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Cas had always been a weird guy, there was no denying it.
Hell, saying the angel was weird wasn’t even covering half of the mystery that Castiel truly was. Dean liked to believe that he was used to it by now, that he somehow understood what was going on inside of the angel’s head. And, of course, he should’ve known better than that. Because, standing in front of the post-apocalyptic version of Cas was only a reminder of how mysterious the guy actually was. Sure, Castiel was a bit odd with his long stares that sent shivers down Dean’s spine, and the way he always stood way too close to him, not even caring about what kind of message he was sending to the people around them. Social cues were a foreign concept to him, hell, humanity in itself seemed to be too complex for his understanding sometimes. But still, he seemed to care about others, or at least about Dean and Sam in his own peculiar way. Castiel had hopes, beliefs, determination. But not in this twisted, sick, version of the universe.
This other Castiel had no hope, or whatsoever. High on drugs, sarcastic, lost in all the vices humanity had to provide, even his deep blue eyes didn’t shine as bright as they once used to. In fact, they didn’t shine at all. And, somehow, that was the most disturbing thing about this situation. Dean knew it: he should have been more bothered by the fact that Lucifer was currently using his baby brother as a suit, or that billions of people had died because of his stubbornness.
But, sitting in front Cas, watching him slowly spiral into the worst version of himself: Dean couldn’t find it in him to care about anything else.
Of course, Dean had followed the fallen angel outside once this strange meeting with himself had ended. Neither Castiel nor Dean had said anything about it as they made their way to the little cabin that awaited them, filled with the scent of tobacco, and weed. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? Dean didn’t know any of the people surrounding him in this camp, and staying with his alternate version wasn’t a good idea as one of them would probably end up dead before the morning came. So, of course, he had chosen Cas.
The fallen angel had taken his place on his bed, silently rolling a joint as Dean watched him, seated on a chair nearby, not too close, but enough to still be able to see every detail of his best friend’s face. He could see the blue of his eyes, illuminated by the fading light of a burning candle while dark strands of hair covered his sweaty forehead. That face was so similar to the one Dean had learned to love staring at when no one else was watching. But it still wasn’t quite right.
“You’re staring.” Cas suddenly said without even raising his head toward the hunter.
Shit, was he really?
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you look so...You know.”
“So different?”
So broken. So fragile. So…
“So weird.”
Castiel snorted, finally looking in Dean’s direction.
“It’s been a while since you called me that. You know, nobody asked you to stay here with me.”
“Well, I couldn’t trust myself not to throw a punch at that cheap version of...well, of myself. But if you want me to leave, I can. I bet you got better stuff to do than sit in silence with me when you could be doing...Uh, that other thing you had planned?”
Castiel shook his head, a bittersweet smile spreading on his lips. Dean wondered for a moment if they knew each other well enough in this universe for Castiel to know that this poor excuse of a joke was meant to hide his deception at the sole idea of being rejected.
“I wouldn’t trade you against any orgy Dean.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess?”
“And as I told you before, I like past you.”
“Well, you always had shitty taste. By the way, what happened to the trench coat?”
For fuck sake, the world was ending and what really bothered him was that ridiculous trench coat? He wanted to beat himself up right now.
But Cas laughed, a deep and honest laugh.
And Dean’s heart froze.
He had never been aware of how much he needed to hear that sound until now. Of course, there were moments where he wondered what Cas’ laugh even sounded like, and yes, maybe all of his shitty jokes were not-so-subtle attempt at getting that beautiful sound out of the angel. And, yeah, Cas 2.0 had laughed multiple times throughout their different conversations today, but his laughter always seemed to be tainted by a veil of sadness, and hopelessness. But this one was different, it wasn’t just a wall of indifference built up by a broken man to keep others away, it wasn’t Cas trying to hide his pain and suffering behind humorless words. This laugh right there felt real, raw. It was for Dean, and Dean only to hear.
Would his Castiel actually laugh like that for him? Would Dean want him to?
Once again, the hunter pushed the question aside, blaming the thought on the weirdness of the situation.
“It didn’t feel right to keep it” Castiel finally answered, bringing the joint to his lips before lighting it up.
He took a puff, inhaling the smoke before letting it out. Dean looked at him, amazed by the way the fallen angel raised his head, his eyes half closed and a shy smile painted on his lips.
“A lot of things don’t feel right nowadays it seems.”
