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Dean groans, hips trembling with the effort of not fucking into Castiel’s hot, wet mouth. Dean’s hands are resting on Castiel’s head, not pushing, not pulling, just hanging on as Cas swallows around him like a pro, tongue and hand moving in concert. The former angel is on his knees on the mattress, mouth moving enthusiastically over Dean’s cock and hips canted up in the air, legs spread to allow Dean’s future self between them.

The other Dean has three spitslick fingers buried to the knuckle in Castiel’s ass, fucking him roughly in the name of getting him prepared. Cas doesn’t mind, not if the moans vibrating through Dean’s body are any indication. Cas rocks between them, desperate to pleasure Dean with his mouth and greedy as all hell to get fucked on the other.

It’s one of the hottest things Dean has ever seen.

Furture Dean pulls his fingers out, ignoring Castiel’s soft cry at the loss, and spits into his palm. He strokes himself, hooded green eyes focusing on the stretch of Castiel’s lips around Dean’s dick. Future Dean looks up at his younger self then, a grim, satisfied smile on his lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks, amused. He places a hand on the curve of Castiel’s ass, caressing it. “Cas turns into a total slut for cock, once he gets a taste. Bet you didn’t know that about angels, did you?” He shallowly dips his thumb into Castiel’s body, just enough to play with the sensitive rim. Cas moans around the younger Dean’s erection. Dean bites his lip to keep from groaning too loudly, trying to stave off his orgasm.

“Cas, oh fuck,” he says, hips jerking into the wet suction, unable to help himself. Cas takes it in stride, moving with Dean’s hips so he doesn’t gag.

Future Dean withdraws his hand and settles himself against the headboard, half-reclining with a pillow beneath his lower back for support. He strokes himself again, thumb playing over the sensitive head.

“Come here,” Future Dean growls. Cas sucks slowly along Dean’s cock, swirling his tongue around the tip just right before letting it go with a wet sound. His lips are bright red and wet from the suction, glistening in the dim light, and Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to lick his way into that sinful mouth and taste himself on Cas’s tongue, to make this tangible and real, but Cas is already moving.

“You want me to ride you?” Cas asks as he turns, voice hoarse and low. He walks on his knees to where Dean from the future is reclining, the eyes of his so-called ‘fearless leader’ gleaming predatorily. Cas starts to slide one leg over the other Dean’s thighs, but future Dean stops him.

“No, turn around,” he says, releasing his cock in favor of grabbing Castiel’s hips and turning the former angel so he’s facing the younger Dean. “Let’s show him what a slut you are for this.” Future Dean bites roughly at Castiel’s neck, the closest thing to a kiss Dean has seen them exchange.

“Fuck,” Cas breathes, tilting his head back for more. Dean wants to echo the sentiment; this is the best view he’s gotten since Cas stripped down and it seems like there are miles of flesh on display. Castiel’s erection is thick and flushed dark between his spread legs, the hair encircling the base wiry and dark and trailing up over a flat stomach that leads to a defined chest with the most biteable collarbones Dean has ever seen. There’s a faint blush spreading over Cas’s neck and chest and Dean wants to follow it with his tongue.

Castiel braces himself on the bed and reaches behind himself. Dean can’t see what Cas is doing, but he can hear Castiel’s breath hitch and the slow slide of flesh-on-flesh (flesh-in-flesh, a part of his mind thinks dizzyingly). Dean squeezes the base of his dick to keep from coming right then and there, watching with rapt fascination as his future self bottoms out. Castiel lets out a soft sigh, breathing shallowly as he adjusts, but he isn’t granted much time. Future Dean’s hands come up, sliding possessively over the flesh of Castiel’s torso and then pulling him backwards, forcing the former angel to rest his weight on future Dean’s chest. The shift in position causes Cas to slide still further onto Dean’s dick, dragging a gasp from Cas’s throat.

“Might as well actually show him,” future Dean chuckles, breathless and distinctly without humor. He reaches down again, completely bypassing Castiel’s arousal in order to pull at his thighs.

Dean’s breathing stutters in his chest and fuck, he’s so glad he still has that grip on the base of his cock. A little bit of shifting, and his future self is holding Castiel’s legs behind the knee, pulling them up and apart so Dean has a clear view of the other’s dick inside Castiel. Cas’s erection is still flush red and full, clearly in desperate need of a hand, and Cas keep shifting, tiny little motions on top of his leader’s cock. He can’t move much in this position, but he’s clearly agitated, hands clenching in the bedsheets and sweat beading on his face and pink-tinged chest.

“Oh, shit… fuck, please…” Cas breathes, and he must have tightened around the other Dean or something because future Dean suddenly groans and gives the angel a small, hard thrust. Cas moans, head lolling back and mouth wide open.

“So impatient,” future Dean says, bending his legs at the knees and setting Castiel’s legs on the outside of his thighs to keep them spread. He lifts his hand to the former angel’s open mouth. He only has to extend three fingers and Cas is eagerly sucking them between his lips, body trembling with unreleased tension. His hands are on the knees of Dean’s counterpart, holding on as though they can anchor him.

“Yeah, get them nice and wet, you know what they’re for,” future Dean says roughly. Cas whimpers around the digits in his mouth, dick jumping with anticipation.

“What are they for?” Dean asks, voice hoarse and eyes fixed on Castiel. His future self grins at him.

“I told you Cas was a slut for cock,” he says, sliding his fingers out of Castiel’s mouth. A trail of saliva connects the tips to the former angel’s lips for a moment, then it breaks, and future Dean brings his hand down between Castiel’s legs. He presses one finger against Castiel’s already stretched entrance, teasing the sensitive skin for a moment before he carefully slides the digit in alongside his cock. “Sometimes one just isn’t enough.”

Dean can’t breathe, a sudden surge of lust choking him at the suggestion.

“Both of us?” he asks hoarsely. “At once?”

His future self smirks and Cas grins lazily.

“I’ve done it before,” Castiel says, biting back a soft groan as Dean’s older self shifts his finger carefully, slowly stretching him. “Nn… never when one wasn’t plastic, though. Our fearless leader doesn’t like to share.”

That certainly explained why the orgy Dean had walked in on had been women-only, if Castiel’s ass was off-limits. Dean briefly remembered the empty space at Castiel’s side, that wink when Dean had walked in… Dean suddenly wondered how often Cas had sex without future Dean being there, at least to watch.

“Not sharing now, either,” future Dean grunts, roughly adding a second finger. Castiel’s eyes flutter shut. “It’s still me fucking you.”

“Y-yes,” Castiel says breathlessly. “Ooh, fuck.” He purposefully clenches around the fingers and cock already inside him and future Dean groans.

Fuck,” he says. “Keep that up, and I’m not going to be able to wait.”

Dean can see the sweat on his older self’s face, see the faint tremble in his muscles as he tries to resist thrusting in and out of Castiel’s body. Dean wonders how he lasted this long; if it were him buried balls-deep in Cas, he’d be pounding the angel through the mattress.

‘Ex-angel,’ he reminds himself.

“Then don’t,” Cas says. “I’m ready. I want-” His voice breaks off into a low moan when future Dean slides his third finger in. He’s fucking Cas slowly with his fingers, though there’s a barely concealed tension in his wrist that reveals his impatience. “More.”

“You really think you can take two of me when you’re still this tight?” future Dean asks, thrusting his fingers in and twisting. Cas cries out. “We’ve never even used the big toys on you and now you think you can take us both inside this greedy little ass of yours?”

