Hmm. Convenient,” Castiel hums, returning to his desk.

Dean bangs his head back on the table in frustration, wanting to scream again.



Cas is sprawled across his chest, passed out mid-sentence, exhausted after his training with Bobby. Dean can just barely hear his soft snores over the low volume of the television, its light flickering through the dark of the bunker library and illuminating Cas’ face, open mouthed and drooling. It’s hilarious. And adorable. Though Dean would never admit something like that out loud. But he has no qualms about digging into his pocket for his phone, and taking a picture.

“Dean?” Cas mumbles groggily, awoken by the sound. “Are you taking pictures of me in my sleep again?” he frowns – more like pouts really – rubbing at his eyes in a way that’s absolutely not even more endearing, and absolutely does not make Dean wish he was taking a video instead.

“Bobby really worked you hard tonight, huh?” Dean says, changing the subject as he subtly returns his phone to his back pocket.

“Mmm-hmm,” Cas replies around a yawn, blinking up at him. “It’s worth it, though. It could mean the difference between life and death someday,” he says, his gaze suddenly weighted with seriousness.

“Well, good,” Dean says softly, tracing his fingers through Cas’ sleep-flattened hair. “Nothing better happen to you, Cas. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he adds quietly, sleepiness letting the admission loose from his lips.

“Dean…” Cas murmurs, reaching up to stroke Dean’s cheek.

Dean buries his face into Castiel’s palm, pressing a kiss there. He knows Cas gets it. He can tell from the look Cas gives him then – so full of heartache and sadness, love and protection. Dean’s lost so much already. The number of people he can rely on and trust enough to call friends dwindles every year, with every battle. And what’s left of his family is even smaller. Dean has to hang on to what he’s got, as tight as he can

“I can’t keep losing the people I care about, Cas. I don’t want to be the last man standing,” he whispers.

“That won’t happen, Dean, I swear to you,” Cas says, gently turning Dean’s face to look at him again. I will do everything in make power to make sure of it. You will never be alone,” he says, the certainty in his eyes unfaltering and reassuring.

“Cas…” Dean murmurs, but Cas doesn’t let him saying anything more, leaning forward to seal the promise with a kiss.

Dean holds him close, returning the kiss soft and grateful against Cas’ lips, languid and long until Cas’ yawns break their lips apart again.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you to bed,” he murmurs fondly, helping Cas up off the couch. The walk back to their room is a slow one, sleepy and comfortable with Cas under his arm, tucked into his side, shuffling through the bunker’s many hallways. Dean barely has to lookup up to navigate the way anymore, each turn now so familiar he thinks he even falls asleep a little himself as they walk. But when he reaches forward to open their bedroom door, Dean finds the way locked.

He opens his eyes in confusion, already trying to twist the handle again, but it’s not his bedroom door in front of him. It’s a prison cell door, with a small window made of thick panelled glass. And when Dean whirls around he no longer sees the bunker’s familiar halls, but his tiny cell at Sucrocorp. And where Cas should be, tucked warm against his side, Dean is alone, wrapped up in nothing but the cold sheets of his cot.

Dean pushes himself up on the mattress, leaning back against the wall of his cell and heaving a sigh.

What he wouldn’t give to be back there, safe in the bunker, with Cas in his arms. Though he knows it’s impossible. Even if he could get back to his own world somehow, Cas would be gone. Everyone would be gone.

But at least if he had the power to jump to another world, he could find one where Cas loves him again. A perfect world, where Sam is alive too, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, his dad, his mom… Hell, everyone he’s ever cared about.

Dean chuckles disparagingly.

Does that world even exist? And if it does, what would be the chances of finding it? How many times would he have to jump?

However many times it takes.

Dean knows he would.

Maybe that’s why his Cas never told him about it. Because he knew Dean, and he knew the temptation would be too great. He knew what Dean would go through to see even one of the people he’d lost again. But the chance at having them all back again? One could go mad trying to find a better world… and then the next better world… and the next. Cas knew he could lose Dean to it.

Hell, Dean still doesn’t know if the Castiel in this world ever loved him at all. But if Dean knew how to make it happen, he would.

He would keep going until he found it. The right sequence of events, the perfect combination of moments… Anything to find what he once had again.

~ next