Nothing felt right, indeed. Sam was Lucifer’s own little vehicle, half the population was dead or infected, angels had fallen and the war was lost. Dean wasn’t as delusional as his future self seemed to be, there was no way his suicidal mission was going to work. They were all going to die, each one of them. Lucifer and his minions would tear them to pieces while wearing his baby brother’s face. Dean knew it. It wasn’t that surprising that he would do something as stupid as launching himself at the devil. Going out in a blast of glory, right? But letting innocent people die? Letting Cas sacrifice himself just to run into death’s arms right after? It wasn’t right, and it made the hunter sick.
“Dean, you’re thinking too much. Again.”
“How can you be okay with that?” Asked the hunter. “You’re not dumb Cas, you know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”
Castiel stayed silent for a moment, assessing every word that came out of the other man’s lips. Frozen in contemplation, he let his pale blue eyes wander free around the room, focusing on anything that wasn’t Dean, avoiding him. So Dean did what he knew best, he got up from the wooden chair, crossing the few steps that separated him from the fallen angel before crouching down at his level, searching his gaze like he once did when Cas used to be a perfect little soldier of heaven. It felt like it was ages ago now.
Cas didn’t answer. He took another puff, his eyes anchored in Dean’s green stare, like he was defying him. The whole scene felt so intimate that Dean actually had to look away. Shit, being so far from home rendered him so cheesy.
“You know these things aren’t good for you, right?” Dean asked in a whisper, trying desperately to keep his facade up.
Still no answer. Castiel only smirked at the hunter before blowing the smoke right in his face, grinning like a rebellious teenager. Dean raised his eyebrows, definitely not used to the scent of marijuana. He had been young, alright, and he had tried it once. John hadn’t been pleased when he had smelled the scent imprinted in his clothes. Dean had never smoked again after that.
At least not until this strange Cas extended his hand toward him, offering his half smoked joint with the same shit eating grin that looked so weird on him. Not a bad weird, Dean thought.
“I’m in a fucking apocalyptic future where I’m a dickhead, and an angel is offering me weed.”
“What do you have to lose, then?”
Without hesitation, he took it between his fingers, looking a few seconds at the way it was expertly rolled. He let out a small laugh before taking it between his lips, carefully avoiding Castiel piercing gaze and finally taking a long drag. He almost wanted to cough but his pride wouldn’t let him, so he waited a few seconds feeling nothing at first. So he took another own, feeling more and more bold with each passing second. And then it hit him full force. It wasn’t like being drunk, far from it actually. He felt somehow lighter, his head pleasingly buzzing as a dumb smile only grew wider on his face.
“You know these things aren’t good for you, right?”
“Shut up, Cas”
And the angel laughed again, but this time Dean didn’t freeze. He only joined him on the bed, falling gracelessly on the mattress beside Cas who took back the joint, finishing it up before tossing it in the ashtray standing on his bedside table. Everything seemed so calm around here, there was no sound, no disturbance. Just the two of them, high as fuck, laying on an old mattress during the apocalypse. Dean wasn’t even surprised by that realization. Right then, he couldn’t find it in him to care as he turned his head toward the angel who, of course, was already staring at him. And for the first time since he got here, the hunter recognized something that hadn’t changed in the angel. He was broken, defeated, and resigned to die if it was what Dean wanted, but no matter what he was still looking at him like the first time they had met. Pale blue eyes lingering on a beautiful face sprinkled with freckles, on a cheeky smile and vibrant green eyes. Time may have passed, but some things stayed the same.
“Why do you always look at me like that?” Dean asked, not caring about whether or not he would regret it once he had sobered up.
“Like what, Dean?"
“I don’t know, like I’m your fucking world or something.”
“You wouldn’t like the answer. Well, not yet that it is.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“There are things that you’re not ready to admit, to the world, to your brother. To yourself. I guess your father is to be thanked for that.”
“My old man is to be thanked for a lot of things.”
Castiel once again stayed silent, offering the hunter a sad smile, like he knew something that Dean didn’t. And maybe he did, but Dean wasn’t ready to dig his own grave so soon. So he just stared at the angel once again, trying to act as casual as possible knowing what kind of question he was about to ask. Fucking hell, that shit Cas had made him smoke was good stuff.
“Are you and me-well, the other me…? You know?”
“Are you asking if we’re fucking?”
“Shit, you didn’t have to put it like that.”
Once again a laugh echoed in the small cabin and Dean felt his cheeks heat up. Nothing about it was funny and still, this son of a bitch would find a reason to laugh.
“What do you think, Dean?”
“I think my brother’s possessed by Lucifer, so me fucking an angel wouldn’t be so weird after all. At least in this universe.”
“What do you think is so different in this universe? Us fucking? Your brother accepting his fate while you decide to stand up against heaven? Or something else that seems to be troubling you since we walked in?”