“Yes,” Cas moans out, grinding his hips down. Future Dean lets out a choked breath and removes his fingers.

“I hope you are ready, ‘cause I’m done waiting,” he growls. He slides his hands under Castiel’s ass and pulls him up, sliding out of him until only the very head is still inside the former angel’s hole. Cas makes a small, unconscious noise of protest but then he reaches for Dean.

“Dean, Dean please…” he says, and Dean doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets between his counterpart’s and Castiel’s spread legs, trembling in excitement as he presses the leaking head of his arousal against Castiel’s entrance.  Cas’s places his hand on Dean’s shoulder as he begins to push in slowly, pressing bruises into the meat of it as he feels himself stretch around the intrusion.

Cas is gasping, taking in strained, shallow breaths as future Dean steadily lowers him and Dean presses inside, stretching him well beyond their aborted preparations and filling him up with more than he’d ever taken. It hurts and it burns but it burns so good and there are tears leaking out of his eyes as he half-collapses forward onto Dean’s chest.

“Shit,” Dean says, pausing for a moment to breathe. He’s halfway in and Cas is like a vise around him, tight and hot and not wet enough. Dean begins to pull back. “We should-“

“No,” Cas grinds out, wrapping a leg behind Dean’s hips. “Continue. It feels…” His voice is tense and thin, but firm.

“Cas, we’re gonna break you-” Dean starts to say, but his future self interrupts.

“You heard him. Cas wants it,” he says, giving a tiny little thrust up into Cas that Dean can feel all along his shaft. He groans and Cas shudders with mingled pleasure and pain. “So let’s give it to him.”

Dean’s mind wants to protest, but he’s only human and so, when Cas wraps his other leg around Dean’s waist and squeezes around him, Dean’s resolve shatters. He pushes the rest of the way in, Cas’s breath hitching in his ear as the former angel feels Dean sink inside of him inch by inch.

Dean can’t quite bottom out, not with the angle necessary to fit them both inside, but he’s so close to it and damn he can’t remember the last time something felt this good. Cas is panting, still clinging to Dean, and future Dean straightens up slowly, pressing his chest all along Castiel’s back. Future Dean grabs Cas’s hips to hold him steady as future Dean rocks and jerks his pelvis, making sure that Cas really has taken as much of them as he can. Cas slides down another excruciating few milimeters, body clenching around the identical girths inside him.

They stop, waiting for Cas to adjust as he shakes between them, tension radiating from his frame. Dean leans forward a bit and presses soft kisses to the column of the former angel’s throat, gently mouthing at his collarbone and murmuring nonsense about how fucking good this feels. He doesn’t see Cas close his eyes, though he’s grateful for the extra access when Cas tilts his head and bares more of his neck.

Future Dean runs a soothing hand up and down Castiel’s side, like someone calming a frightened horse. His other hand slips over Castiel’s hip and beneath his sac to touch the stretched rim of his entrance, running a fingertip lightly over the taut flesh to feel Cas tremble.

“You haven’t been this tight in years,” future Dean mutters. “It’s like you’re a virgin all over again.” Future Dean drags his hand up, caressing Castiel’s balls and then encircling Castiel’s flagging erection with his fingers. He strokes Cas roughly, knuckles scraping his younger self’s stomach with every pass as he works the former angel between them back to full arousal.

Cas’s body slowly relaxes as it adjusts, the pain far from gone but pleasure beginning to hover around the edges. He grinds down tentatively, hissing through clenched teeth when knife-edged bliss shoots up his spine.

“You ready?” future Dean asks, drawing his thumb over the head of the former angel’s arousal. Cas whimpers and nods, head falling back. His skin is flushed from the roots of his hair to his navel and his chest heaves with every breath.

“Move,” he says, expression wanton and glazed by sensation. Future Dean immediately lets go of his dick in favor of grabbing Cas tightly by the hips to hold him in place. It’ll bruise, but Cas isn’t paying attention to that; his eyes, though slightly glassy, are as intense as ever and they’re boring into Dean’s. “Fuck me.”

Dean shuts his eyes against that stare, everything about it wrong and right all at once. He leans forward blindly, like he’d wanted to do since he arrived and realized that he could have this, even if only this once, and claims the former angel’s lips with his own. Castiel’s muffled noise of surprise is lost in Dean’s mouth and then Dean begins to move. Castiel’s grip on him turns punishing once more as he slowly rocks his hips and then thrusts back in.

The motion is awkward, given the angle and how gloriously tight Castiel is like this, but after a few more halting thrusts, Dean begins to get the hang of the movement. Future Dean begins to move then, too, holding Cas in place as he jerks his hips, short and sharp in counterpoint to his younger self’s longer, deeper thrusts. Cas is moaning, mouth wide open to draw in air, legs tightening around Dean’s waist and shoulder muscles bunching up and loosening as Cas tries to move to meet every stroke, but it’s too difficult to keep up and Cas lets his legs fall open. He lets himself go limp, melting into the sensations and giving up any semblance of control in favor of being fucked. He loses himself in it, becoming a receptacle for pleasure and an object for others to use and enjoy; like this, there are no emotions, there is no desire, just sensation. Like this, when he has been reduced down to just a body, he can’t wish for things he knows are impossible.

“You love this, don’t you?” future Dean growls in his ear, thrusting harder and faster. Cas takes stuttering gasps in response, reeling from sensation. “Tell him how much you love getting fucked, Castiel.”

The name rings like a mockery between the groans and gasps of the three men on the bed, carrying the traces of self-loathing that run through Dean’s voice whenever they remember what Castiel was. The name is angelic and holy and so far from the man in the middle, sandwiched between two copies of the man he loved but had lost, it’s almost funny.

Cas’s lips quirk weakly upward in a wry grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I… I love-” he gasps out in-between thrusts, staring at the younger copy of the man who laid claim to his body but had discarded the rest. His throat closes over the words and he shuts his eyes, reaching for pure sensation again. The younger Dean shifts just right, thrusts just that little bit harder, and Cas dissolves. “Oh, fuck…”

“You close?” Dean asks, taking a hand that, while callused and rough, is less so than that of his counterpart, and wrapping it around Castiel’s weeping erection. Cas can only moan as Dean strokes him swiftly, confidently, and brings him to the brink.

Future Dean’s thrusts are becoming slightly erratic, his breathing harsh, and past Dean is little better off. Still, Dean keeps thrusting, every slide into Castiel’s body more pleasurable than the last and the slow drag of friction from his cock rubbing so tightly against his counterpart’s sends jolts of bliss through them both.

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Dean starts, making as if to pull out so he can beat himself off. Cas clutches at him, shaking his head and locking his knees locking at Dean’s sides.

“Inside,” Cas breathes. “Come inside me, Dean.”

Those words rolling off of that tongue are nearly Dean’s undoing. He moans and thrusts back in roughly, quickening the pace of his hand as the rhythm of his hips increases. It doesn’t even take a full minute before he’s coming and he buries himself deep in the former angel’s body with a hoarse cry. Dean keeps his hand moving, determined to bring Cas off too, and the former angel is only seconds behind him. Cas’s body suddenly locks up all over and he shivers with the force of his orgasm, mouth open in a soundless yell as he comes all over Dean’s hand and stomach. Dean can feel Cas’s muscles clenching around him and he hears his older counterpart’s loud moan.

