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Dean goes looking for Cas after the little war council. He knows the other him is holding something back from the others. Cas, no matter how doped up he is, will probably know what it is. Dean can't imagine any world, or any time, where Cas doesn't know exactly what's going through his head.
Cas is all alone in his little log cabin, which kind of surprises Dean; he figured Cas would be surrounded by his pack of loving admirers. Cas just smiles at him, casually smoking a joint. “Hey,” he drawls. “I knew you'd come looking for me. You always do, right before you try to get yourself killed.”
Dean sits back next to Cas.
“You want a hit?” Cas offers the joint to Dean. Dean waves it away and Cas shrugs and takes another drag.
“I always come to see you, right?” Dean asks.
Cas nods.
“Why's that?”
Cas laughs. “Why do you think, Dean?” Cas stubs out the joint in an overflowing ashtray. “Really?” He reaches over and hooks his hand around the back of Dean's neck, and maybe Cas has changed, but Dean doesn't think this has changed that much.
Cas tastes like sickly sweet ash and, if Dean were willing to get poetic, like despair. Dean kisses him back, sliding his hands through slightly greasy hair. He pushes Cas against the stained and sagging futon. He's totally adrift now and, no matter how much Cas has changed, Cas is still his rock. And it's not exactly the first time they've done this.
Cas moans and arches into his touch. “Oh, God,” he moans, grabbing at Dean's shoulders. “You don't touch me like he does.”
“What?” Dean pulls back, hands on Cas' thighs.
Cas' eyes close. “When you touch me, it's like it's five years ago. You still touch me like I'm a person.”
He pulls Dean back down and kisses him again. Dean responds with desperation. Of all the horrible things he's seen since he was slammed into this time, Cas is right up at the top. His beautiful angel, down in the dirt with him, distracting himself with drugs and sex. He kisses Cas like he could fix him.
The ludicrous bead curtain tinkles and Dean hears himself laugh. Dean disentangles himself from Cas' arms— God, the man's like an octopus — and looks back at himself. And that thought's enough to make Dean consider sampling Cas' drugs.
His future self is standing there, arms crossed now, and laughing. “You really are a slut, Cas.”
Dean looks between himself and Cas, and he can see the mix of hatred and longing in both their eyes.
God, but everything's tangled up these days.
The other Dean stalks across the dirty floor and kneels on the futon next to them. Dean reels back from himself. He really doesn't like this future version and he definitely didn't sign up for an orgy. Cas grabs desperately at him as the other Dean kisses him roughly.
And suddenly, Dean can see exactly what Cas means. The other Dean kisses Cas perfunctorily, hands rough and uncaring. Great, so in the future he's a murderer, a torturer, and a bad lay.
Cas pulls away and grabs Dean, dragging him into another kiss. Wet and hot and soul-sucking, Dean kisses Cas like he wants to be kissed. He can feel the other Dean's eyes on them as he pulls Cas' shirt over his head. Cas moans and slides his hands under Dean's shirt.
Dean almost jumps when the other Dean grabs Cas around his waist and hoists him into his lap. Dean watches as his future self unbuckles Cas' belt. Cas leans forward and lifts Dean's shirts, sucking kisses into his skin.
“So do you suppose this is incest or masturbation?” Dean asks, watching his other self.
The other him smiles grimly. “Masturbation.”
Cas lifts his head momentarily. “It's awesome,” he slurs.
“You would think that,” Future Dean says.
Dean just runs his hands through Cas' hair.
Future Dean lifts Cas to his feet and pushes him towards the bedroom. Cas looks over his shoulder and smiles flirtatiously back at both Deans. Dean follows Cas into a large room lit by a multitude of candles. The bed is huge, two king mattresses pushed together. Dean guesses that's kind of necessary for Cas' orgies.
Cas is stripping like a hardened whore — and wow, was their talk about absent fathers ever spot on — and watching them both expectantly. Dean looks at himself and shrugs; what the hell. The world's gone to shit, might as well get in some kinky action before he gets whammied back to the past to actually deal with all this.
