Archive of Our Own

Title: Time Flows Like Water and We're Drowning
Authors: triedunture
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Castiel/2014!Cas, Dean/Castiel/2014!Cas
Rating: NC17
Length: 8,000 words
Beta: jihime47
Warnings: Time travel, doppelgangers, threesome, top!Dean and bottom!Dean, angst, spoilers through season 5
Summary: A gift for thirstyrobot who requested some Castiel/Castiel and a cameo from The Walking Dead's Daryl.

Cas from 2014 is sent back in time and meets Castiel and Dean circa season 5. Together, they decide to try to change the course of history.

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"About seventy-five percent of what you'll see in this life will be unexpected, Dean," John Winchester used to say to his eldest. "You can't prepare for it, so just accept it."

Dean thinks of this advice as he keys open the motel room door and finds the angel Castiel kneeling on the pea green carpet with a blood-spattered body in his arms. "I didn't know where else to go," Castiel says, his eyes wild. Dean, ever his father's son, accepts this.

The body isn't Sammy; Sammy's right behind him, digging their gear bags out of the trunk of the car, stinking of sulfur from their hunt. That's the first thing that registers. The most important thing. Then Dean notices the blood, the tattered jeans, the beat-up olive green jacket, the leather sandals wrapped around dirt-caked toes.

"Who is he?" Dean barks, already on his knees next to Castiel. He examines the face, the features slathered in gore, searches for a pulse on the limp neck. Finds it, fluttering.

"I healed his injuries but he will not wake," Castiel says. "He won't open his eyes." His hands are buried in the ratty jacket, white-knuckled.

"Who the hell is he?" Dean asks again. He pries open the stranger's eyelid with his thumb and forefinger, revealing a bright blue iris, a pinprick pupil. The face masked in blood slowly becomes recognizable. Familiar. Impossible. Dean wipes away a smear of red from the man's cheek and sees it all at once. "Holy--"

"It's me," Castiel whispers. He clutches the body tighter to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "He is me."

_____________________________

Twenty minutes ago, in 2014.

Cas hefts the AK-47 higher on his shoulder and squints at the fence in the valley below. The black shapes of Croats surge against it in waves. From this distance, they look like termites chewing away at a basement wall.

"Looks like a good day's work," Daryl says, slotting a bolt into his crossbow. Cas doesn't mind patrolling with Daryl. If you believe the stories, he's the most experienced Croat-killer in the camp, fought his way up from Atlanta with nothing but his own two hands and his arrows. Cas sometimes wonders if the fearless leader pairs them up for patrols on purpose, but Cas bites down on the thought as quickly as it comes. It's a normal rotation of personnel, not some special protection for the helpless little ex-angel. Dean isn't that sentimental. Nobody is, not anymore.

Daryl leads the way down the slope and Cas follows, sandals crunching in the leaves and twigs. They reach the fence just as the sun hides behind a cloud. For a moment the world is plunged in shadow. The Croats moan open-mouthed and teeth-bared. They smell like rotting milk and meat. Daryl slams a free bolt through the chain link and into a Croat's forehead, a perfect third eye.

Cas removes his serrated knife from the sheath strapped to his thigh and moves to join him. The sun appears again, a bright flash, and before Cas can aim his blade through the fence, another flash knocks him down like a punch to the stomach.

"So it's come to this," a long-forgotten voice oils out from the ether. A flap of feathers, a gust of wind.

"What the fuck?" Daryl points his crossbow at the apparition.

Cas sees a tall shape, a dark suit, something he hasn't seen in years. Something that doesn't belong in this world. "Run," Cas gasps out. "Daryl. Run!"

Maybe Daryl does and maybe he doesn't. Cas doesn't get a chance to see before he's being tossed like a ragdoll through the air, smashed against an oak tree, scraped along the ground through broken branches and stray shards of glass. He tastes blood on his tongue. He's slammed into another tree, another. Bones crack beneath his skin.

"I'm going to send you on a little trip." A polished loafer, so at odds with everything this world has become, steps into his blurring vision. "Let's call it a vacation."

Cas looks up at the figure standing above him, peering through a swelling eye. "Go to hell, Zachariah," he spits.

"No thank you," the angel says. "This dump is close enough." He snaps his fingers and Cas is gone.

_____________________________

Dean stares down at the man in his bed. He looks exactly like Dean remembers him from his trip to the future: pale skin weathered, jaw unshaven, hair mussed and stringy, looking smaller than he should. Dean's already done the usual tests: holy water, iron, a small incision with a silver blade across his lax palm--Castiel had glowered at that, sealing up the wound with a touch--and everything point to the guy being the real thing.

"How?" Dean asks. He shoots a glare over at Sammy, who's sitting in the far corner, putting some distance between himself and the crazy in the room. Sam just shrugs, arms over his chest. Dean turns back to Castiel. "I saw him bite it in 2014."

