Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean turned slowly beneath the warm covers on his bed, groaning, attempting to avoid the inevitable moment he would wake and not be able to go back to sleep. It always happened around five in the morning, such an ungodly hour. Probably God's way of punishing him for... well, everything. He hated mornings.

Sure, Sam thought he was a night owl, a vampire who refused to go out into the light of day in the mornings, and he was. But that didn't mean he could control when he woke up. If he could help it, he would be sleeping in till lunchtime and wake up to the promise of food. Diner food, grease and all.

But it wasn't up to him. So he laid there every morning pretending to be sleeping, sometimes trying to ease himself back into the glorious abyss of unconsciousness, but it was always to no avail. He was basically cursed, and no, that was not him being melodramatic.

He turned a couple more times, groaning along with the movement and stretch of limbs, until he settled into a slightly more comfortable position.

This was probably the worst part of his day. The early morning hours when he was too physically tired to get up, but too mentally awake to sleep and dream of nothingness. This was the time when his stupid mind wandered. Wandered through different scenarios of how conversations the day before could have gone more smoothly. How he could have kept his stupid mouth shut or opened it at just the right time instead of sitting in awkward silence.

Such was life, cringing at your greatest hits running through your mind. Greatest hits meaning "I'm a fucking idiot. Why can't I just shut up, why do I exist? I hate my life." You know the ones.

Dean was shaken from his grumbling and self-deprecating stupor to the clanging of... something fucking loud coming from the kitchen, like pots being banged around or things being dropped. Either Sam had started making his stupid health-nut breakfast and didn't give a shit if he woke his brother up in the process (fairly unlikely, he's too much of a girl), or Cas was having trouble finding something again. It's not like the guy cooked all that much.

If it was Cas, he was probably attempting to make breakfast for Sam and Dean as one of his many ways of apologizing for his latest fuck-up with the leviathans. Which, no matter how many times they said they were good, it never seemed to matter to Cas. He had to make it right, had to make it up to them.

It was kind of annoying how relentless and stubborn he was when it came to trying to mend fences when he made mistakes. Also kinda admirable... and adorable... Wait. No. Not that. Maddening. Yeah, that.

The noise had stopped a while ago, but it started up again somewhere else farther away, less noticeable. Dean grumbled his way out of bed to a standing position and grabbed his comfy robe off the floor. He made his way down the hall and past the kitchen searching for the noises that were getting louder the further he walked.

He turned the corner into the library towards the noise of thumping books cautiously. He saw movement towards the back-right side of the room and caught a glimpse of familiar brown, shaggy hair.

"Cas, what the hell are you doin'?" he grumbled, voice rough with sleep, as he made his way over to Cas.

Cas paused in his movements and turned to face Dean. But it wasn't Cas. Or at least he didn't think so. He quirked an eyebrow scanning the person in front of him, confused. He knew Cas. This wasn't Cas. Well, he looked like Cas, but this guy was older. Dean could see the gray hairs that streaked the sides of his head, the crinkles around his eyes and mouth.

Not-Cas looked startled for a split second as he turned to face Dean before clearing his face of any emotion.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean pulled the gun out of the pocket of his robe that he kept there, for obvious reasons, and kept it at his side, finger on the side of the gun in a nonthreatening gesture. Just keeping it in the guy's line of sight so he knew Dean was prepared for any shit he tried to throw at him. Just a warning. The man didn't even flinch, not a single reaction.

Okay, maybe he was Cas. But just to be safe.

"Only reason I'm not pointing this at you is 'cause you look like a good friend of mine, and I've had weirder shit happen in my lifetime than a time traveling angel. I've actually already been down that road."

The guy pursed his lips slightly and tilted his head in a show of confusion, one of the few expressions Cas actually uses. Daily.

"Then why have the gun out in the first place?"

"Same reason, shit happens. You could just as easily be a shifter, or some other freak monster I haven't heard of yet. Or you could just be a different angel in the same vessel after taking it over in the future and time traveling back here to try and get God knows what outta me or Sam. Only thing I know for sure is you ain't Cas," Dean said keeping his voice calm, his expressions neutral.

Well, mostly. Maybe a little bit of stern asshole thrown in there at an attempt to intimidate.

"Interesting," he said with the same look on his face. It was kinda trippy seeing the same features on this man. This man pretending to be Cas, or at least the younger version of himself. And he pulled it off well. So well that not many people would have seen the difference in the two.

"Told ya'," a familiar voice chimed in from around another bookshelf.

