Chapter 3: Try Not to Tear it Apart

So, I don't want this to end up being too long. Ten chapters, max, but, there doesn't seem to be much interest in this? If not, I'm just gonna abandon this little project of mine and (attempt) to focus on Let's Don't Stop 'Till We Bleed. (Chapter Five has been wrapped up in a bow sent to my Beta, so, that'll be coming your way soon if you've been keeping up with it!)

This feels horribly out of character. Please, constructive criticism would be the best gift you guys could give me. Please, please tell me if this is as horribly OOC as I think it is.
UnBeta'd, all mistakes are my own.
DC: Sigh. I wish. I honestly wish.

"What's the point?" Dean asks the Doctor, whose sitting in the passenger seat of the old beat-up car that is most defiantly not the Impala, dangling the piece of metal between his fingers, taking his ever-famous sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and pointing it at the unidentifiable object. It lights up and whirs, and Dean swerves the car with a, "Whoa!" When he's regained control of the vehicle, and they're driving steadily on the bumpy road again, he gives an exclamation of, "What the hell is that thing?!"

"It's a sonic screwdriver," the Doctor says offhandedly, frowning still at what's in his hand. "Will my TARDIS be alright?" he looks up at Dean, tucking both objects into his pocket, eyes glinting brighter than before.

"Your what?"

"Time and Relative Dimensions in Space," Castiel says from his place in the back seat, and though he's looking out the window and studying as much of his darkened surroundings as he can, he's sure the both of them can tell he's desperate to be a part of the conversation, to be useful.

"What is that, your spaceship?" Dean gives no acknowledgment to the angel, and it's starting to strike a nerve, over and over, unrelenting.

Something must have happened, he decides, in this version of 2013. Something unrelated to him. Something else.

Something.

"And time machine," the Doctor adds on, leaning over the dashboard while putting his slim, pale hands on it. "This car of yours moves rather slow."

Dean gives the Doctor an angry look, and immediately punches the gas – the car groans in protests, but gains speed.

"Better," the Doctor nods.

"You never answered my question," Dean's grip on his steering wheel tightens. "If this is some alternate dimension, like you say it is, then what's the point of trying to save it? Man, it's long gone anyway, but still. You have your own Happy Days world to get back to." He sets his mouth in a firm line, "What year is it, where you're from?"

"2009," Cass interjects.

"Ah, the good ol' days," Dean gives a bitter laugh that makes Castiel cringe. "And you're saying it's not different, from yours? How things are going?"

"We are still trying to stop Lucifer," Castiel meets Dean's gaze in the rear view mirror, holding it there for as long as he can. Dean's still not looking away, so he continues. "Zachariah, he took the Dean from my dimension here, in your 2014."

"Figures," Dean snorts, breaking the eye contact between him and Cass. "He didn't do that to me, in 2009, I mean, though."

"Different dimension, different possibilities. There are an infinite number of them," the Doctor gaze travels between the hunter and the angel. "There's one where traffic lights are blue!"

"My assumptions are since you had no idea it would come to this, you never met back up with Sam," Castiel explains, wishing more than he probably should that Dean was still looking at him, even if it was through the transference of a mirror.

"So, what, you're saying this is my fault?" Dean snaps, hands still tightening sporadically on the wheel. "This whole God damned apocalypse is my fault because I didn't meet back up with Sam?! That was his choice, Cass, damn it. He's the one who walked away, he's the one who said ye –" He cuts off, choking, and his eyes are alive and red with rage and sadness, and that foreign lump in Cass' throat is bigger and hurts more than ever.

The Doctor doesn't offer a comment.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispers.

"Stick a sock in it," Dean snaps, and turns the wheel sharply to the right, bumping over a series of hills and rocks. Off in the distance, Castiel can see a cluster of cabins, black silhouettes against the grayish-blue background of trees, and a thought appears in his head.

"Doctor." The Doctor turns around and looks at him expectantly. "Is it alright to have interactions with my alternate universe self?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the Doctor nods vigorously, "No harm in it! Good thing, too, those Reapers, they're quite bothersome, loads of trouble."

"Reapers?!" Dean gives the Doctor another of those suspicious glances.

"Not the kind you're thinking of," the Doctor comments, "There's different . . . species for all of your monsters. Different Reapers, different werewolves, different vampires. Even a different Satan."

"Oh, great, 'cause we didn't have our ass full of them already!" Dean's angry, eyes narrowed and voice rough with sarcasm. Castiel flinches without really thinking about them, and leans back in his seat, as far away as he can get.