“I'm not kissing you,” Dean remarks to his future self.
“No shit,” snarks the other Dean.
By the time Dean's stripped to his jeans, Cas is lounging naked on the bed with a large, and, half-emptied he notices, bottle of lube.
The future Dean grins, crawling onto the bed. “Chuck hoards toilet paper and you hoard lube. And drugs.”
Cas grins, and there's a manic edge to it. “All the important things in life.”
Dean's really too busy staring at the two of them to listen to the banter. All the scars Cas took away when he brought him back to life are back, and multiplied. His future body is covered with scars. All over; some fresh, some years old. The hand print on his shoulder is so faded Dean can barely see it.
Then Cas flips the two of them over, sitting on the other Dean's hips. And his back, oh God, his back. Castiel's body is littered with new scars, but his back looks like someone took a cane to him. More likely a whip; Dean knows these things.
Cas looks back at him. “Joining us?” His smile is actually a smile this time and Dean can't resist him.
He shucks his jeans, pulling down too-tight boxers as he goes. He drops down on to the bed and kisses Cas like he's drowning. His Cas is all strong and elegant, whereas this Cas is all broken and pleading and Dean still wants him; almost wants him more. The first time they had sex was the night before Cas almost died, so it makes sense that this time they all might die.
Dean pushes Cas back onto the gigantic mattress and Cas' hands are on his naked skin, but they're not smooth and soft anymore. Dean touches Cas reverently, softly, afraid he's going to break apart at any moment. Cas flips them over and settles over Dean's thighs — apparently future Cas like to be on top. Cas leans down and whispers in his ear, so softly not even the other Dean hears it, “I have missed you so very much.”
Dean clutches at Cas as his hands slink down to curl around Dean's dick . Dean arches up; it's still weird to be touched by rough, calloused, male hands. While he's distracted, another set of hands lands on his hips, sliding upwards.
Dean looks up to meet his own eyes over Cas' shoulder. “Look at you,” his future self says wonderingly. “Barely a scar on you.”
Cas stares down at him with wide eyes. A choked groan escapes Cas' throat as his hand skates over the scar on Dean's shoulder, still harsh and red. Cas presses his hand to the mark and Dean moans as a spark leaps through him, heat lightning setting off a chain reaction. Cas moans as both Deans buck against him, and Dean could swear he felt a very faint echo from five years past and miles away.
“Fuck,” breathes the other Dean. “It hasn't worked like that in a long time.”
Dean's got his theories on that, but he's found that theological arguments can really get in the way of getting laid. Instead, he nuzzles into Cas' arm and says quietly, “Give me the lube, Cas.”
Cas is staring at him with wide eyes and almost mechanically hands him the bottle of lube. Dean wonders how much of that is the sex and how much is the drugs. Cas giggles and Dean is pretty sure it's the drugs, but he can still see the hollowness in Cas' eyes.
Dean lubes his fingers and slides two into Cas. He's not really surprised to find that Cas is already loose and stretched. The other Dean laughs at the expression on his face, his hands curled possessively around Cas' hipbones. “Why don't you tell our old friend here who you've been fucking, Cas.”
“Everyone,” Cas gasps, throwing his head back on future Dean's shoulder. That Dean grins down at him, like it's a contest, like he's winning by showing how far Cas has fallen.
Dean really isn't interested in getting into a pissing contest with himself, not when Cas is writhing on his hips, all sweaty and whimpering. Dean preps Cas quickly and deftly. Then Cas grabs his wrist and pants, “Just fuck me, Dean.” God, it sounds like Cas has said that way too many times.
His own hands twist around Cas' body, sliding a condom down on to his cock. Dean jerks uncomfortably. “Jesus, give a guy some warning.”
The other Dean laughs harshly, grating. “You don't know where Cas has been. You want to be careful.”
Cas ignores them both, sinking down on to Dean's cock with single-minded attention.