Future Dean leans back, pulling Cas off of Dean’s spent cock and grabbing the former angel tight around his hips. Dean watches in pleasure-drunk fascination as his future self begins pounding into Cas in earnest, hips moving faster and easier because now Cas is fucked-loose and cum-slick. Castiel’s legs are still on the outside of future Dean’s thighs, giving Dean the perfect view of his counterpart’s erection as it pistons in and out of the former angel’s body. Evidence of Dean’s release glistens on future Dean’s cock and on Castiel’s rim and inner thighs, more being forced out with every slap of flesh on flesh.

Dean imagines that some of his cum is being fucked deeper into Cas’s body too, rubbed into the walls of that tight heat he’d been buried in only a few moments ago, like a stain Cas will never be able to get rid of. He feels a flash of arousal at the thought, but he’s not young enough to get it up again so soon after coming.

Future Dean’s thrusts turn jerky and short and then he buries himself full to the hilt into Castiel’s body and comes with a low groan. Future Dean and Cas stay like that for a minute, Cas boneless and lazy on top of his fearless leader. The moment future Dean comes down from his orgasm, he pushes at Castiel’s hip, carefully rolling the former angel off to the side and sliding out of him in one smooth motion. Cas breathes out, slow but audible, as he is left empty once more. Streaks of pearl-white liquid dribble out of Castiel’s pink, puffy hole and run down his ass and thighs.

Future Dean eyes the sight appreciatively for a moment before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. He takes a corner of the stained sheet and wipes himself off perfunctorily before dropping the soiled part of the cloth back over the bed’s edge.

“Get some sleep, both of you. We’ve got a long day tomorrow,” he says, standing up and picking out his clothes among those discarded on the floor. He briefly glances back, eyes meeting past Dean’s for only a moment before his gaze flicks to Castiel’s back and then away. Cas hasn’t moved save to curl one of his arms beneath his head, his back to both of the Deans. He seems relaxed enough, apparently just too well-laid to move, but there’s a resigned set to his shoulders that makes past Dean uneasy.

The sight doesn’t seem to affect his future self at all, which makes it worse.

Future Dean finishes pulling on his clothes and doesn’t even glance back as he leaves. Dean watches the bead curtain sway, something indefinable churning his stomach. Whatever he’d expected from a possible future with Cas… this wasn’t it.

Cas sighs and pushes himself up, ignoring Dean in favor of half-walking, half-limping towards a large plastic bucket set up in the corner of the room. There are towels and bath mats laid out in a wide circle all around it; Dean only figures out why when Cas dips his arm into the bucket and comes back up with a sopping wet rag. He wrings it out a bit and then begins to wash himself with steady, practiced motions. Cas rubs at his face and neck, scrubs at his shoulders and across his chest, every so often stopping to get the rag damp again. Cas pauses at his waist and bends slightly, legs spread a bit so he can reach inside himself with two careful fingers. Cas drags the pads of his fingertips over his inner muscles, getting as much of the cum out as he can. Dean sees him wince as his knuckles brush still over sensitized skin, but then he pulls his fingers out with a soft sigh. More cum slides down his inner thighs, but the cooling liquid doesn’t seem to bother Cas. He quickly finishes washing up, free hand white-knuckling the side of the bucket when he carefully wipes the evidence of their activities away.

It has this sense of ritual about it, like watching a priest on his knees before an altar.

Cas hisses in a breath when he tries to bend over to reach his calves and Dean wonders just how sore Cas must be. Guilt threatens the lingering remains of the afterglow, but Dean squashes it down to a mere uneasiness in his gut as he gets up and pads over to the wash bucket.

Cas looks over his shoulder as Dean approaches, the lazy smile Dean is beginning to hate drawing his lips wide. It’s not Cas’s smile; Cas doesn’t smile, or at least, Dean’s Cas doesn’t smile with his mouth. Dean can always tell when Cas his amused because his lips will quirk, just slightly, and his eyes practically glow. Dean’s never seen an emptier, duller pair of eyes than this future Castiel’s. Even when this Cas’s mouth is smiling, his eyes are heavy and dark like they bear the weight of everything he’s lived through.

“Rags are in the bucket,” Cas says. Dean ignores the bucket in favor of plucking the still-damp rag from Castiel’s hands and kneeling down to wash the former angel’s legs. He hears Cas draw in a sharp breath but doesn’t look up, lifting one of Cas’s feet to rest on his thigh as he runs the rag over Cas’s skin. He does the same with the other leg, then gently sets Cas’s foot back on the floor and stands up. He can feel Cas staring at him as he dunks the rag back into the water and wrings it out. The water is a bit cold, so Dean shivers a little as he cleans himself off.

Warm arms wrap around him and Cas presses his nude form against Dean’s side.

“Want to go again?” Cas asks in his ear, low and seductive and such a stark difference from the Castiel Dean knows. His Cas is still terrified of hookers and never takes off the trenchcoat. This Cas is arching against him wantonly, completely naked and not caring.

Dean forces himself to chuckle, pulling slightly out of the embrace on the pretext of turning to face Cas.

There was something seriously wrong about all of this and though Dean had been able to ignore it in the heat of the moment, when it seemed like one of his fantasies was about to come to life, but now with the head up top once more in the driver’s seat it was a lot harder to ignore everything that was wrong here.

“Even if I could get it up so soon after coming that hard, your ass is still too sore,” Dean says, dropping the rag back into the water. Cas shrugs, grinning lewdly.

“That’s not the only hole I’ve got,” Cas replies, caressing his throat with one hand. “You could always fuck my mouth. You’ll love it.” He sounds too earnest, too eager. He says the words with such absolute conviction that Dean knows it won’t be the first time Cas has let Dean fuck his face when his ass was too sore to take it.

Something in Dean cracks at the realization and he thinks it must reflect in his gaze, because Cas’s smile suddenly fades.

“What happened to you, Cas?” Dean asks softly. Cas backs away and the air feels cold between them.

“I take it that’s a ‘no’, then,” he says, voice bland. Sighing softly, he walks back towards his bed with a stiff gait. Upon reaching it, he carefully kneels at the side of the mattress and gropes blindly underneath. “There are bound to be empty cots in the barracks. It’s right next to the armory - Chuck should be able to tell you what beds are open.”

Cas drags a good-sized, torn-top cardboard box out. Inside, Dean can see tens of bottles, bright orange and filled with different kinds of pills. Cas selects one, pops the cap off, and swallows what looks like two Vicodin as naturally as breathing. Cas stops up the bottle again and drops it into the box; Dean can hear it rattling. Cas kicks his stash of pills back under the bed as he crawls onto the mattress and this, too, has almost an air of ritual about it. It’s a trade of one kind of escape for another when the first is too hard to come by.

Only then does Dean realize what Cas said.

“Are you kicking me out?” he asks in disbelief, feeling a pang of something he doesn’t want to call hurt. Cas snorts a laugh, settling down on his side, one arm curled under the thin pillow cushioning his head and the other folded to his chest.

“What, did you want to stay?” Cas asks, voice dismissive and almost scornful despite his smile. Then he looks at Dean and sees his expression. The former angel’s gaze softens, something between wonder and hesitation creeping in at the corners of his eyes.

“So what if I did?” Dean demands flatly.