There's another moment of silence, in which the Doctor's still glancing back and forth between the two of them, but another bump over a hill and the halting of the vehicle breaks that – the Time Lord and the angel both look out the windshield, eyes wide, gazes curious, while Dean simply climbs out of the car without a word.

He slams the door behind him, causing both the Doctor and Castiel to jump in their seats. They watch as he storms off towards a cabin to right, with multicolored strings of beads hanging in an otherwise empty doorway; he pushes through them, and disappears inside.

"Shall we follow him then?" the Doctor says more cheekily than Castiel thinks is appropriate, and in the next second is bounding out of the car after Dean. He, too, vanishes through the doorway, but from his place in the back seat several feet away, the angel can still hear him laughing loudly.

Cass is still wide-eyed in his place, fingers curling around the back seat. He's not quite ready for this, not ready to see what this universe is composed of. If it really is the way Dean, his Dean in his universe, described . . . It shouldn't exist. It's more than likely dangerous, a threat, against the laws of his Father's Creation. A rebellious act.

He's not one to talk.

And then there's the matter of the Doctor. The Time Lord just dropped out of the sky, told the angel they were going to save the world. Cass wouldn't be surprised if the Doctor knew how it all ended, how everything turned out. More accurately, he expects him to know. He can see it in the shadows of his eyes.

The thing about the Doctor is he's about helping people, no personal gain whatsoever, and that's a rather admiral attribute. But Castiel's time with Dean, with Sam, with his own brothers, has taught him that not every body can be trusted.

He shouldn't trust the Doctor. But he does.

Said Doctor stuck his out of the doorway just then, and it really doesn't need to be said that he's grinning yet again. "Oh-ho-ho, Castiel, you're going to get a real kick out of this one! Come, come see, it's brilliant! Absolutely, one hundred percent, bloody brilliant!" He laughs again and ducks back inside.

That curiosity he's had ever since he fell from Grace surges through him again and slowly, he's peeling his fingers off the leather of the seat in front of him, and they're grasping the handle of the car. He gets out awkwardly, his movements stiff.

No, he's not quite ready for this.

This fact burns stronger in his mind when he steps through the doorway, pushing through the multicolored beads, his eyes falling on first, Dean, whose sitting backwards in a wooden chair, forehead resting on the top, and then the Doctor whose practically vibrating with excitement.

And then . . . himself.

He and his alternate self lock eyes, and there's a collective gasp between the two of them.

"Castiel, meet Castiel!" The Doctor exclaims with another laugh. "Castiel seems to have broken his foot, had a bit of a mix-up with a Croat, no big deal. You'll heal quickly, am I right?"

Alternate Castiel gives a lopsided smile that Castiel himself has never once even attempted on Jimmy Novak's features. He isn't even sure if he knows how.

"This is rather interesting," alternate Castiel says with a slight slur. His eyes are glazed over, and not quite focused on, well, any thing.

"Are you alright?" Castiel takes a step forward. The air between them is static-filled and wrong, the same sticky-molecule feel clinging to every spare inch of Castiel's flesh.

"It's just the pain meds," Dean mutters from his place in the corner.

"Ah, yes, I apologize for that," alternate Castiel murmurs, gaze focused on his bandage-wrapped left foot. "Perhaps this wasn't the best of times for you to stop by." He tilts his head towards the Doctor. "Though, I haven't seen you in years."

"You've met me, before?" the Doctor finds a chair and sits in it, putting his elbows on his knees and balancing in his chin on the backs of his hand.

"Are their alternate versions of yourself, Doctor?" Castiel wonders out loud. He's an angel, he should know about these things, but ever since he fell from Grace, certain knowledge has been limited to him. This being one of those things. Then again, knowledge of the Time Lords in general was sparse in the first place, and that doesn't quite help.

"It's a big universe," the Doctor replies with a gleam in his eyes. "I suppose there would be."

"Of course there is," alternate Castiel grins largely, and his head falls back onto his pillow. He closes his eyes and sighs, "But you're not there yet are you."

"What are you talking about?" Dean lifts his head and frowns as him.

Alternate Castiel waves his hand and chuckles, "Again, I apologize, it's the medication. Ever since this whole thing with my foot -"

Dean snorts, "Please, it started before that."

There's a sudden tension in the room, and Castiel stands awkwardly. The Doctor, on the other hand, is exchanging his glance between the trio with the look of utmost fascination on his face.

Dean notices this. "What?" he snaps, folding his arms across his chest.

"What?" the Doctor repeats, perking up. "Oh, no, don't mind me, just observing!"

