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Dean manages to get away from his future self long enough to explore the camp, a decision he regrets almost instantly. Everything is run-down and decrepit, even the people, who all side-eye him suspiciously as he skulks around the grounds. It’s the fifth time that he catches a glance of his baby, corpse-like and abandoned to rot, that he decides to visit Cas. Cas is unsettling in the future, new and unknown in all the wrong ways, but at least he’s willing to actually talk to Dean.
Once on the porch, he figures he should check the windows. Dean doesn’t think that Cas won’t be there, especially considering Chuck’s earlier words, but he doesn’t really feel like walking into one of Cas’ fucked-up flower-power orgies.
The scene that unfolds before him isn’t exactly an orgy, but it’s not terribly far-off either.
Dean sees himself bowed over Cas, who’s sprawled out horizontally on the bed by the opposite wall. Dean hasn’t bothered to undress whatsoever, still wearing even his jacket, and Dean watches himself yank the hem of Cas’ shirt over his stomach before using his other hand to paw roughly at the waist of Cas’ pants.
Dean's breath catches as he realises what is about to happen, and watches as he... his future self pops the snap on Cas' pants before tugging them in a single, rough jerk down his thighs. Dean bites his lip, bothered by the wrongwrongwrong of sitting there just watching, and more so the fact that he’s enjoying it. He drops a hand to where his cock is resting inside his jeans and palms himself once, wondering how weird it would be to watch a future version of himself fuck an angel. Or an ex-angel, who’s also his friend. But then he watches himself pull out his cock and spit in his palm, tugging once, twice before sliding it between Cas' thighs and rutting upwards, just shoving in, and Dean realises where this is going. He catches the scowl on his own face and the quick grimace that passes over Cas' features and feels sick, dropping his hand, all arousal gone before his cock has even hardened.
He wants to storm in there, reel himself in with his collar and sock himself in the face. But he doesn't know this version of himself, how hair-trigger he is, if maybe this'll happen later, some other time, all the more harsher and terrible because of how Dean interrupted it. He doesn't want to, but he hangs back, because he doesn't know how far he's fallen alongside Cas.
There’s nothing passionate, or even precisely sexual about it. It actually seems to be pretty clinical, working through the motions with nothing behind it. The mindlessness of it all makes it rather clear that this is nothing new, and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if this was a method his future self often indulges in as a way to find some dosage of control in their fucked-up situation.
Dean watches himself as he comes, head thrown back and teeth digging into his bottom lip to muffle all sound, hips continuing to grind against Cas' ass. When he stops thrusting, Dean drops his head and stares at the body under him, Cas' eyes closed and chest heaving. He braces himself on one hand and reaches out with the other, bringing it upwards like he's about to brush Cas' hair out of his face. His arm stops mid-way through its arc, however, and he brings it down instead, smacking roughly against the mattress. He hauls himself upward and turns briskly towards the door, hands working the zip of his pants back up, and Dean hastens to the stairs and drops down under them. He hears the beaded curtain whip against the wall of the cabin, not quite as forceful as the crack of the door but effective nonetheless, and slowly rises to watch himself stalk away. The hunch of his shoulders belies the ‘fearless leader’ title, but Dean watches as he straightens his back, soldier-like, just like Dad taught him. Dean’s stricken with the realisation that he’s still a soldier, after all these years, lost without orders to take. He quells that train of thought quickly enough, however. There are more important things to worry about.
"Hey. Cas. Cas, hey." Dean’s halfway across the room before he’s even noticed he’s left the stairs, voice tinged with urgency as he makes his way over to Cas. He slips behind him and hauls his limp body over his own, so Cas' back rests against his chest and his head lolls against Dean's shoulder.
Cas rolls his head in the other direction, towards him, and Dean watches his fogged eyes as they slowly clear, then focus. Something flashes across them before it's quickly shuttered over again by the drugs. "Ah, past you," Cas says in return, dragging out the words as a crooked smirk tugs over his lips. "Enjoy the show?"