“Dean…” Cas says, and for a moment it sounds like his Cas on that bed, quietly reverent, but it isn’t. Dean knows that. “I only have one bed.”

“I don’t care, if you don’t,” Dean says immediately. Cas draws in a breath and it’s strange that this of all things, feels like uncharted territory. Dean waits by the bucket, watching for some sort of response from Cas, and at last Cas nods. Dean slowly walks back to the bed, the sound of bare feet on old wood loud in the otherwise quiet room. Dean feels like he’s approaching a skittish animal and, if the way Cas is staring at him is any indication, Cas feels very much like a wounded fox cornered by the hound.

Cas scoots back to make space for Dean as he climbs onto the mattress, though his eyes never leave Dean. Dean can feel them when he pauses to grab the sheet and pull it up over their naked bodies, can feel them when he reaches for a pillow that had gotten knocked off the bed, and then he meets the gaze with his own as he settles onto the mattress. Cas is very carefully keeping to his half of the bed, eyes wide and slightly glassy from the drugs.

There’s an invisible wall between them, or perhaps some gaping chasm because Dean has never felt so far away from someone he was so physically close to, or so unable to reach out and touch them. He swallows thickly.

“What’s with the staring?” he asks. Cas blinks quickly, like he thinks Dean might vanish into thin air if he stops looking for even a moment.

“I’d forgotten that you used to stay for something other than sex,” he says simply and in that moment, Dean feels a surge of self-loathing for a person he hasn’t even become yet.

“I’m not him,” Dean snaps. Cas just smiles sadly.

“Not yet,” he says. “But you will be. Just like I was once a seraph, eventually… this is what we become.” He doesn’t sound accusing and perhaps that’s the worst, that Cas can’t even blame him for this. And this is Dean’s fault, it must be; nothing becomes this broken on its own.

“What happened, Cas?” Dean asks again, hoping that this time the former angel might answer. The question rests heavily between them on the bed. Cas rolls onto his back, wincing a bit when his still-sore ass touches the mattress. Almost a full minute goes by without an answer. Dean figures that Cas doesn’t want to talk about it, so he opens his mouth to say something, but then Cas speaks.

“I Fell, Dean,” he says softly, staring at the ceiling. “In every way imaginable. I Fell from Heaven, I fell from Grace… I fell in love.” Cas glances briefly at Dean on that last one, eyes ancient and filled with a deep despair Dean doesn’t know what to do with. The glance chokes him, pressing on his chest with the weight of a mountain. “And then I fell into this.” Cas waves his hand vaguely to encompass the small cabin, with its stash of pills and a bucket set up for post-orgy washings.

Dean swallows heavily. He has words, he knows that, but they’re trapped somewhere far below his tongue and he can’t speak. That look Cas had given him had spoke volumes, things Dean has suspected but never knew for sure, things that this time’s Cas and this time’s Dean had stopped saying, that this time’s Dean had forgotten or disregarded.

Cas looks back up at the ceiling, weary.

“We should get some sleep. You heard our fearless leader. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” Cas’s smile, when he turns it on Dean, is vacant but bright, all of the right muscles movements and none of the right emotions. “It’s our last night on earth. Are you sure you don’t want to spend it reaffirming our existence?”

How many times had Dean used that line on women in bars? Usually it was more in terms of ‘anything could happen tomorrow, let’s seize the day’ rather than ‘the Apocalypse is nigh’ or ‘we’re going on a suicide mission tomorrow’, but even so.

Dean hesitates, but only for a moment before he lifts an arm and invites Cas closer.

“Come here,” he says, but Cas is already in motion, crowding eagerly into Dean’s space with relief in his eyes. Cas knows this, he’s familiar with sex so much more than any other form of intimacy. Dean’s similar, but he’s far from the same, andthis was never supposed to be their relationship. This was never what Dean had pictured for them, when he let himself think about it late at night, imagining that Cas felt the same way he did.

Now he has confirmation that Cas does, or at least that this form of Cas does, and it’s all wrong. Dean can’t fix it, not in one night, but there’s no one here but him and Cas. There’s no one to mock him for trying.

Cas starts by nipping and licking at Dean’s neck, unerringly seeking out every hotspot and teasing them exactly the way Dean likes. Dean grabs the nape of Cas’s neck and pulls him up for a kiss; Cas lets himself be drawn, lips already parted to allow Dean’s tongue entrance.

Dean kisses Cas, sliding his tongue into the former angel’s mouth. Cas responds with perfect technical skill and it’s hot and wet and arousing as fuck, but it’s empty. Dean deliberately gentles the kiss, lessening the intensity to something almost sweet.

Cas tenses and breaks the kiss, dropping his hand to cup Dean’s cock. He wraps his fingers around it and begins stroking him with quick, efficient movements designed to rapidly bring him to full arousal.

Dean reaches down and grabs Castiel’s wrist, stopping him. He gently pulls Cas’s hand up and rests it over his heart, then throws his arm around the fallen angel and pulls him in. Cas is like a mannequin, frozen and unyielding while Dean tries to wrestle them into a comfortable position. Dean’s semi-hard, but he can ignore it.

This isn’t about sex or gratification, not right now.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, voice actually shaking, and Dean holds him tighter, wriggling one arm beneath Castiel’s neck so he can embrace the former angel properly.

“What’s it look like?” he counters quietly. Cas tilts his head forward and gives a hollow chuckle, the sound muffled against Dean’s chest.

“Tricky bastard,” he says, sounding almost genuinely amused. He’s quiet for a moment, but when he speaks again, he sounds almost lost and Dean feels like someone’s taken his heart out back and whipped it. “We don’t do this, not anymore.”

Cas sounds like he can’t believe this is happening, like the only reason Dean could have to be close to him is when they’re fucking. This is somehow more intimate and more terrifying than thrusting into Cas’s body had been.

Dean swallows thickly.

“Maybe we should,” he says. He knows that Cas is referring to himself and his Dean, but all Dean can think about is his Cas. His angel, not the broken man Castiel will eventually become.

He holds this damaged version of Cas closer even as he vows that this Cas will never exist. He won’t let this happen; he can’t. No matter what, he will find a way to prevent this.

But this Cas is still Cas, no matter that he bears little resemblance to his former self, and Dean can’t stand the thought of him suffering. This isn’t his Cas, but if he can help this one, he will. He holds Cas tighter, running a soothing hand absently up and down the former angel’s back and is rewarded by the slow melt of Castiel’s body against his own. Tentatively, like Cas is still afraid he’ll vanish or get up and leave the bed the second Cas reaches back for him, Cas slides his arm across Dean’s chest and embraces him in return.

When Dean doesn’t pull away, Castiel’s arm locks around him and he moves as close to Dean as he can without actually being inside him. Dean gets the feeling that Cas would love to pass through his chest and curl up next to his heart, between his lungs, and never come out. Cas clings to him like Dean is the last real thing in the world, greedily soaking up the proximity, and Dean lets him, content and happy and guilty all at once.

They fall asleep like that, Dean nodding off long after Castiel’s slightly hitching breaths have evened out and his shuddering shoulders have stopped shaking.


Dean’s dreaming. He knows it’s a dream because nothing could possibly feel this good.

He’s hard and there’s a perfect tight, wet heat surrounding him. He thrusts up into it, moaning loudly, and is rewarded by Cas’s low groan of pleasure in return. Of course it’s Cas, it’s always Cas, and so Dean pulls him down for a kiss. Cas comes willingly, eyes literally aglow with emotion, and when they kiss Dean can almost taste it. Dean continues rocking his hips up into Cas lazily, in no rush to reach the end, and Cas seems to be enjoying the slow build of pleasure just as much as Dean is.