"Hey, this isn't some soap opera put on for your enter-friggin'-tainment," Dean stands up.

"Dean," both Castiel's warn at the same time, and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees the Doctor press his mouth into his fist, as if stifling laughter.

This irks him more than it probably should. "What about this do you seem to find so amusing?"

"Wow," alternate Castiel breathes, "I really did have a stick in my ass, didn't I?"

The Doctor can't contain himself any longer – he's breaking out in loud, long peals of laughter, to the point of where his eyes are water and he's practically doubled over in his chair. "That!" He points at alternate Castiel. "The two of you, together, it's absolutely -"

"Bloody brilliant, we know," Dean snaps. The Doctor shuts up, leaning back in his chair, but the corner's of his mouth still twitch. Dean continues, "Saving the word, my ass!" He's venting now, Castiel can tell. He's seen it happen before. "Sitting around, laughing your assess of. I'm glad you find this all so damn funny. I'm glad that my life only exists for the purpose of giving you your own personal dinner and a show!" He's breathing hard now, fists clenched at his sides and his eyes are tinted red with fury.

The Doctor stares back for a long moment. "Are you done now?"

Dean scoffs at this, casts the other three in the room a dark look, and storms out. Castiel makes a move to follow him, automatically, but his alternate self says, "Let him go." And he stops.

"Castiel," the Doctor says then, drawing the attention of both them. He focuses on the alternate, strung out one, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the twisted piece of metal he'd picked up before. "Do you recognize this?"

Another one of those lop-sided grins, "It's a screwdriver."

"Yes, but what type of screwdriver?" the Doctor waves it back and forth as he says this.

"Laser," alternate Castiel shrugs, and then tilts his head. "Have you met Professor Yana yet?"

"No," the Doctor frowns. "Who is Professor Yana?"

"Spoilers," alternate Castiel winks, like this is some inside joke they've shared, that the Doctor should know. "But, no, really, I can't tell you, not yet." He yawns. "I'm not exactly, what you say, sober right now either. I think it'd be a good idea if I got some sleep."

"I have no need for sleep," Castiel says without really thinking about.

"You will," his alternate self corrects, head falling back on his pillow and eyes closing.

"Not if we can help it," the Doctor says softly, and something flashes deep in his dark eyes.

Alternate Castiel goes wide-eyed then, sitting up, and turning to the Doctor. "Doctor, you told me once that traveling between parallel worlds was impossible."

The Doctor leans back in his seat and runs a hand almost nervously through his hair. "Ah, yes, I did, did I?"

"Yes," alternate Castiel leans towards the Doctor.

"I don't understand," Castiel frowns. "Zachariah could, and we are here now. If what you told . . . me, was the truth, then how could we be here?"

The Doctor sighs, "It's all very complicated, really. A big ball of wibbly-wobbly, after all." He looks back and forth between the two Castiel's. "Preexisting universes, the one's your Father created, they're sealed off, inaccessible, even with my TARDIS. You lot can access them, of course, because you have a part of Him in your Graces. But," he raises a finger, "The ones built around a particular person, or being, a soul, if you will, they exist. Floating forever in time and space, like their own little bubble."

Alternate Castiel tilts his head, "So you're saying there's two types of parallel universe. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Neither have I," Castiel says, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels rather foolish.

The Doctor ignores this, "You could put it that way, yes."

"Fascinating," alternate Castiel leans back on his pillows.

The Time Lord grins, "Isn't it though?"

Castiel interjects, "These ones that aren't built by God Himself, these are the ones accessible by your TARDIS?"

The Doctor nods silently.

"This is a personalized universe," Castiel turns the idea over in his head. "Built around Dean."

"It would appear so," the Doctor concurs. "Your brother, Zachariah, created this world. Not your Father."

"Zachariah made this?" alternate Castiel repeats with a frown.

"Yes," the Doctor and Castiel say at the same time. The latter goes on to explain, "I had presumed he'd tore it down, however, after he returned Dean to our universe."

"Well, even if had, it'll never stop existing," the Doctor folds his hands in front of him. "Nothing ever really stops existing."

"You tell people that, though, don't you, Doctor?" alternate Castiel offers another one of those smiles that Castiel himself thinks is all wrong.

The Doctor hesitates. "Only when I need to. Only when it's better for them."

"This universe is a bubble that Zachariah blew," alternate Castiel plays on the Time Lord's earlier analogy.

"Every universe is it's own soap bubble, in one big, massive bathtub!"

"Well, then, who's taking a bath?"

And then the three of them fall silent.