Dean jumped back so he didn't have his back to either intruder and lifted his gun to point in the direction of the new voice. How had he not noticed this guy? He was trained better than that.

"Yes, it seems you did. I didn't think you knew me well enough at this point in time to decipher the difference between the two of us. There aren't many after all," not-Cas said relaxing his features as he spoke. Instead of the stoic posture Cas usually occupied, he seemed more comfortable in his own skin.

"Yeah," the other voice spoke as he rounded the corner revealing himself and completely blindsiding Dean, "but that doesn't mean I wouldn't notice. I knew you too well, babe. Even then."

It took a second for their words to register in Dean's brain because he was still stuck on the whole being faced with your future self, in the flesh, right before your eyes, etc. You couldn't blame him. Here he was, in his robe with only boxers and a tight, white t-shirt underneath, in front of, seemingly, himself from some future time and a future Cas. He was pretty sure the look of shock on his face as he lowered the gun was the only thing keeping the other two from speaking, graciously offering him time to process.

Then the words registered.

"Wh - I - wait. How – uh... Why - 'babe?'" He definitely did not squeak... Nope.

Yeah, this would be one of those moments he would dwell on some morning in the future after slamming his head against his pillow in frustration.

Chapter Text

A small smile tugged at future Cas’s lips in amusement - since when was he capable of more than two, possibly three, emotional facial expressions? - at Dean’s flustered attempt at a question.

Before Dean could say something to restore his dignity, future Dean smiled and muttered, “Hey, Cas.”

He turned to see his Cas - nope, not his. Just present-day Cas - just behind him in his usual trench coat and suit staring with that same look of curiosity that he had not too long ago seen on this future Cas.

Dean turned back to look at his future self as Cas approached trying to gauge his expression. He seemed so entranced at the sight of this Cas, like a kid on Christmas morning. He looked like he was staring at someone he… nope, not going there.

“Dean, what’s going on? Why are they here?” present-day Cas questioned.

“How the hell should I know?” Dean shrugged throwing his hands up vaguely, in a show of frustration.

“You might want to put that away before you shoot someone, Dean,” future Cas spoke gesturing to the gun he had in a death grip in one hand.

“Oh, right.” He quickly put in on safety and shoved it back in his robe pocket, and no, he did not have trouble switching the safety on because he was shaking.

“You were right about us being from the future. We came to get something that was destroyed – or will be destroyed in approximately two years. There were a number of books that were burned by the Styne family,” future Cas said.

“And we need one of ‘em for, uh… research,” future Dean said.

“Research?” Dean asked skeptically. “Seriously? That the best you got?”

“Well, it’s not like going into detail is gonna help explain any better. We’re facing things in the future that you couldn’t even dream of, so there’s no point in wasting time on trying to catch you up when you’re just gonna be livin’ it in a decade or so yourself,” future Dean growled indignantly.

And holy shit, a decade.

How did he manage to live that long?

“Dean,” future Cas said quietly moving next to him. Dean looked his way oddly calmed by his voice. “He’s right. It would be better if we found what we came for and then left as soon as possible. We shouldn’t be here any longer than we have to be.”

“I – ” Dean was having trouble getting over certain revelations of the night, or more specifically, one revelation. If you could call it that. “Cas, are they the real deal?” he asked turning to Cas.

“Yes,” he said staring at future Dean seemingly intrigued by him. Future Dean stared right back intensely with a look that Dean knew all too well. His gut dropped.

Just ignore it. Don’t ask questions. He’s probably just yankin’ your chain. That’s totally somethin’ you would do. Let it -

Future Dean and future Cas shared a quick, cautious look from across the room before future Dean mumbled, “We’re not allowed to tell ‘em, right? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure he already figured it out and’s about to have a panic attack, and I know you handle it well, but I really don’t wanna be here for my melodramatic ass panicking.”

“And who’s fault is that exactly? I told you you shouldn’t have, but did you listen? No. I knew you would make it obvious. You just can’t help yourself; you’ve gotta make an entrance. You’re still overdramatic.”

“Holy shit. I can’t believe this,” Dean started mumbling to himself grabbing around for something to hold himself steady. “I’m not – I am not gay! But you - ” he pointed an accusing finger at his future self, “- you’re fucking him?! What the fuck is happening?”

“Who said I was fucking him?”

…

“Anyone else hear the crickets?”

Of course, Sam would walk in at that moment. Goodbye, all future rights of calling Sam a girl.