This Cas is clean and strong, still bursting with power and holy light. There’s nothing broken in this Cas, not yet, and Dean kisses him again, like if he does it enough times he can anchor Cas to this moment and never lose him.

“Cas,” he breathes in-between kisses. “Cas.

“Good morning.”

The vision fades, but the sensations don’t cease. Dean opens his eyes in a darkened cabin to find his back arching, hips moving in time to the hot mouth surrounding his morning erection. He’s disoriented for a moment, not sure what’s fact and what’s fantasy, but then the Cas between his legs pulls off with a wet sucking sound and grins up at him, lips red and swollen.

“Were you having a good dream?” he asks. He draws just the point of his tongue over the side of Dean’s cock from root to tip, then takes the head into his mouth. The sheet that had been covering them during the night lies discarded at the foot of the bed, so Dean has the perfect view of Cas as the former angel slides his mouth down. One of Castiel’s hands is wrapped tight around the base of Dean’s erection, holding him steady and stroking whatever Cas can’t easily fit into his mouth.

Fuck,” Dean gasps out when he feels his cock hit the back of Cas’s throat. Cas chuckles, the vibrations better than any Magic Fingers in any motel, and draws back once more.

“We have another hour until our fearless leader will rally the troops,” he says, pausing a moment to lick up some of the saliva covering the head of Dean’s arousal. “More than enough time, if you’re more interested this morning than you were last night.” Cas seems actually amused now, though Dean’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the wistfulness at the edges of his grin. “It certainly seems like you are.” He gives Dean a meaningful stroke, fist tight and just perfect. Dean’s not just hard, he’s aching, and he doesn’t have the strength or the will to refuse what Cas is so willingly offering.

He sits up and pulls Cas to him, claiming his mouth. Cas responds enthusiastically, but the kiss is just like the one last night; textbook perfect and impersonal, constructed to arouse but not to communicate. It’s empty, and Dean doesn’t want that. Not now, not when this is their last time, not when they both know Cas won’t survive the coming battle. Cas deserves more than empty pleasure and has for a while, and Dean silently vows again that this future will not happen.

But in this timeline, it already has and this Cas needs him now.

He softens the kiss as he had done last night, wrapping his arms gently around Castiel’s waist as though the man is a treasure, priceless and precious. He is, but that’s a sentiment too sappy for Dean to express in words, so he shows the former angel with his body. He trails his lips over Castiel’s jawline and kisses just under the curve of his jaw before mouthing and nipping his way down to the former angel’s collarbone. Cas is holding onto his shoulders, grip tight but not uncomfortably so.

Dean licks a stripe back up to Castiel’s neck and bites gently, high up on the angel’s throat. Cas tilts his head, moaning softly, and Dean takes that as an invitation to suck on the skin and create a more lasting mark. He does, and licks the reddened flesh to soothe it before he pulls away.

“Are you still sore?” he asks, one hand dropping to lightly cup half of that perfect ass. Cas grins and arches into him, feeling their encounter swinging back to more familiar territory.

“Not that sore,” he replies. Dean smiles and shifts, dragging his fingertips up Castiel’s side in a lingering caress as he clears the way for Cas to lie down.

“On your back,” Dean says. Cas complies, moving out from between Dean’s legs and onto the mattress beside him. Cas stretches sinuously and then rolls over, one hand smoothing over the planes of his stomach to rest just above the trail of hair leading down to his erection. He uses his other arm to prop himself up, elbow digging into the mattress beneath him. Cas grins and spreads his legs invitingly, the very picture of debauchery.

Dean settles himself between those legs, on his knees, and leans over Cas to kiss him again. Cas tenses, apparently not expecting it, then slowly, warily kisses back. Cas is searching, trying to figure out what Dean wants from the kiss if not physical pleasure, and Dean can taste it. Cas is holding back, keeping the barrier between his body and his heart firmly in place.

Dean wants to break that barrier.

He sucks Cas’s bottom lip softly into his mouth and nips lightly at it, just scraping his teeth over the fragile skin. Cas makes a small, pleased noise and throws a leg over Dean’s hips, trying to pull him in. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s back too, encouraging him to get to the main event.

Dean’s in no hurry. He breaks the kiss, but only to bring his mouth down to Castiel’s chest and draw his tongue between the former angel’s pectorals.

“What’s your rush?” he asks, pausing for a moment over Castiel’s heart. He tells himself it’s not on purpose. There’s a line between showing Cas how important he is and turning this into a total chick flick moment, and that would be crossing it. “You said we had an hour.” He kisses the flesh beneath his mouth and then moves immediately to one of Castiel’s nipples.

“Yes, but-” Cas starts, then breaks off into a gasp as Dean’s lips close over the hardened peak.

“Sensitive, huh?” Dean asks, licking Castiel’s nipple and inwardly delighted when Cas arches into his mouth.

“Yes,” Cas breathes, either encouragement or an answer, Dean can’t tell. He supposes it works both ways. Dean brings his other hand up to run his thumb over the other nipple, teasing.

Cas wraps his other leg around Dean’s hips as well and presses their lower bodies together, grinding against him desperately like the promise of a quick orgasm will distract Dean from his self-imposed mission.

Dean leaves Castiel’s chest in favor of kissing him again, thrusting down almost lazily to send spikes of pleasure through the former angel. Sex isn’t the goal, though, it’s just the method, and so Dean keeps his hip movements shallow and ultimately unsatisfying. Cas makes a quiet noise of frustration.

“Tease,” the former angel says into Dean’s mouth. Cas kisses him, another one of those impersonal, safe kisses, and though it definitely gets Dean’s body raring to go, there’s that level of distance between them that Dean wants to eradicate first.

The idea strikes him like lightening. He’s never done it himself, though he’s seen it in porn, had it done to him once or twice, and can vouch for it feeling fucking fantastic. Surely it can’t be that hard.

He presses another long, lingering kiss to Castiel’s lips, trying to bank Cas’s need to a slow burn rather than a flash fire.

“Drop your legs,” Dean says. He feels them reluctantly slide from around his waist and he smiles, rewarding Cas with a kiss to the bruise he had sucked into the former angel’s neck. “Good.”

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, echoing his question from the night before, when Dean had simply held him. Dean doesn’t answer, letting his actions be his response.

He mouths a trail down Castiel’s chest, hands running over the taut flesh appreciatively as he slowly makes his way to his goal. Castiel’s breathing hitches as Dean nips lightly at the twitching muscles of his abdomen.

“Dean…” Cas breathes as Dean continues downward. Dean bypasses Cas’s dick entirely for the moment, instead mouthing and nipping at the former angel’s inner thighs. Cas squirms, chest slowly flushing pink as he shifts his hips to try and get Dean’s mouth where he wants it. Dean pulls his head back and Cas stills immediately.

The air seems charged with anticipation, too thick to speak through. So Dean doesn’t. He gently presses on the inside of Cas’s knees and Cas spreads his legs wider without shame, canting his hips up in a silent plea for attention. Looking up at Cas’s face and the hopeful, slightly unsure expression the former angel wears, Dean has to wonder if his future self ever puts Castiel’s pleasure before his own. When was the last time his future self had gotten on his knees for Cas?