"He must have been thrust back to our time at some other point, before Zachariah sent you to the future," Castiel says without taking his eyes off the other-Cas.

"Why?" Dean grates out, and Castiel frowns up at him finally, drawn by his anger.

"I don't know," he says. "I was in southern India, continuing the search for the Lord. He appeared out of thin air before me, beaten and unconscious. He--he's human."

Dean scratches the back of his head. "He fell. I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes, but," Castiel brushes the flop of dark hair from his doppelganger's forehead, "seeing it for myself...."

"This doesn't make any sense," Sam finally chimes in. "If Cas from the future had already met Dean here in the past, then wouldn't he have told Dean about it in the future? And if he'd already lived through this, now, in the past, wouldn't he know it was coming after--?" He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Oh god, this is confusing."

"Time travel," Dean says with a shake of his head. "Don't even fucking try to wrap your brain around it."

"You perceive time as a straight line, Sam," Castiel says, "but it's more like water. It flows where it can, branches into streams and rivers and back again into a great ocean. Time is everchanging."

Dean swallows, remembering the pitch-black future he'd seen. His own heartlessness. "Does it all end up at the same place?" he asks. "Do some things always happen no matter what we do?"

Castiel looks up at him, eyes liquid with something unnamable. Before he can answer--or neglect to--they're interrupted.

"Christ on a cracker," a rough voice groans from the bed, and everyone turns to watch this strange Cas sitting up with a grimace. "What the hell hap--?" He opens his eyes, so similar to their Castiel's but at the same time clouded. Whether it's with pain or drugs or just humanity, Dean's not sure. This Cas takes in the room, the three men in it, paling as he looks each one in the face. "--pened," he finishes in a small voice.

"Don't worry, you're safe now," Castiel tells his other self, and Cas chokes out, "Funny definition of safe."

Their Castiel holds out a hand, palm down. "Castiel--"

"Just Cas," the other one answers, eyes darting from Dean to Sam and back again. "Everyone just calls me Cas now. Everyone who's left." He points a shaking finger at Sam. "You're not Satan."

"No," Sam agrees, startled.

"Oh." Cas gulps in a breath. "Good. Please tell me there's something to drink."

_____________________________

A shower is the first thing. The visitor is given a clean shirt and a pair of jeans from Dean's duffle. He rinses off for nearly half an hour, calling from the bathroom to the three men waiting in silence for his return, "Hot water! It's like Christmas!" Dean's jaw tightens at that, and tightens further when Cas reappears, hair damp, face still unshaven, dressed in his borrowed clothes.

Cas motions to a fifth of Kentucky whiskey sitting on the bedside table, and Dean unscrews the cap with a sigh, pouring him a measure in one of the plastic motel cups. Cas accepts it with a cheerful salute and sits on the mattress, bouncing twice.

He gulps the whiskey down in one long, unbroken swallow, watching Sam's slack-jawed expression from the corner of his eye. When the cup is drained, he quirks an eyebrow at stone-faced Dean and says, "You're not surprised to see me like this. How come?"

Dean scuffs his boot against a baseboard, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved in his pockets. "I saw you before. And me, in the future. Fighting Croats, barely surviving. And you with the orgies and the pills and I don't know what else." Sam wrinkles his nose at this laundry list.

Cas chuckles at the sight. "Hey, no one's more disappointed in me than myself." He looks up at Castiel, who hovers by his bedside. "Right, self?" That wide manic grin appears again, full of teeth.

Castiel glances away in disgust. "I don't understand how you could fall so completely," he whispers.

Cas shrugs, still smiling. "So I wanted to have some fun on the way down. Sue me."

Castiel balks at this, visibly pulls back, his face a mask of pained restraint. Cas clucks his tongue and stands, the plastic cup clasped in his fingers.

"How did you end up seeing the future, anyway? Are you psychic in this timeline or something?" he asks Dean, padding over to the motel window and shoving the curtains aside. He gazes at the parking lot outside with rapt fascination. His eyes follow the movements of the traffic on the road and the birds in the sky as if he hasn't seen these things in ages. Probably hasn't, come to think of it.

Dean says, "That dick Zachariah sent me there. He wanted to teach me a lesson. Show me what happens if I keep saying no."

Cas turns back to them, his face falling in absolute hopelessness. "But you still haven't said yes." He stares into the space past Dean. "Fuck," he says. "So that's why I'm here."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asks.

"Isn't it obvious? Zachariah." Cas raises the cup again, notices it's still empty, drops it back to his side. "If he can't change Dean's mind, he's hoping to change yours. Mine. Whatever." He gestures between himself and the trench-coated angel. "He wants you to see what happens when you rebel. He wants you to quit fighting and come home."

The words hang heavy in the air. Castiel's hands clench at his sides, his eyes downcast. Sam sits forward in his chair, big hands folded over his knees, watching both Dean and Castiel. But Dean's not paying attention to anyone but the one guy with angel mojo left.