Dean's stomach rolls.
He wants to say something—‘so what was that?’ or ‘are you okay?’, maybe—but Dean knows they’re both similarly stupid questions with similarly obvious answers. Instead, he sticks with saying nothing (or maybe mindless blather, he’s not quite sure) and instead fumbles with a corner of the rumpled bedsheet, sliding down the bed to wipe away the worst of the mess from Cas’ ass and thighs. He doesn't quite notice the quick touches he brushes over Cas' skin, as if he's trying to console himself that Cas isn't broken entirely. It’s all so surreal that Dean almost forgets to feel awkward, voyeuristic; Cas was always a solid in his life, and even when he and Sam separated back at the rest area he knew he could call up Cas any time, even if Cas was off dicking it up in Heaven. But apparently, the future meant no Sam. And no Cas, either. Not really.
He has to fight a wave of nausea when the blanket comes away smeared with red, but figuring he’s cleaned up Cas the best he can without taking this to extremely uncomfortable territory, Dean balls up the cloth and tosses it to the floor. Cas then groans, stretches out lithe and cat-like, vertebrae popping, before collapsing back on the bed in a mass of limbs. He hums, turns to face Dean. “Well.” He grins, jutting a chin out towards the doorway. “It’s been fun. But our dearest fearless leader’s probably all up in arms trying to hunt you down now.”
Dean looks down at Cas before frowning. “Fuck him,” Dean says lowly, with a brief rub between Cas' shoulderblades, but then he realises that he doesn’t know what else to do. The lingering thing between him and Cas feels too awkward to really hang around, but he’s unnecessary on camp, a vagrant of time that’s probably more of a burden than anything else. He ends up absent-mindedly running a hand through Cas’ hair as he thinks, and when he finally notices what his hand is doing, he looks down to see that Cas is staring at him with half-lidded eyes.
He clears his throat and pulls away, making Cas huff and raise his eyebrows at him. Dean immediately feels embarrassed and exposed and turns to look away, but finds himself with an eyeful of the half-hard dick that Cas still has hanging out of his pants.
"Want me to go somewhere so you can do something about that?" Dean asks and then grimaces, mortified before the sentence even clawed itself halfway out his mouth.
Cas only grunts in return, turning his head against the mattress to look Dean blearily in the eye. It's then he shifts and breathes a quiet 'oh,' looking down at his cock like he's forgotten it was there. Dean belatedly realises that he probably has.
"I could..." Dean says, gesturing at the cock leaking pre-come against Cas' abdomen, because apparently he's dead-set on making himself want to smash his head against a wall out of sheer humiliation today. But to some extent he feels guilty, like it's his responsibility to make up for what his future self has been doing.
Cas snorts in return, raising his eyebrows at Dean, obviously disbelieving. “Yeah. Have a blast, soldier,” he says flatly, twisting his shoulders until his spine cracks and moving to hike his trousers up his legs. It's the casual disregard of Dean's offer that makes him swallow and reach down to curl his fingers around Cas' dick.
“Oh,” Cas breathes, before dropping bodily against Dean’s chest. Dean bites his lip, wondering what the hell possessed him to do this, before attempting to start up a rhythm. He figures it can’t be that different from jerking himself off. Cas makes another humming sound of pleasure, curling his arms up behind himself to wrap around Dean. Dean drops his head to rest over Cas’ shoulder and uses the arm he isn’t using to jack Cas to wrap around his chest and pull him more flush to his body.
Cas' hand tightens against the nape of his neck, and Dean wonders what he's thinking, if he's remembering a before. He falters a little when he considers the possibility, but resumes his stroking. It probably isn’t the first time he’s been used as a substitute, and he imagines he’s doing a better job than most.