And had his future self ever done this?

Dean lowers his head to the apex of Cas’s thighs. He lifts one of Castiel’s legs and puts it over his shoulder before carefully spreading Cas’s buttocks. Castiel’s entrance is pink and still somewhat tender looking. Dean licks his lips to wet them, slightly nervous.

The mattress suddenly shifts as Cas props himself up on both elbows to stare down at Dean, lips parted in shock.

“Dean, are you- oh,” Cas says, breaking off into an almost inaudible gasp when Dean moves in and kisses his perineum. He sticks out his tongue and drags it over the sensitive skin, not stopping when the flesh under his tongue changes from smooth to gently ridged. Dean lightly licks Cas’s opening, mindful that the former angel is probably still sore, and he’s rewarded with a choked cry.

He expected it to taste, well… like ass. All he tastes is skin and sweat and he throws himself into the task with more enthusiasm, circling the puckered flesh with the very tip of his tongue before pressing it against, but not quite inside Cas’s entrance. His tongue almost slips right in anyway; Cas is still loose from last night.

Castiel’s breathing is ragged as Dean runs his tongue from the former angel’s tailbone to just beneath his balls, saliva running from the corner’s of Dean’s mouth as he messily wets the entire area. He returns to Cas’s hole, soft swipes over the sensitive rim and gentle presses that tease but don’t quite go inside. Cas’s hips are moving, tiny little jerks into the motions of Dean’s mouth, and Dean loves it.

When was the last time Cas had been concerned with no one’s pleasure but his own? When was the last time the only thing Cas had needed to do during sex was feel? There was a stark difference between allowing people to use your body for their pleasure and allowing someone to worship it for your own. Losing yourself in sex and sensation isn’t the same as enjoying it, and more than anything, Dean wants Cas to enjoy this.

He closes his mouth over the puckered skin and slides his tongue wetly inside of the former angel’s body. Cas cries out, leg tightening over Dean’s shoulder and his hands forming fists on the mattress. Dean pulls back and pauses a moment to smirk up at Cas, who is watching him with wide, passion-dark eyes.

“No one’s ever eaten you out like this before?” Dean asks, bringing a hand to his mouth and sucking two of his fingers inside with a deliberate moan. He keeps eye contact with Cas the whole time, a thrill of pride moving through him when Cas’s expression becomes even more lustful.

“No, Dean never…” Cas says before trailing off, voice slightly hoarse, gaze fixed firmly on Dean’s lips. Dean slowly pulls his fingers out, both slick with spit and he knows he’s making a mess but doesn’t care. He drags his fingertips over his bottom lip, leaving lines of moisture, and then turns his attention back to where it needs to go.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he says, lowering his hand and teasing Cas with both fingers for a moment, rubbing at the ridged skin before sliding one digit in. It goes in easily, with no resistance, and Dean and Cas groan simultaneously. Even though Cas is clearly loose enough to handle one, it’s not even stretching him, Dean takes his time. He wiggles the digit, spreading the spit on it to places his tongue couldn’t reach, and slowly fucks his finger in and out of Castiel. He licks around the hole, occasionally slipping his tongue into Cas alongside his finger.

Cas is panting, head thrown back and chest heaving, hips trembling with the need to grind down. He’s hard and aching, desperate to be touched.

“Dean…” he gasps out, licking his palm and then wrapping it around his erection. He squeezes lightly and moans, torn between wanting to jerk off and holding himself here, waiting for Dean.

Dean rewets his fingers and slides both of them inside Cas. They go in almost as easily as one did but still Dean takes his time, wanting to get Cas so loose and pleasure-drunk that there’s no pain when Dean pushes in.

“Let me,” he says softly, placing his hand over Castiel’s where it encircles Cas’s arousal. Dean briefly clasps Cas’s hand, then loosens his grip and strokes up to the tip. He takes the head into his mouth and laves it with his tongue before bobbing his head down. Dean’s not used to this, he doesn’t do it often enough to have any real skill, but this is Cas and so his enthusiasm makes up for his lack of finesse. He dips and strokes and twists his fingers, trying to move in some kind of rhythm, and even though he falters and stumbles it’s good enough for Cas. The former angel is making soft whining noises, practically choking on the sounds as his hips move in time to Dean.  His hand is still at the base of his cock, grip tightening, breath hitching.

“Dean… Dean, fuck me,” he says. “Please, I want…” His voice trails off in a groan of protest when Dean’s movements stop and Dean pulls away.

“Not yet,” Dean says, wetting three of his fingers this time. Cas watches, unconsciously licking his lips. Dean pulls them out, feeling saliva drip down his chin. “I want to get you ready for me first.”

“I am,” Cas says immediately. His eyes flutter shut in pleasure as Dean slides all three of his spit-slick fingers inside him. Dean moves them slowly, deliberately, fucking Cas gently with them as he stretches back up over Castiel’s body.

Cas feels the bed shift and opens his eyes, though they’re still half-lidded. Dean settles down, resting his weight on his forearm, elbow next to Castiel’s head. He kisses Cas softly again.

Cas takes a shuddering little breath and kisses back weakly, making a valiant effort to keep it in the realm of his other kisses, impersonal and arousing, but Dean can practically feel the barrier between his heart and body breaking down. Cas is wavering and Dean presses his advantage.

He breaks away and rests his forehead against Castiel’s, mouths still a bare inch apart.

“Come on, Cas, let go,” he urges, keeping up the smooth, steady rhythm of his hand. “Let go, I got you.”

Slowly, Castiel’s arms come up and wrap around Dean loosely, like he’s still not sure this is allowed, and Dean’s heart is tripping in his throat. This is almost capitulation, but it isn’t quite, not yet.

“That’s it, I got you,” he murmurs, dipping down briefly to brush their lips together in a chaste kiss. Beneath him, Cas comes undone.

Cas lets out a breath that sounds more like a sob and he grabs the nape of Dean’s neck to pull him back in for another kiss. It’s wet and messy and lacks finesse, but it’s raw and emotional and everything Dean had been trying to draw out of Cas since he realized it was buried. Now that it’s unleashed, Cas is greedy for it, like he’s trying to drink Dean in. It feels like victory and tastes even sweeter.

“Dean,” Cas breathes against Dean’s lips. “Dean.” His hips thrust up against Dean’s still-moving fingers, desperate for touch. Dean’s got some self-control, but he isn’t a saint, and Cas is loose and wet around his hand and so very ready for him.

Dean slips his fingers out and shifts, bringing his body directly over Castiel’s. Cas’s legs are already splayed wide, arms loose around Dean, and he’s staring up at Dean intensely, pupils wide. His face is flushed, lips slick and parted as he breathes.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this,” Dean says, nipping gently at Cas’s lower lip as he lines himself up. Cas kisses back, breaking only briefly to draw in a shuddering breath as Dean starts pushing in. Cas’s body stretches easily around him, welcoming him in, and the kisses don’t stop until Dean bottoms out.

They pause for a moment just to breathe, foreheads touching, bodies shaking with sensation and emotion, because this isn’t just fucking and they both know it.

“You good?” Dean asks, aching to move because Cas is hot and tight and perfectaround him. Cas gives a tiny nod, more because he doesn’t want to dislodge Dean’s head than from any kind of uncertainty, and his next word is muttered against Dean’s lips.