"Cas?" he says, and it's clear he's speaking to his Castiel.

The angel shakes himself from his thoughts. "Whatever Zachariah's reasons," he says to his twin, "you are in grave danger. You have all the knowledge of Heaven and none of its protection; if the demons hear of you, they will want you."

"Anna all over again. Except my grace isn't hanging around anyone's neck." Cas sighs through his nose.

Castiel's face darkens.

"Sorry," Cas says. "That must still be raw for you." Dean flicks his gaze to the angel, surprised. Was Castiel really that broken up over Anna? He'd seemed fine. He'd seemed the same as always.

"Hey," Dean tries again, but Castiel brushes by him.

"I will procure the room next door," he says, looking around the cramped room, no sofa or cot in sight. He nods to his double. "He needs rest. And he needs to stay close."

"Anyone want to ask me what I think about this whole thing?" Cas asks.

Castiel grabs his wrist and pulls him along. Cas manages to snag the whiskey bottle by the neck on his way by, grinning all the while at Sam and Dean with watery blue eyes.

_____________________________

The door slams behind them. The smile falls from Cas's face as he stares at his past self. "Good thing you got me out of there before I told them anything that might, I don't know, turn this timeline into dust," he mutters, toeing off his battered sandals and leaving the whiskey on the windowsill. He launches himself at the nearest bed crossways, rolling on his back to loll his head off the edge of the mattress, his bare feet flexing in the air.

Castiel watches him from his place by the door. With his head tipped to the side like that, he almost looks pitying.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" Cas pats his pockets for his cigarettes, but they're not his pockets, they're Dean's. He comes up with a condom packet and tosses it on the nightstand with a huff.

"For whatever decisions I made that turned you into this."

Cas blinks up at his double, upside-down and head flung back. His eyes turn to steel, a moment of clarity. "Don't you dare," he growls in something like his old voice. "Don't look down your long angelic nose at me. I knew what I was doing, and now so do you. And you'll make the exact same choices I did."

"How can you know when--?"

"Because I don't fucking regret it!" Cas rolls onto his stomach, rises to his knees like a languid puppet. He beats his chest with two closed fists. "This soft body contains you, Castiel. We've seen the sun formed from a cloud of dust, we've seen the first piece of slime slither onto land, and when I stop breathing, that goes away. A billion years of knowledge. Poof, gone. And I don't care. If I could do it all over again, I still wouldn't follow Zachariah's orders. Want to know why?"

Castiel swallows, lifts a hand to his brow, sweeps over to the bed and sits on the edge of the mattress beside his double. He doesn't speak.

Cas sighs. "Jesus, I didn't remember it starting so soon." He lays a trembling hand on Castiel's shoulder, kneading at the hard muscle. "There wasn't a single moment, was there? More like a long string of clues that we finally put together to spell out fuck, I'm in love with a human."

"It's almost a relief," Castiel murmurs, "to know that I will never leave his side, no matter what happens. In my moments of doubt, I sometimes worry--" He bites his lip and bows his head.

"Hey, I know, I know." Cas rubs circles on his stiff back. It's strange, how protective he feels. His younger self has the power to bend time and burn demons out of their bodies, but he hasn't yet learned to live with the pain of loving Dean Winchester.

Castiel looks over his shoulder at his twin, his eyes bright. "Are there--? Can you tell me I will have some moments of happiness in my future? Any at all?"

Cas blinks. He remembers this fear: a short, mortal life with none of human beauty he so admired. Still, he can barely hold back the amused grin because he knows what this Castiel is really asking: Will I ever have a moment of happiness with Dean?

Cas thinks about the night he and Dean fucked in the armory, backs pressed against boxes of magazines and bullets, hands wrapped around throats, Dean's snarl while pulling on his pants after: "This is the last time, Cas. Get that through your fucking head."

Except it wasn't the last time, not even the last time in the armory. Dean won't join the others in the orgies, will sneer when Cas mentions them, but they can't seem to stop doing what they do when they're alone in the dark. Are those moments ones of happiness? Cas would say yes, but he knows that's not what Castiel means.

Castiel means whispered promises and moonlit confessions and tenderness, tenderness, goddamn tenderness. Cas knows because they were his dreams, too, once upon a time. An angel wanting only to hold the body he had stitched back together.

"There aren't many good times ahead," Cas finally says, "but you take what you can get and make what you can't." Castiel does not seem satisfied with this answer. He tips his head in thought. In the dim light of the hotel sign, he looks almost beautiful.

An idea tickles through Cas's mind, not the worst one he's ever had. Certainly not the weirdest. Practical, really. He stretches out rightways on the mattress, pats the bedspread next to him. "Lie down with me?" he asks Castiel, because the truth is he's an addict of all things that promise warmth, and he wants the warmth of this other self right now, curled into his side and breathing with him. And, perversely, he wants to shred that familiar suit, tear off that stupid blue tie, and bring on the future like ripping off a band-aid.