Dean turns his head to look at Cas’ face for the first time since this has started. His eyes are closed, mouth parted just slightly, panting, tongue darting out occasionally to wet his lips. He looks rapturous, but that only reminds Dean how Cas has abandoned the heavenly one for a much more human sort. Dean's struck suddenly with the desire to kiss Cas, to drag his tongue against his angel's (his angel's, dammit), to pull his bottom lip between his teeth and bite gently. But Dean feels like that'd probably be crossing a line, somewhere, and resorts to breathing hot and wet against Cas' throat.
After a while, a miserable queasiness comes curling through his belly, but he continues to jack Cas' cock, twisting his wrist and flicking his thumb over the slit on every upstroke. "C'mon, Cas," he mumbles into Cas' hair where the man's head is tilted towards his, stubble scratching against Dean's jaw as Cas' body rocks with the quick jerks of Dean's arm. “Yeah, that’s it. Let go.”
Cas’ eyes have remained closed, letting himself ride with Dean's motions. "Dean," he rasps against Dean's ear, pitched low and quiet, but distinguishable. Cas manages two short thrusts of his hips before he's shooting in Dean's hand, cock twitching weakly. They sit there like that together, panting equally hard, and Dean wonders if this is something he should forget immediately, box and package and shove to some far corner of his mind. He eventually sighs and reaches for the moth-eaten cover he tossed over the bed earlier. Cas moves with him, boneless, curled slightly against his side. It's quiet enough that they can hear the scrape of Dean's callouses over the fabric as he wipes come from his fingers. He tosses the sheet back over the bed again afterwards and drops against the wall, feeling exhausted.
Cas exhales loudly before flopping over, his body half-sliding off of Dean's. He trails his hand from its place on Dean's shoulder down his chest, his stomach; less of a tease and more of an inability to lift and navigate it down to the fly of Dean's pants. Dean hitches a breath when Cas's fingers rest over the zipper of his jeans and resists the impulse to shove Cas backwards, resorting to pushing his arm out of the way instead. "Cas, I..."
Cas's eyes lift towards his, and Dean lets out a shuddery sigh. "I can't. Don't..." Dean watches as Cas's eyes flick down to where his hand is still cupped loosely over Dean's thigh and tightens his hand on Cas' shoulder. "Please," he croaks out, accompanying the word with a shake of his head in case Cas gets any wrong ideas. Let me do this for you. Dean's been soft this whole time, and he thinks he's more likely to get sick everywhere than actually come from a handjob at this point. Cas cocks his head to the side and Dean's reminded of his angel back home for a painful second. But then Cas tilts his head down in a movement that's probably supposed to be a nod before sliding back up against the wall, more at Dean's level, using the opportunity to stare at him again.
Dean shifts his head away and makes a slightly desperate sound in the back of his throat when he realises that Cas is continuing to look at him. He jerks his head towards the door. "I should probably be getting back out there. Like you said. He’s, uh. Probably looking…" Cas continues to stare, silent, and Dean allows his gaze to move down to Cas' mouth. In a spontaneous move that he's sure he'll feel guilty about later, Dean tilts his head down and presses a kiss to Cas' slightly-parted lips. The man doesn't reciprocate, and Dean didn't really expect him to, but when Dean pulls away, there's a second where Cas' eyes remain closed before he blinks them slowly open.
There's a moment of silence where they continue to look at each-other. Dean thinks, maybe, that there’s something terribly important to be said here but he chokes off the possible chick-flick moment out of instinct and Cas lets out a quiet, brittle chuckle, swiping a tongue against his bottom lip. He jerks his head towards the door. "Well. Got somewhere to be going, yeah?"
Dean blinks, pushing out an "oh, yeah," before staggering to his feet. He makes an aborted move to offer a hand to Cas, but wonders if maybe it'd be too much of a reminder of how much help Cas needs nowadays and stuffs it back into his jacket pocket. "I guess... see you around, Cas."
He turns on the heel of his boot then, making his way to the door and feeling slightly miserable at the realisation of how closely he's mimicking his future self's earlier exit. When he walks out of the doorway, pushing the beads to the side, Dean catches the snort Cas lets out, accompanied by a far-too amused "maybe."