“Move,” Cas says. Then he’s kissing Dean desperately again, licking into his mouth with quiet, need-filled sounds Dean can’t resist. He rocks his hips slowly and runs a possessive, reverent hand over Castiel’s side. Cas brings his legs up to lock his knees around Dean’s hips, his heels digging into the backs of Dean’s thighs. They fall into a rhythm as easily as breathing, Castiel meeting every one of Dean’s long, slow thrusts. The pleasure builds just as slowly, but neither of them is in any rush to finish.

Cas’s fingernails rake down Dean’s back when Dean finally moves just right, striking the former angel’s prostate at the perfect angle. Dean groans at the slight sting and thrusts again quickly, slamming home and Cas chokes on air, fingertips digging into Dean’s flesh.

“Come on, Cas, mark me up, feels so fucking good when you do that,” Dean says, a litany of mostly nonsense, but he means it. He wants to carry the bruises and fingernail marks with him when he goes, little reminders every time he looks in a mirror, every time he twists his back, that this happened. He speeds up, hoping to pull another reaction out of Cas, and Cas’s back arches, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream as his hands claw at Dean’s shoulder blades. Cas’s hips still move, frantically meeting every thrust of Dean’s, and Dean moans out loud when he realizes how close Cas must be.

“Fuck, are you gonna come without me touching you?” he asks, kissing and biting at the column of Castiel’s exposed throat. The idea is so hot Dean nearly comes right then and there, imagining Cas climaxing from nothing more than Dean pounding into him. Cas is nodding, breathing harshly, and he yanks at the back of Dean’s head to pull him away from his neck.

“Yes… Dean, kiss me,” he says, breathless and demanding, and Dean has no desire to say no. He kisses Cas and it’s wet and messy and more air than tongue, because right now there’s earth-shaking bliss pouring through their veins and they need to remember to inhale because their bodies aren’t focusing on silly things likeair.

Dean’s thrusts start to become erratic; he’s so close, and from the sounds Cas is making, the former angel is right there with him. The distance between their bodies, the scant few inches except where they connect, are suddenly too many and Dean shoves his arms between Cas’s body and the bed, crushing Cas to his chest and burying his face in the side of Castiel’s head. Cas hugs him back, unmindful of the stinging scratches he’s laid out all across Dean’s back, and they rock together a few more times before Dean lets out a muffled cry, buries himself completely in Castiel’s body, and comes.

Dean’s orgasm triggers Cas’s own and he breathes Dean’s name, shaking in Dean’s arms as pleasure overwhelms him as it hasn’t done in years.

They lay like that for several minutes, riding the high until it has subsided completely. Even then, Dean is reluctant to move. He slowly pulls out, both himself and Cas sighing at the loss, and presses a gentle kiss to Castiel’s temple. Cas turns his head, angling it for a kiss, and Dean lazily obliges before shifting off of Cas and onto the bed. Castiel’s cum is a quickly-cooling, sticky mess coating both of their stomachs, but neither man much cares.

Cas turns as Dean lays down and kisses him again, almost before Dean has managed to settle. Cas insinuates himself into Dean’s arms again, stealing lazy, afterglow-bright kisses because he can.

Dean strokes Castiel’s side from hip to shoulder blade and back down again with the tips of his fingers. One of Castiel’s arms is holding tightly to Dean, tense even as the rest of his body is relaxed and loose, like he’s afraid this is the part where Dean gets up and leaves him alone and cold.

Dean doesn’t say anything, just keeps touching Cas and kissing him. He slides his second arm beneath Castiel’s head and drags him closer by the hip with his other hand until their bodies are once more pressed together. The kisses slow and then stop, no longer necessary. Cas buries his face in Dean’s chest as though trying to climb inside. Dean keeps stroking his back, trying to communicate through touch. He’s never been good with words.

If there’s anything Cas is a slut for, Dean realizes with a lump in his throat, it’s affection. Cas just learned how to substitute sex in its place.

Dean knows that they’re cuddling, knows that there’s nothing else to call this post-coital embrace, but he doesn’t care. He refuses to be the one to pull away, no matter how long it takes. Cas relaxes slowly, body turning boneless in increments, until he’s melting against Dean. If his breathing shudders suspiciously every so often, Dean pretends he doesn’t notice.

Minutes or seconds later - time has ceased to hold any kind of meaning - Cas lifts his head from Dean’s chest. His eyes are a bit watery as he kisses Dean, chaste and gentle and brief, and then he’s pulling back with a soft smile.

“We should get cleaned up. Our fearless leader will be coming around soon to make sure we’re all awake,” Cas says. He sits up and stretches languidly, then throws his legs over the side of the bed and walks towards the bucket in the corner. Dean watches for a moment, eyes lingering appreciatively on Cas’s ass, then he follows.

Cas is humming something light and tuneless when Dean comes up to stand next to him. The quiet between them is companionable as they clean the crusting messes off of their stomachs, though it’s punctuated by stolen glances. Cas’s smiles are almost shy and Dean grins tightly in response; he can see traces of his Castiel in them, the angel he’s never touched, and it hurts to think how far this Cas has fallen and wonder how much of it is his fault.

“Let me wash your back?” Dean asks. Cas seems only faintly surprised by the request; he dips his rag back into the water, wrings it out, and hands it to Dean without speaking. Dean lets the silence settle again and moves behind Cas, drawing the rag carefully over the smooth flesh of the former angel’s back. Cas shivers a little when stray droplets run down his spine, but doesn’t move until Dean wets the rag again and sinks to his knees. Dean starts with Castiel’s ankles and slowly works his way up each leg.

Cas widens his stance slightly, allowing Dean to clean between his legs and wipe up the mess of semen and spit that still seeps from inside Cas’s body. It’s not arousing in the least, nor is it meant to be, and maybe this will be the only time in his life that Dean is ever this attentive, but he feels like he’s trying desperately to squeeze a lifetime’s worth of worship and affection for Cas into a few short hours. There’s no one here to see or judge him for it.

Cas sighs when Dean gets back to his feet. Dean presses a soft kiss to the nape of Castiel’s neck, tasting clean skin and water, then tosses the used rag back into the bucket with a quiet splash. Neither of them hear the creak of the old wooden steps, the jangling of the bead curtain, or the sudden halt as Dean’s future self stops short.

“Looks like you two had some fun this morning,” future Dean says, voice clipped and tone positively arctic.

Dean turns, feeling all of the scratchmarks on his back burn under his counterpart’s glare. He meet’s future Dean’s gaze head-on, scowling in response. Beside him, he can feel Cas retreat once more, burying himself safely in the broken shell of the man he’d become.

Cas slings an arm over Dean’s shoulders and leans into him, grinning lazily.

“Of course we did,” Cas admits easily. “It’s the End Times, so we figured ‘why not bang one last gong before the lights go out’?”

Dean’s not sure if something about that phrase has particular significance to his future self and Cas, but he suspects it does, if the way future Dean’s expression suddenly turns murderous and almost hurt and then shutters is any indication. Cas seems completely unbothered by it, still standing loose and relaxed next to Dean.

“Be ready to go in twenty minutes,” future Dean bites out, turning on his heel and exiting the way he came. Cas seems surprised by the abrupt departure, like he expected an argument; his arm slips from Dean’s shoulders and he takes half a step forward, as if to follow, but no more. When future Dean’s footsteps finally fade, silence falls again, although this time it’s tense and uncomfortable. It’s a world away from the silence they shared when washing up and Dean wishes for a moment he knew what to do to get that brand of silence back.