Castiel doesn't understand this. "I don't need sleep," he reminds Cas.

A split second thud in his chest, mourning his own innocence. "Don't be scared," he says. "It's nice." He takes the angel's hand and guides him down. They lay together on their sides, legs twisted up the way Cas likes. He buries his face in his double's shirtfront, inhaling the smell of him. That garden smell: it used to hang around him all the time. He's missed that too.

Castiel is stiff as a board at first, but mellows as Cas wriggles closer. His chin rests on the top of Cas's head. "Pleasant," he mumbles into his damp hair.

Cas places his hands--rough, calloused, scars snaking along the backs of them--on top of Castiel's perfect ones, splayed between them. "Come here," he says, and lifts Castiel's hands to his mouth, pressing kisses to the palms, mouthing the tips of his cool fingers.

The angel gasps, pulls away, is on the other side of the room in an eyeblink. "What are you doing?" He cradles his hands against his chest as if burned.

Cas can barely struggle onto his elbows, saying, "I just--" But Castiel is quicker with words too: "Do you really need to constantly rut like an animal against everyone you come across?" His eyes are wide and damp.

Anger courses through Cas's blood again. "Wait until you're in my shoes, Castiel. Wait until you've nearly bled out, when you wake up one day and realize there are no more children in the world, when you watch Sam leave and never come back, when Dean breaks apart and there's nothing you can do, and then you can tell me how I should deal!"

Castiel's face goes as pale as milk. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a real asshole."

"No, about Sam. He never returns?" The angel frowns. "When was this?"

Cas squints his eyes, doubtful. "Right after Dean gave you his talisman. We never see Sam again. Not as Sam, anyway."

Silence creeps between them as they realize. Castiel's brows rise, his expression one of hope dawning. "We can change it," he says. "We're already changing it."

"You mean that's already happened? And Sam is back with you?" Cas sucks in a breath. As much as he wants to believe nothing's written in stone, that destiny is a load of bullshit, he can't help but worry. "But what if we're changing it to something worse?"

The angel moves across the room, climbing back on the bed with a look of wonder on his face. "Then at least we tried," he whispers. His eyes linger on his twin's mouth. "There can't be only one possible end to this path. We must try to do things differently, to change to the course."

"Well, I can think of some things that would certainly be a wrench in the grand plan." Cas grins, a light leer. He thinks of how he lost his virginity to someone who wasn't Dean, someone he barely remembers and certainly doesn't think of fondly. Maybe he can't do much now that he's human, but Cas can do this: give himself another chance.

"Come here," he says for the second time that night, and Castiel goes to him, pliant and warm this time. Cas wraps his arms around his past self, smelling gardens on his skin and hair. "Let me take care of you," he murmurs as he draws him down. "Just let me."

"T-this is very strange," Castiel says, but he doesn't resist when his double pulls his coat from his shoulders, spreads it out beneath him, starts working on his tie and shirt buttons. "I don't know if we should."

"You can pretend I'm Dean if you want," Cas says lightly. He shucks the shirt off Castiel's arms, jealous and desirous of the unmarked skin, the perfect body he used to own. Castiel stares up at him with something like rebuke in his eyes. "What? I know you want to."

"Yes, but--" The angel lifts a hand to brush his knuckles against Cas's face. "How sad for you."

Cas blinks away the sudden heat of tears behind his eyes, because when was the last time someone cared about how he felt? Bravado to mask it: "Not that sad. C'mon, how many people get this lucky? This is like masturbation to the nth degree." He shrugs out of the tee shirt that still smells of Dean. "Or maybe incest, I don't know. Are we family?"

Castiel isn't distracted by the chatter, just keeps watching Cas work on the fly of his slacks. "Will you show me how humans kiss?" he asks, and Cas isn't about to say no.

He kisses Castiel the way Dean kissed him the first time: first on his temple, then between his eyes, on the jut of his jawbone, and finally his mouth. Cas still thinks about that first kiss they shared, Dean pinning his arms to his sides as the tremors wracked his newly mortal body, keeping him still as the last of his grace seeped from him. The pain had been so terrible, and Dean's mouth had trembled against his.

Castiel kisses back with no finesse, but Cas doesn't mind. He takes his time, training their tongues together, leading him through the rises and falls of each other's lips. Two identical pink mouths panting close, licking wet and slick. "Oh," Castiel breathes against his neck when Cas leans down to suckle on his earlobe.

His ears are sensitive. He knows what he likes.

Cas tries to take things slow, let his past self ease into it, but Castiel is too eager, writhing like a snake beneath him, pressing and clutching as if terrified of losing an inch of skin-to-skin contact. Cas smiles, licking a wide stripe up Castiel's belly with the flat of his tongue, following the blue veins that beat under the pale skin of his hipbones. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

They're naked, though Cas doesn't remember taking off Dean's borrowed jeans. God, he misses angel powers sometimes. He fits his palm around both their hard cocks, jacking them together, slick-slip and obscene. Castiel throws his head back and shouts without words.