Dean gasps, body tightening. Hot and clenched, Cas grips him tight. Then Cas sighs and relaxes and Dean slides into him to the hilt. Dean groans and thrusts into Cas, pulling his hips down.
Suddenly, fingers slide in alongside his dick. Dean bucks at the totally unfamiliar feeling, almost knocking Cas off of him. Then future Dean's other hand plants on his stomach, pushing him firmly down to the mattress. “Don't move,” the other Dean growls.
“Don't worry.” Cas laughs softly. “I've done this before.”
Dean really, really, doesn't want to think about what that says about Cas, and about him, so he just concentrates on staying still. Which turns out to be quite a task. The kinkiest thing he's ever done was that thing with Rhonda's panties; he's certainly never been in a threesome with two other guys, and he's sure sure as fuck had never done...this.
Dean bites into his lip hard to strangle the noise he almost makes when he feels the other Dean slide into Cas beside him. “Christ,” his future self mutters, forehead dipping against Cas' shoulder. Cas is silent, eyes closed and mouth slack and wide. God, it's hot and way too tight and Dean can feel his other self's cock sliding wetly against his in a obscene way. Dean's practically overwhelmed by the sensations; he can't even begin to imagine what Cas is feeling right now.
The other Dean pulls out and slams back into Cas hard, and the movement is almost uncomfortable for Dean. Cas squeaks in pain and squirms away. Dean grabs at Cas' hips, angling him into a better position. He knows he's got it right when Cas moans in pleasure. That's when Dean finally starts moving.
The other Dean's hips move like a piston, Dean's own finding the counterpoint. Cas has a hand hooked around the neck of one Dean, his other hand braced on the chest of the other. Future Dean catches Dean's ass, pulling him into a faster rhythm.
Cas laughs between them, choking into a sob of overwhelmed rapture.
Dean loses himself in the heat and the sweat of bodies. The crumbling world falls away; the horror, the shock, everything is gone but Cas and both his selves moving together.
Dean's heart catches in his throat, the air caught between their bodies burning his lungs. Cas' head droops, tears of sweat falling onto Dean. The other Dean is nipping at Cas' neck, and there will be marks there tomorrow. He pulls Cas' head back for a brutal kiss. Cas just breathes into it as the other Dean bites and sucks at his lips. They look right together but somehow just plain wrong.
Cas' breath is coming out as a series of gasps, his hips jerking erratically. Cas comes without a touch; his eyes squeezed shut, and a low, animal noise escaping his throat.
Dean's breath catches as Cas jerks over him, splattering Dean's stomach. Dean's hips buck and he feels himself splintering apart, bright and sharp.
The other Dean keeps thrusting, then shudders to a halt, and Dean can feel him spill inside Cas, coating them both. Dean finds himself wondering if that is really his orgasm face.
They rock together through the aftershocks, bodies still in sync. His future self collapses against Cas, who collapses on Dean's chest. Dean takes all their combined weight, struggling to breathe.
The other Dean pulls out, slick and soft. Dean fights to keep from making a kind of disgusted face; it really feels pretty gross. Cas lifts himself off of Dean, then settles himself back down on his chest. The other Dean stands and starts dressing himself. “We're leaving into two hours,” he tosses over his shoulder as he leaves.
Dean stares. Cas is still sprawled over parts of his body. “Are we always like that?”
Cas shrugs and sighs; a hot huff of breath against Dean's collarbone. “People change. None of us are what we used to be. Give or take.” Cas rolls away. He grabs another joint — Christ, he must have an endless supply of them — and lights up. “Mostly take, these days.” He blows out a heady stream of gray smoke.
“And you've just — what? — given up? Buried yourself in so much drugs and chicks that you don't even give a crap?” Dean really can't believe that Cas has fallen this far, not the Cas he knows, not the Cas he —
“I used to believe in a better world.” Cas smiles, but it's more like a grimace. “I don't any more.”
“I do.”
Cas turns his smile on Dean and this time it doesn't look so broken. “And that's why I still love you.”