They fuck, writhing together on a bed with no sheets, in a room with no windows, in a house that's not a home.
Limbs tangle, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and they grip tightly to each other, as if letting go would mean certain death, or a fate equally as gruesome, equally as lonely.
Dean doesn't make love, he doesn't have sex, he doesn't sleep with someone, not anymore. Now he just fucks, raw and animalistic, because that's how he feels, that's how he is.
Sex implies a relationship, which implies love, and Dean doesn't allow himself to love, not anymore. Famine told him he was empty inside, that he had no hunger for anything. Now Dean understands why that is a little. Having a hunger leads to an emotion, or at the very least a base need, a drive. Dean has none of these. All he has is a dark, yawning chasm, a great gaping maw where he used to feel.
He tried filling it with drink and drugs and girl after girl after girl, but he's as hollow as he was when he began the night, and all he has to show for it is a hangover from hell, and an equally hung-over, half naked girl doing the walk of shame back to her own cabin. Because, he remembers when the room stops spinning, the apocalypse is happening, and it's happening now, so he stumbles over to Castiel's cabin for some angel hangover cure remedy, before doing the same thing the very next night. Before he knows it, he's got a drinking problem, an addiction, and a long string of angry chicks he fucked (because Dean Winchester doesn't have sex, remember?).
And then there's the first day he stumbles to Castiel's cabin and finds the angel sitting on the bed, staring at the floor morosely. What's up, Cas? He garbles, still drunk from the night before, from a hundred night before's.
They're gone, he states, now examining his hands. Every single one of them.
Who? Dean asks, not really caring, but figuring that letting the angel talk would lead to him zapping the marching band out of his skull a lot quicker than not listening.
The angels. They're gone.
Where? He asks, somewhat asininely, in hindsight. Castiel looks at him like half his brain had fallen out (Dean's that is, not Cas'. Cas looks remarkably composed, considering)
Heaven, I assume.
Why didn't you go with them?
I don't know. They just left me. At this, even Dean's drug addled mind can tell that Castiel is lost, cut free from the pack, and his booze soaked heart breaks a little more.
So, what happens now? Dean asks, half not wanting to know the answer. Castiel just shrugs, hitching one shoulder up and down, almost imperceptibly.
Castiel slowly becomes human, as Dean loses more and more of his humanity, losing it to the drugs and the drink. But not the girls. Not anymore.
Now Castiel has a yawning chasm that needs filling too, so they both fuck, always at night, always in Castiel's cabin, Dean always leaving when they're done, instead of basking in the post-coital glow, like he would have done in the past, he slinks back to his own cabin to lie alone.
And the next night it begins again, Dean fucking the former angel, telling himself it's because he can't feel anything, telling everyone else it's because Castiel is hot, and Dean's willing. Telling Castiel nothing.
Dean can't even tell himself the real reason, except in the darkest of dark nights, when the camp is dead to everything else, and he cries for himself, and for everyone he's ever fallen in love with. Dean fucks Castiel, because he's afraid to make love to him. Because Dean making love to Castiel is only a small step away from falling in love with Castiel, and Dean isn't going to let that happen. Because the people he loves have a nasty habit of dying. And it's a fucking epic battle with his heart, but wins out, just. Each night though, it becomes a longer war, a harder battle to win.
So they keep fucking, and Dean keeps fighting, because he's terrified of what will happen if he loses. But a small part of him, a miniscule portion of his dead soul, is even more frightened of what will happen if he keeps winning. Because he wants to love Castiel, he truly does. But he can't, and he's too selfish to say that he wants all of Castiel or nothing at all.
So they fuck, and Dean knows that they can never be anything more, or anything less.