Cas knows he should probably be freaking out, touching himself in a way that is definitely not natural, but he's stopped believing in shame a long time ago. Shame was just something that stopped you from doing what needed to be done. It had been stitched into him when he first became human; he'd been ashamed of his weakness, his fragile, white body, all of it. But it didn't take long for him to shed that shame like a too-heavy coat. Who cares what God or Daryl or Chuck or even Dean thinks of him? He knows what he is: Cas No-Last-Name, former angel and current wingless fool, still standing between the monsters and the humans who would be their victims. That's what matters to Cas. Fuck everything else.

Castiel doesn't need much, just Cas's hand on his dick and his lips on his neck and he's coming a thick hot gush of fluid between them. The single lamp flickers and the motel sign's blue and purple neon buzzes off and on. Castiel cries out, and Cas shushes him, stroking him still. "It's okay, just ride it, just close your eyes," he says, kissing him on the ear.

The angel does as he's told, panting, still splayed out on top of his bundled coat, his shirt and pants tangled in the sheets. "Dean," he whispers into his pillow.

"Yeah," Cas agrees. He's still hard, pressing against his double's sharp hipbone. He rocks against Castiel, unhurried. Their bodies shiver together. "You all right, angel?"

Castiel blinks his eyes open, looking like he's just received revelation. "That was--" He licks his lips. "You have had this with Dean?"

Cas grins, pushes his cock harder against Castiel's skin. "Sure. Hands and mouths, even the full enchilada a few times."

"And did he..." Castiel rakes a hand through his twin's hair, cups his warm cheek. "What did he say when you told him you love him? Does he reject us? Say we can have his body but not his heart? Please, tell me. I must know."

Clouded blue eyes blink down at the angel. "Castiel, I never--" Cas chokes out. "I couldn't tell him. Not about that."

Castiel sits up, his human self cradled in his lap. "You never said the words? You--?"

"Look, things got really complicated, okay? The last thing Dean needed was some fuck-up clinging to his pant leg." Not that it was easy. Cas remembers those first few weeks after his fall, the touch and go times, how much he wanted to tell Dean between those kisses It was all for you, I am yours, whatever is left of me. How can he explain it to Castiel? That the pain of hearing Dean scoff "No thanks" would be worse than having his grace bleed out of him.

Cas fears for a moment that his past self is going to strike him down for this cowardice. He's condemned them to a lifetime of loneliness, and it's all his fault. He moves to crawl off Castiel, but the angel's arms come up to hold him. Gentle, like a song, folded there against an immortal body that is warm and smells like home used to.

"I would have done the same thing," Castiel says, muffled against his neck.

Cas grunts, "Of course you would, you're me."

"But we can change." Castiel kisses him on the mouth. He's learning fast. "We can change it tonight."

_____________________________

The red digital numbers on the alarm clock read 3:18, except half the 3 is burnt out, so it's three dashes: one-eight. Dean sits up, awake and alert for no reason he can remember. Maybe he heard something. He stays quiet, listening to the hum of the mini fridge, the drone of Sam's snores, the drip of the bathtub. No dangers. He starts to lay down again.

Come here, something whispers in his head. A half-remembered dream. That's probably what woke him up. Dean pulls the covers over his head, hunkering down.

Dean. Louder this time. Come here. Please.

Dean sits up again, the sheets pooling around his waist. He squints in the dark, listening. "Cas?" he whispers.

Yes. Come here.

Dean's not sure how Castiel is throwing his voice like that; maybe some angel thing he's never bothered telling Dean about. Either way, if it's so important that Cas is dragging out the big guns, then Dean's not going to question it. He rolls out of bed, grabs his glock, decides against pulling on jeans over his boxers, and slams out of the motel room. The angel's room is one door down on the right, and it takes Dean six paces of bare feet on cold concrete to reach it.

The door isn't locked. It pushes open without a problem. Dean raises his gun and ducks inside, thinking himself prepared for anything.

Cas is on the bed--well, they're both on the bed, the two Castiels, but the one from the future insisted he be called Cas, so Dean figures that's as good a way as any to distinguish them. His Castiel, the one from his time, is draped over his double, pale skin without a mark on it. The other Cas rests his unshaven chin on his scarred arms, laying flat on his belly. Castiel is licking a slow path up his bare back, tongue in the furrow of his spine all the way up to the nape of his neck.

"Hello Dean," they both say at the same time without looking up.

"Um." Dean lowers his gun and looks down at himself, realizing he's standing in the open doorway in his underwear. He kicks the door shut behind him. Last thing they need is to get run out of town. "What exactly are you--?"

"What does it look like, genius?" Cas says, trailing off into a moan as Castiel nips at his earlobe. "Fuck, you're getting pretty decent at this." Dean watches, eyebrow rising wildly, as the two almost-mirror images move together, nude on top of the rumpled bed. The smell of sex is in the air, and Dean's brain slowly puts the pieces together. Shit, with himself? Weird. Kind of kinky but weird.