Cas is the first to speak.

“Dean…” he says softly, staring at the beaded curtain. “Don’t let yourself become him.”

Dean glances around the small cabin, from the bed to the mats laid out on the floor, to the bucket in the corner and the strategically placed incense burners. His eyes linger on the barely-hidden box beneath Cas’s bed and he nods.

“I won’t,” he says, thinking of the way Cas’s expression had looked after future Dean had left them last night. He wonders what expression Cas is making now.”I swear, this won’t happen to yo-“

“Not for me,” Cas interrupts. He turns to face Dean, but his wry smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His eyes are tired and sad and Dean can almost feel the weight of the years dragging Cas down. Amazing what a few short years as a human could do to a creature that had walked the Earth before humanity. “For you.”

Dean frowns, not sure what exactly Cas means, but then Cas steps close to him again and rests a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek. Cas’s thumb swipes along Dean’s cheekbone and some of the weight in his eyes lifts when Dean meets his gaze. Their eyes lock.

“I’d forgotten what you were like. How beautiful you were,” Cas whispers, staring straight through Dean. It’s intent and invasive, almost uncomfortably so, but this isCas.

“Cas, I’m not-” Dean starts to say, because he knows Cas isn’t looking at his body. He’s somehow looking at Dean’s soul, or perhaps looking at a memory of it, and while Dean knows he’s sexy, he doesn’t think anything about his spirit could be considered ‘beautiful’. Not after Hell. Not after all the mistakes he’s made.

Cas doesn’t seem to hear him. He hasn’t even blinked. Dean’s eyes are watering, but he can’t bring himself to break the stare.

“That’s something he’s lost,” Cas continues. His eyes slide shut and he rests his forehead against Dean’s. “Find Sam. You need him and he needs you. Without him… we become this.”

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and hugs him tightly.

“It’s a suicide mission, you know that, right?” Dean demands roughly. He’s smart enough not to ask Cas not to go, but he can’t stand the thought of Cas going in there unknowingly. Something in his chest squeezes at the thought of Cas going at all and for a second, he imagines his Cas lying on the floor of some warehouse, wings burned into the ground beneath him, and he can’t breathe.

Cas hugs him back, no longer tentative or unsure.

“I will always follow you, Dean Winchester, no matter where you lead. Even if it’s straight to Perdition,” Cas says firmly, voice echoing with the power of the angelic being he once was. Then he chuckles softly, merely human once more. “But you already knew that.”

Dean did.


One minute, Dean is standing in front of Zachariah, expecting a smiting, and the next…

“Hello, Dean.”

He breathes out, instantly dropping his guard despite all of his father’s lessons about trust and supernatural creatures; the two were never supposed to mix. He looks at Cas, eyes roaming over the familiar trenchcoat, the rumpled suit and tie, the stoic face with its permanent five o’clock shadow.

“Nice timing, Cas,” he says. Cas smiles; it’s nothing like the expression his future self wore. This smile is just a quirk upwards at the corner of his lips, a light in his eyes, and Dean could kiss him the expression is so damn beautiful.

This is his Cas, already starting to fall but not broken yet. Never broken, if Dean manages to play his cards right. Looking at Castiel now, it’s hard to imagine how a creature this powerful, this magnificent, could be brought so low and warped into a beaten-down shell of a man.

Whatever happened in that timeline, Dean swears it won’t happen in this one. There’s almost nothing he wouldn’t willingly trade to ensure it.

“We had an appointment,” Cas says. Dean can’t help himself. He closes the distance between them and pulls the angel into a hug. Cas tenses, surprised but hopefully not displeased. Dean hangs on regardless. “Dean?”

“Don’t ever change, Cas,” Dean says firmly, though he keeps his voice down out of respect for the proximity of his mouth to the angel’s ears. Cas returns the embrace hesitantly, arms and body still stiff like he knows the mechanics of a hug but doesn’t have the technique down just yet.

The tips of his fingers land directly over some of the scratches his future self had left all over Dean’s back, pressing lightly against them through several layers of clothes. Dean shuts his eyes, reveling in the difference between this Cas and the one who had given him those scratches, then pulls back before the hug stretches on too long. He’d like to hold on, maybe never let go like he’s never really let go of anything that matters to him, but Cas still being Castiel has it downsides as well as its perks.

Future Cas might have been painfully in love with future Dean, but Dean isn’t sure if he and his Cas are there just yet.

Well, he’s not sure if his Cas is there and he isn’t willing to risk what they could have (if he doesn’t turn into a giant asshole) by trying to drag Cas into something he might not even want yet. Dean’s pretty sure he’s been falling since the barn - maybe even since being rescued from Hell, though he can’t remember a damn moment of it. It would sure as shit explain a few things - though he only realized it when Zachariah shoved him a few years into the future. Maybe he should thank the old bastard next time he saw him.

On second thought, no.

Castiel’s expression is confused but not displeased, head tilted slightly and brow furrowed. Dean smiles and claps Cas on the shoulder, dissipating the tension before it becomes dangerous.

“Come on,” Dean says. “Let’s find us a hotel for the night. I’m calling Sam in the morning.”

Cas nods slowly, still confused. If he finds Dean’s behavior odd at all, he’s apparently content to wait for an explanation.

“I thought you and your brother had parted ways?” Cas asks. Dean nods.

“Yeah, but there’s been a change of plans,” Dean says. He smirks. “I think that was Zach’s goal in sending me to the future. He knew I wouldn’t like what I saw, but there are better ways to change it than becoming an angel condom for one of the biggest dicks upstairs.”

“And what did you see?” Cas asks. The question is genuinely curious, but far too casual for Dean to believe that Cas has any idea what the future was like, or what he became.

The memory is at once incredibly chilling and beautifully bittersweet. Everything Dean had once thought he wanted with Castiel, he’d gotten with a Cas that had fallen so far he probably couldn’t see Heaven with a telescope, and it hadn’t been enough. Dean had done what he could, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten some (a lot) of enjoyment out of it, but there had been something huge missing until Cas had kissed him back with tenderness instead of pure lust.

Recalling that future sends a cold chill down Dean’s spine and ignites a sort of queasy lust low in his belly. He wants Cas desperately, but not like that. Not again, not with a Cas he’d damaged so badly.

“A lot of shit, Cas,” Dean says, looking away. Maybe he’ll tell Cas later, a few years down the road, but right now there are too many truths in the telling that Dean isn’t ready to reveal. There’ll be time to tell the story, once that future has been safely averted.

There’ll be time after Cas has given Dean a new set of scratchmarks to replace the ones his future self left on Dean’s back, after Dean’s sucked new bruises into the skin of Castiel’s neck and found out how an angel tastes. There’ll be time after Dean’s layered kisses over every inch of Castiel’s skin and slid inside him, nice and slow, after Cas has breathed out Dean’s name in pure bliss. There’ll be time after Dean has run a wet rag over Castiel’s back and between his legs because Cas is too fucked-out to move, after Cas wraps his arms around Dean at night and responds to Dean’s early morning kisses.

There’ll be time, but not now. It’s not their time yet, though looking into Castiel’s eyes, Dean dares to hope that their time isn’t far off.

So he’ll wait. This is worth not rushing, worth doing right, and hopefully this time he won’t break Cas in the process.