Castiel's sitting in front of him.

Not the real one, the wrong one.

Dean looks down at him where he's sitting on the canvas camp bed, looking up at him with dim blue eyes, surrounded by long lashes and blinking slowly, curiously. Castiel frowns a little and pats at the pockets in his jeans, looking for pills or a smoke, whatever it is he doesn't find it.

Dean leans back on the table behind him, feet scuffing the floorboards of the cabin.

"What are you offering me?" Castiel asks hoarsely, and Dean wants to ask what the hell is going on, but instead he says.

"Couple of hours." His voice not at all as he remembers it to be, it's lost its last trace of lightness.

Castiel tilts his head as if considering this. "A couple of hours, and you'll..."

"Do whatever I damn please." Dean feels himself glower. "I'm not getting screwed by this free love crap."

Castiel laughs shortly to himself. "So I get get whatever you want." He snickers again, like dry sticks cracking in a fire. "Story of the last five years."

Dean wants to ask what the hell is going, what they're bargaining over. But then, he thinks he already knows the answer.

He glares down at the curiously quirked face of his ally, or someone who was once his ally, now just another fallen pawn watching from the edge of the board, waiting for the game to end.

"Don't think for one moment that I'll be kind." Dean says, watches Castiel digest the words that he lets slip matter of factly. Castiel's hands go to Dean's fly and drag it down slowly.

"Who said I wanted kind?" Castiel snaps back into himself and answers without any of his crazed humour. "If I did, would I be with you?"

He pulls Dean out of his underwear with a practiced motion, stroking the half hardened shaft until it's fully ready, leaking a little in his tobacco stained hands. Dean leans against the table as Castiel stoops forwards, mouth touching the tip of him softly, sliding along the ridged flesh and letting his eyes fall closed.

Time goes kind of blurry, and Dean's suddenly not himself anymore, he's watching Castiel suck from the other side of the room. Only now the man standing before the ravaged 2014 survivor is Castiel, regular, trench coat wearing Cas, fly open, dick sliding between the lips of his older self. They moan in unison, one sound muffled by the flesh in his mouth, the other wrapping his fingers into the kneeling man's hair.

A hand hits Dean's shoulder from behind, and it's him, 2014 Dean with a shut down expression of disgust and anger.

"How could you let this happen to him?" Future him growls, while Castiel fists his own hair and starts moving, fucking the mouth of the stoned man kneeling on the floor. Short keens come from the throat of the angel as he does so, lazy grunts of pleasure from the human on the floor.

"I didn't..." Dean manages, watching as his older self melts into the shape of Uriel.

"I knew you'd be the one to break him." He says, with a kind of vicious sadness. "Nothing stays clean in the hands of you...creatures." he hisses.

Human Castiel kneads the shape of his dick through his jeans.

Dean wakes up in his motel bed, shocked upwards into darkness and the sounds of Sam snoring beside him on the other twin bed.

Dean looks around the shadowed room, but there's nothing. Nothing but the hazy memory of a dream and his half hard cock nudging a demand for attention into his brain.

For the thousandth time since he was old enough to comprehend the mistakes he was making, Dean thinks – "I'll fix this."

And for the thousandth time since that first mistake, somewhere around Sam's third birthday – he realises he has no idea how.