"Well." Dean hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "I should probably...."

"Don't you dare," Cas says, fingers flexing on the mattress. "Castiel, go ahead." He nudges the angel with the point of his elbow.

The angel slides off his double's back and sits up, staring at Dean without a blink. "I called you here," he says. "Stay. Please."

Dean pointedly looks at the ceiling. "You seem busy." He glances at Castiel for a second before fastening his eyes on the crack in the plaster again. "And naked."

The angel stands, no attempt to hide the erection bobbing between his thighs. As he approaches Dean, the Cas on the bed turns lazily on his side, propping his head on his hand and watching them.

"Our Castiel has something to tell you," Cas says. "If you wanna leave once you hear it, fine. No hard feelings."

Dean stands frozen, unable to move or speak as Castiel stares into his eyes. "I thought I would have more time," Castiel says, "but my time may run dry sooner than we realize. And so I want you to know that I--" His lips part and he shakes his head, a little movement side to side. "That you are--"

Cas is beside him now, a hand on Castiel's shoulder. They stand together before Dean, naked and flushed. Cas grips his twin tight. "It's all right," he says to them both. "If this is the thing that makes the world end, I will be very surprised."

Dean's mouth turns into a tiny O of confusion. Castiel steels himself, his shoulders squared, and says, "I'm very much in love with you, Dean. And it seems," he glances over at his double, "I will be for the rest of my days."

Maybe this should shock Dean, or at least disturb him, but instead he finds himself slotting things into place. Castiel's eyes following him, his small disobediences that built up to rebellion all in Dean's name, the way he holds Dean to that higher standard, not a pathetic human, but a creature of unknown power. He hadn't added it all up before, but now that he sees it standing right in front of him, it makes a kind of sense. Dean couldn't prepare for this, so he accepts it.

"Cas, I--"

"Hey, no, don't ruin it." Future-Cas grabs him by the wrist. "He doesn't need to hear you say it back. Doesn't need you to ask why. He just wants you to--to let it be."

Dean looks at his Castiel, and those blue eyes are shining, pleading. Castiel, who asks for so little. Who won't even ask Dean for his own pledge. Something tears inside Dean's chest. Because he knows how it feels to be the one who does without.

The gun is still heavy in his hand, and Dean places it on the side table without looking. He holds Castiel's gaze, leans in, breath held, their lips so close he can feel the warmth radiating from the angel's skin. Castiel nearly shies away, but Cas stands close and whispers, "Oh god, let him." And they kiss, mouths moving together, soft and slow. Dean's arms fold around Castiel, fingernails raking down his back. Castiel pulls away long enough to brush his lips against Dean's temple, his forehead, and ask, "And him?"

Dean looks at the other Cas, creased and worn and so human. There are lines around his eyes and flecks of silver in his hair and doubt in his face. But he's still Castiel, he knows, some version of his Cas. And that's enough for him.

"C'mere," he says, and pulls the man from the future to them, pressing against his side and licking his way into his warm mouth. This Cas kisses back much like Castiel had, but with a furious energy that speaks of too many nights rushed and rough.

A part of Dean's brain is almost convinced that he's still asleep and this is a dream. Perhaps two Castiels represent how divided he felt about the angel. Or maybe two Castiels are just enough for a great sex dream, who knows. But when Dean hits the mattress with a thump, it feels very real.

"Are you certain?" his Castiel asks. "Do you wish to lie with us tonight? My future self has been showing me--" he blushes, pretty spots of color on his cheeks, "--things."

The grin that spreads across Dean's face is inappropriately wide. "Like?"

And that is how Dean ends up with his boxers hooked around one ankle, spread-eagle flat on his back, two Castiels between his legs, licking at him while he bites the comforter between his teeth to keep from screaming.

"Tiny little licks, Castiel," Cas says, demonstrating again along the fold of Dean's foreskin. Dipping low against Dean's balls, swirling back up his shaft to the crown of his cock, a little stab at the hole there and then retreat. "Dean likes it like that."

And god help him, he does. It's like future-Cas knows every sweet spot and nerve-ending he's got. Dean grits his teeth, tasting rough cotton as two tongues jostle around his dick.

"What else does he like?" Castiel breathes along the inside of Dean's thigh.

Cas catches Dean's eyes and smiles. "He likes fucking you," he says. "Likes your legs hiked up around his waist, or on your hands and knees like a dog. He likes pinching your nipples while he's in you, making you moan." He bends down to suckle at the head of Dean's cock, working the length of him with his hand. His lips leave it with a pop. "What do you think, Dean? Would you like that as much as my Dean did?"

"I--" Dean watches Castiel's face, lips wet and parted, eyes wide. "Yeah. Definitely."