“Me sending you to your death and you accepting it willingly, like you don’t even care. That’s what is so fucking weird about this place.”
For once, that seemed to surprise Castiel. He didn’t have this smug expression anymore, like nothing made sense, like he was one step ahead of Dean. He looked genuinely taken aback, distraught by the harsh truth of Dean’s words. It lasted only a few seconds before his smile came back again, sadder this time.
“Strangely, you seem more disturbed by the fact that I wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice myself if it meant giving you a chance to survive. You don’t think anyone would make that choice for you.”
“There’s nothing strange about it. I’m not worth dying for, that’s it. And this other me is not worth it either. Fucking you, fucking all over the camp, leaving you here all alone with drugs and goddamn orgies to fix the mess he left. It’s not worth it Cas.”
Cas sighed, slowly letting himself sink into the mattress, closer to the hunter. The angel rolled up on his side and, without even knowing why, Dean did the same, facing the disgraced angel like he never had before. He knew his traits by heart, knew the shape of his lips and how to quickly turn his eyes away from them before anyone else could notice. He knew this eyes, so deep, so pure, and yet so sad. He wanted to drown in them, to let this blue consume him whole, his body and his soul, and everything he had to give. He wanted so much at the moment.
None of them talked for long seconds, until the moment Dean nodded slowly, not really sure what was gonna happen next, but craving it as much as he dreaded it. Castiel brought a hand to the young man’s face, carefully caressing his skin, like he was afraid to break him. Nobody had ever touched him like that. Dean wasn’t breakable, and yet Cas looked at him like he was a wounded bird, a scared little thing. Usually, the hunter wouldn’t have allowed half of what happened here, but this thing between the two of them was different. He couldn’t entirely blame the poor joint shared between them and he knew it. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to. Maybe later, he’d dismiss it as an intoxicated mistake, but not now.
“Then what would you do, if you were him?” Cas finally asked, softly, his voice so low that Dean could barely hear him.
“I am him.”
“No, you’re not. He’s one version of yourself, built up by choices and actions that are yet to be made. What would you do, Dean?”
“I would...I wouldn’t let you go. I wouldn’t let Sammy say yes, I wouldn’t send those people to their death because of my stubborn ass.”
Castiel’s eyes filled with tenderness, just for a brief second before the coldness and emptiness took a hold of them again.
“See, there’s still hope for you, after all.”
Dean was the one to close the gap between them, not Cas. And god, did the angel lips feel right against his, like this moment was always meant to be. His hands moved on their own, grasping the jacket of Cas like he could vanish at any moment. It was desperate, and slow, still chaste but meaning so much more than any heated kiss Dean had ever shared with anyone in his short life. Their position wasn’t ideal, but they didn’t care, and behind his closed eyelids, the hunter could perfectly picture Cas’ unruly hair, his upside down tie, his stupid trench coat and those goddamn eyes so full of life.
But when Castiel finally broke the kiss and Dean opened his eyes again, there was none of that. Just an empty blue tainted with sadness, ripped clothes, dirty with mud and a beard that shouldn’t have been here.
“It’s not you I want to kiss.” Dean whispered.
“I know, Dean. I’m not the one worth saving anymore.”
Dean closed his eyes as he let Castiel hold him close to his heart. This Cas was doomed, this Cas would be dead tomorrow, but this Cas was not his.
oOo
One second, Zachariah was standing in front of him, glaring at Dean like he was nothing more than an insect that the angel would love to stomp on, and the next he was outside, standing on a lonely road only illuminated by street lamps. He knew Cas was there before he even turned around, and yet he couldn’t help the smile of relief that betrayed him when he saw his angel’s face, smiling at him with the same cocky grin that another Cas had given him not so long ago.
“That’s a pretty nice timing, Cas”
“We had an appointment.”
Dean brought his hand to Cas shoulder, feeling stupidly happy about the sensation of the trench coat under his palm, taking in the sight of the messed up tie, and white shirt, and everything that made the angel so...Cas. The hunter brought his other hand to Cas’ cheek, drowning his gaze in the one so full of pride and relief at seeing Dean just standing there, in front of him. That was all he needed to cross the distance between them and once again crashing his lips against the angel’s one. And never in his life had he been so glad to find someone so stiff and awkward, not really knowing what exactly to do with their mouth, and how to really place their hands on his body.
Stepping back, he laughed a little while Cas looked at him visibly surprised and shocked at the boldness of the kiss.
“Don’t ever change, Cas.”
And Cas chuckled, a sound so distant from the burst of laughing of the other Cas. But yet, something full of life, full of hope. Something so real, Dean thought as he watched him fondly.