At first, Dean -- this alternate Dean, HunterCorps, Trust Fund D. -- didn't really digest what had happened to him. Neither he or his brother really felt the weight of what they had escaped. Too caught up in the excitement that they had actually managed to escape into a different universe, too numb to feel the shock of something so horrible.
Some weeks after living in this new universe, it really, finally hit them. Everyone they knew, everything they knew was gone.
Sure, being told that their universe was destroyed by God was one thing, but understanding such a concept was another hurdle.
It started small. They had no money. No cards and such worked here. HunterCorps' resources couldn't bail them out this time, and John was long gone. Bobby of this universe had died some time ago, and the Bobby that was still here was a whole other can of worms. Traveling in this forsaken world where so many different decisions shaped their environment only served to highlight how out of place they were.
It wasn't too long before the Winchesters of this world heard back from their alternative selves, asking for help, for they had nothing else and no place to go. It was Sam and Cas that ended up convincing Dean to let them in for a time until they could get the two back on their feet and adjusted.
D. -- our trust fund alternative Dean -- sits at the dining table across from our normal Dean, contemplating. He had many questions to ask, but understood that Dean wasn't the patient kind. But he has to ask, he has to ask because every time he sees the angel pass by in the Bunker, making it apparent that they all lived together, something in him churns and broils, and he can't stand the feeling.
Eventually, Dean notices, looking up from his laptop when D. wouldn't stop flipping a bottle cap against the table. His skin crawls at seeing this distorted reflection of himself stare.
"What's wrong?" Dean asks bluntly, eyes darting over the man's face and the cap in his hands.
D. fumbles with the cap. "... A lot," He admits, suddenly not wanting to look at him. He can't tell if it's because the pain of loss was still prevalent, or if because he was embarrassed.
"Apparently," Dean replies, rubbing his face. He pauses for a moment, deciding, then closes his laptop to give the man his attention. "Alright, let's just do this. Talk to me."
D. backpedals. "You know what, it's probably not a big deal--"
"Buddy, I've been through literal Hell and back, I've seen shit you wouldn't even believe, but not my whole universe dying," Dean says, shaking his head. "Regardless of whatever... of however the hell Dad raised you, we're still the same guy, and I know for damn sure things only get worse for us when we don't talk. So, talk."
Funny enough, the bluntness of how this Dean spoke reminded him of his father. Meeting his eyes now, D. could draw even more parallels; this Dean is filled with scars, his skin different and coarse, hands calloused, crow's feet etched deeper into his face than his own, and his eyes -- those eyes carried the weight of the world, a burden he previously only saw in his father's eyes and those of veteran hunters on their last legs. Of soldiers, even. Life on this world did not treat him well, and it was no longer fascinating to be in a different universe.
But still, this Dean had many other good things in exchange, so he has to ask --
"... You guys said your dad died in this world, right?"
The question catches Dean off guard for a second, but he seems to shake it off. "Yeah, a while ago. He wasn't as goody two shoe perfect like yours if that's where this is going."
"So I've gathered. But, no, not my point, I just..." D. leans in, his voice a bit quiet when he finds the guts again to speak, as if imparting some great secret. "If he's not around, does that mean you got to be with... you know?"
D. makes a gesture Dean doesn't quite understand. He furrows his brows, holding a confused hand out. "... you know?"
D. grimaces slightly, drumming his fingers and pointing his head towards the hallway. "You know? Him?"
Dean doesn't want to answer. He feels something in him flip as his mind puts together the question, but he decides to pretend he doesn't understand. He's misinterpreting this, perhaps, and maybe this question is just--
"With Castiel." D. finally clarifies, and when Dean looks back up at him, there's almost a desperate expression on his face.
Immediately, Dean finds himself defensive. He chokes out a dismissive laugh, waving him off. "What? What are you -- Buddy, I don't know what kind of--"
"He lives with you, I noticed," D. continues, resting back into his chair. "You all have this... family. Sammy's here, Castiel's alive -- you guys even have a son --" He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I had to hide this stuff from my dad. But you..."
Dean's heart stops for a moment, registering the words spoken. D. had been talking about his life in his universe, sure, but never anything personal, always just the broad strokes of their successes and accomplishments, things that made Dean feel more disconnected and able to think of the other man as just a stranger, and not some weird version of himself. Considering how different things were, he didn't even stop to wonder if Castiel had been in this other life, and what he must have been like --
"... Me?" Dean looks around, as if expecting someone to walk in on the conversation. He brings his voice to a hush. "No, I don't know, I mean -- you, ah, you... were with him?"
D. quietly reaches into his pocket, fishing out a black leather wallet with presumptuous sigils embroidered into it. He pops it open, sliding out a small photo that had been tucked away safely in it and sets it down for Dean to see.
His chest flares upon seeing it.
It's a relatively old photo, D. in a nice tux, a bright smile on his face and blurred confetti falling over him, and his arm looped around another. Dean gently pulls the photo closer with a finger, eyes trailing over the other man in a matching tux, unmistakably that of Castiel, planting a kiss on D.'s cheek. The photo radiates a pure joy Dean would only dream of, and he doesn't expect the effect it has on him, eyes stinging as the feeling of longing he'd always buried swung back full force.
"In secret," D. says, his voice strained. "Bobby, Sam, Ellen -- they were witness to our, ah..."
"Wedding..."
D. nods, cracking a sad smile. "Dad would kill me if he found out. It's been the worst secret I've had to keep. And I just... keep thinking about him. We already used his grace to help open this rift, and he didn't even..."
Dean can only stare. D. and his brother had come alone, but he remembers the comments he made about them all going together. Those two were likely the only survivors to make it, and D. was just lucky to be numb enough not to feel the loss immediately. Dean remembers the pain that haunted him when he couldn’t bring Cas out of Purgatory -- he doesn’t even want to imagine what his other self must be feeling.
"But he's alive here," D. manages to continue, searching for that silver lining. "He's... not as happy as mine, but he's here. And he's with you. I can take solace in that."
Even in this alternate universe, Dean loved that angel. Even in this other world he found love in the same man -- same angel. To say Dean didn't love Castiel, well, he knows he's been lying to himself, but it was always easier to repress it and focus on their work and end times and hunting and anything to keep his mind off these feelings that had been gnawing on him for so many years.
But this other Dean had everything, even Cas despite hiding it. He felt guilty, suddenly, that this Dean, who had everything, envied him.
Dean snaps out of his train of thought when he recognizes the body language change in the other man, watching as D. rebuilt walls around his ego and puts on a smile that says 'I'm okay'. Some things were still universal. "Well, sorry to bug you, guess I was just too curious. I uh, hope I didn’t make you feel weird, I realize I don’t know what... you guys are like here.”
“No, it’s okay, I think I just wasn’t, well,” He laughs a bit, scratching his neck. “Expecting that. I mean, it’s not a bad thing, I guess I just kind of...”
D. raises his hands his hands. “If I made you uncomfortable--”