Cas helps his straddle Dean's hips, guiding Dean's leaking cock to Castiel's hole. "Just sink down," he tells him. "Ride him. It's good, promise."

It is good, Dean thinks as Castiel takes him to the root. The angel's open and ready, and Dean's mind can't quite wrap around it, because if he's been waiting for this, ready for this all this time, Dean thinks he might lose it. He's burning with heat, blue eyes so huge, mouth open and gasping pink. Jesus, Dean looks at him--the deceptively fragile body that houses something immense--and can't believe he's letting him do this. His hands flutter to Castiel's hipbones, not knowing where else to go.

But Cas knows where they should go. "Nipples, Dean," he says, crowding behind Castiel and grabbing Dean's hands, guiding them up Castiel's chest to play with the little tight buds there. Castiel jerks in Dean's lap, taking even more of his cock than he thought possible.

"And hair. He wants you to tug at his hair," Cas murmurs.

"That true, Cas?" Dean asks, tweaking one nipple as hard as he dares.

Castiel nods rapidly, fucking himself onto Dean's cock like he was made for it. "Yes, please, Dean--" Dean doesn't wait, just reaches up and grabs a hank of that dark hair, drags Castiel down for a kiss.

"Don't forget the ears," Cas says, trailing his hands down Castiel's back, his fingertips dancing between Castiel's legs, brushing against Dean's balls where they press against Castiel's. Dean bites his lip to stifle a moan, then nudges Castiel with his nose until his face is turned away and his vulnerable ear is there to lick.

Dean opens his eyes, not remembering when they shut, to see Cas kneeling beside them, watching them with rapt attention and jerking his hard dick. Dean swallows as something catches in his throat. His Castiel--his angel Castiel--is beautiful and unearthly, but this other Cas is gorgeous too. And like all Castiels, he won't ask for anything for himself.

Castiel must sense Dean's thoughts, because he follows Dean's gaze to his twin. Cas's hand slows, uneasy with being the center of attention. "Don't mind me," he says. "Just enjoying the view."

"Cas." Dean thrusts into Castiel again and again. His toes curl into the sheets. A strong hand grips his jaw, and Dean finds himself looking back up at Castiel's blue stare. He sees a question in those eyes, and he nods. "Yeah. Cas, Castiel, fuck--"

"Join with us," Castiel says. He holds a hand out to his double, whose eyebrows disappear under his mop of hair. "Come. You belong here with us."

"No, no, I--" Cas's hand, the one not around his cock, drifts out to touch Castiel's bare flank. "This is for you two. I'm just a conduit, a map of the new territory."

"You forget, I am you as you are me," Castiel says. "I know your desires. I know you want to be inside Dean."

At those words, god, just at the thought Dean's cock twitches, too on the edge of orgasm. He clamps down on the rising tide inside him, willing this to last. The two Castiels are staring at him now, their hands caressing his chest, his stomach.

"C-could I, Dean?" Cas asks. "I'd be careful, I swear. I'd be--shit, Dean."

And Dean understands, as much as this Cas knows his body, as many times as he may have sucked his cock or rode him, he'd never asked--or maybe that bastard Dean never let him--do that. He gets why that Dean wouldn't; it's fucking terrifying. But there's an angel in his arms who loves him, and a man beside him who gave up everything to save him, and this is the moment that makes Dean want to be brave.

"It's okay," he shushes Cas, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. "Cas, it's fine. I love you, it's fine." He tightens his other hand around Castiel's shoulders, bringing them all close, kissing them in turn. "I love you, I do," he tells them. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."

A tear tracks down to his chin, and he notices Cas's eyes are red and wet. Only Castiel is not crying. He is radiant. He smiles and smiles against Dean's collarbone.

"We are loved, brother," he tells Cas. "Don't cry." For a moment, they lay together and breathe, moving slow and careful against each other.

Castiel nudges Dean with his legs and, with Dean still inside, they flip over. Castiel sinks down into the mattress, looking up at Dean with those unblinking eyes. Dean cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at Cas. "You okay with this?"

Cas reaches over to the nightstand and rips open the condom packet. He rolls it over his dick, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "Are you?"

Surprisingly okay, actually. Dean turns back to the Castiel in his arms, nipping his ear once more. "Yeah," he says.

Cas lets Castiel lick his fingers until they glisten, and Dean forces himself to relax knowing what's next. The few times he's done this--truck stops and the back rooms of bars--it's been uncomfortable, enough to keep him from seeking it out very often. But this Cas, he's gentle, working Dean open and taking his time. It's a while before the first fingertip even presses in, and when it does, Dean's hips stutter forward into Castiel, his hands clutching at him. Castiel soothes him with a kiss to his brow.

"He's very talented," he confides. "He stretched me for an hour before you arrived. Do you like his hands?"

"Oh yes," Dean groans, feeling the second finger join the first. He imagines the two Castiels laying in this bed, fucking each other with their long, perfect fingers and jerking each other off. "It's good."

And then Cas is pressed against Dean's back, his warm breath on the nape of his neck. His cock feels huge, and Dean looks down at Castiel's erection, still leaking between them, just to confirm it's not as crazy big as he thinks. He takes a deep breath, and Cas murmurs, "Ah, god," as he pushes in. His forehead falls to rest on Dean's shoulder, and they are all connected at last.

It's not easy, the three of them moving in tandem. It takes some practice to get the right rhythm, the correct push-pull of their hips. Their hands are a chaos, reaching for any possible handhold: Castiel's cock, Dean's chest, Cas's ass. Dean leans down to kiss Castiel, then turns his head to plunder Cas's mouth. He fucks and is fucked, and he feels electric between them.

The Castiel beneath him is pliant, allowing himself to be guided. He takes Dean in his hungry body, would beg for more if he had words for it. The Cas behind him fucks into him like it's a mission, and maybe for him it is. He strikes that bundle of nerves inside Dean unerringly three times in a row, and Dean sees stars.

Castiel is first. Dean feels him getting close. His hips falter and his head falls back into a thin pillow. Dean reaches between them and barely gets his fingers around Castiel's cock before it's pulsing, the come painting Castiel's stomach white.

"Cas, oh Jesus," Dean gasps. The other Cas is pounding into him from behind, faster now, and Castiel is still clenching around his dick. The angel hikes his leg up around Dean's waist, allowing him deeper. Behind Dean, Cas grabs his double's ankle and holds him in place.

"Come for him, Dean. Castiel wants you to finish in him," Cas whispers into his ear, and that's all Dean can handle. His legs shake and his teeth rattle with the force of it. He knows he's holding Castiel's hips too tight, would bruise them if he was a human, but Castiel just says, "Yes, oh yes, Dean," and pets his bellowing sides. Distantly, Dean hears Cas groan and stiffen behind him, his teeth sinking into the meat of Dean's shoulder.

Cas moves first, slipping out of Dean and tossing the used rubber in the trash can with a wet thunk. He's the one who gets the damp wash cloth, wiping them down while they remain where they were, Dean panting on his knees, Castiel gazing up at him with adoration.

"Let him go, Castiel," he tells his twin in a soft voice, and it's only then that Dean realizes he can't physically move. Castiel lets out a shaky sigh, and Dean slips from his body, a warm wetness between them. Cas dabs at them with his wash cloth.

"I could get that," Castiel murmurs. "I still have some power."

"Don't waste it on this." Cas grins and kisses him on the chin. "I don't mind, anyway." He guides Dean down between them, and Dean falls to the bed like a sack of bricks.

"What happens now?" Dean asks, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

"Well," Cas drawls, "we get some rest, maybe some coffee later, you give us your number--"

"No, smart ass, I mean what happens to everything. The timeline. This--this thing," Dean gestures between all three of them, "this never happened in your past, right? So what happens when we change time like this?"

Castiel rests his head on Dean's chest and reaches over to stroke his double's stubbled jaw. The two Castiels share a look. Dean watches it stretch out over him, feeling anxious.

"Whatever happens, it can't be bad, right? I mean, Cas is here with us." He loops an arm over the human Cas's shoulders, pulling him closer. "He's safe. We're okay."

Cas breaks off the staring contest with his doppelganger to look down at Dean. His smile is thin. "Yeah, Dean. We're going to be okay." He kisses Dean then, slow and salt-laced. Dean tastes the tears on his lips, shushes Cas when he sobs low in his throat.

"Cas, it's all right now. We've got you." Dean rocks with him, his arms tight around his shaking shoulders. Castiel slips around behind Cas, holding him as well. "Thank you," he whispers.

With his face buried in Cas's hair, Dean can't be sure which one said it. It doesn't matter. They're together. They have the truth on their side. They're going to win this thing.

Dean drifts to sleep to the warm touches and voices of his two Castiels, loving him without reservation.

_____________________________

They don't know what happens to Cas, the one from the future. Dean wakes up and he's gone. He turns to stare at Castiel, eyes still open and studying Dean. "Is he--?" Dean asks.

Castiel just shakes his head and holds Dean tighter. Dean lets out a breath he's been holding. Maybe Zachariah zapped Cas back to his time. Maybe he never existed. "Does his time even still exist?" Dean asks, curled against Castiel's side.

"I don't know," the angel says. "Time is difficult to understand, even for me." He runs his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean knows in his head that the Cas they were with last night is probably dead or evaporated into nothing. But in his heart Dean likes to think that Cas woke up without disturbing them, dressed in one of Dean's old tee shirts, and walked out of the motel room to live in a different world. It's stupid, but Dean likes to believe he's still out there, walking the earth.

Until they get out of bed, there's no telling what happened to that old tee shirt, if it's still there on the pea green motel carpet. Schrodinger's cotton blend. So Dean keeps Castiel in bed for as long as he can, just to buy them some more time.

fin