Yeah, so it's a week later than I said it would be (not that anyone actually cares).

The End is one of (if not my all time) favourite episode of Supernatural, so I am constantly dreaming up End!verse shtuff. This one is set during the actual episode, so it kind of is End!verse but it kind of isn't. I made a mix a while back that I was listening to when I wrote this so have a listen if you'd like /lady-day/after-all-this-time-a-destiel-end-verse- mix. The mix and this fic have the same title, which comes from the song Blind by Lifehouse.

I am big on accuracy, so some of the dialogue in this fic (a good chunk of it actually) comes directly from the episode transcript so obviously I did not come up with those words myself I do not own them. Italicised and bolded words are quotes from previous episodes that Dean is remembering. Okay I'm done read on.

"Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night, and apparently we and... Risa have a connection."

For all his blindness when it comes to peoples' feelings, Dean couldn't miss the smile on Cas's face even if he tried. It comes after a shortened sigh, like the guy was about to lose it but then opted for a strangled grin and a silent chuckle instead. Maybe it's the fact that Cas is smiling at all that puts Dean on edge- nothing is right about any of this, and Cas is fucking smiling. It looks more like a grimace, really- a grimace that (if Dean was paying more attention, would see) is full of something almost like jealousy with a definite note of heartbreak. It falls short of genuine happiness and lands somewhere in the vicinity of morbid almost-amusement.

Castiel? Oh, he's, he's not here. You see he has this weakness. He likes you.

"You wanna shut up?" The other Dean barks, and he just rolls with it, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"We don't have to find Lucifer." His future counterpart tells them. "We know where he is. The demon we caught last week, he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew."

"So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just believe it?" Risa is still unimpressed, not to mention pissed. But there's a confidence in his doppelganger's tone, Dean notices. He must know something no one else knows that makes him so sure. Which is probably not a good sign.

"Oh trust me, he wasn't lying."

"And you know this how?" Risa questions.

"Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too schooled in the art of getting the truth." Cas explains.

There it is again. That broken expression that's supposed to be a smile but doesn't quite make it.

You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.

For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.

Shit.

"Torture? Oh, so, we're- we're torturing again."

The look he gets from himself is not too friendly.

"No, that's—that's good. Classy."

The sound that leaves Cas's mouth doesn't sound like a laugh at first. It's unfamiliar to Dean, just as much as the smiling is. But no, he is decidedly laughing- it's a laugh that, like the smile, is darkly entertained and no small amount of empty. And the glare 'their fearless leader' shoots him is nothing if not intensely annoyed.

"What? I like past you." Cas says it as if he's never met this version of Dean, as if he's completely forgotten what his best friend used to be like. And that, well, that scares this version of Dean shitless.

"Listen. Lucifer is here. I know this block and I know this building." Future Dean points to a map, ignoring the way Cas's gaze follows him- and the hunter just watches himself and his angel go back and forth.

"Oh, good- it's right in the middle of a hot zone." Said angel observes with mock relief.

"Crawling with Croats, yeah." Future Dean looks up. "You saying my plan is reckless?"

"Are you saying that we, uh, walk straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?"

So, what, I'm Thelma and you're Louise, and we're just gonna hold hands and sail off this cliff together?

"Yes." As if it wasn't obvious.

"Okay, if you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant' maybe."

"Are you coming?"

In Dean's mind, everything freezes for a long moment- reality is suspended, hanging in midair while he just looks at Cas. He sees the thought form in his now dull blue eyes (God, even his eyes aren't the same, is nothing sacred?) and bounce around in his head before it leaves his mouth. Then that look shows up one more time, that saddened smirk crosses those lips and Dean figures it out, realises that there's only one thing Cas will ever say when he's asked a question like that (and there's only one reason why). And he knows what the reply is going to be, even before it's said. For a split second, Dean hopes to hell he's wrong. In his mind, it takes Cas a small eternity to answer.

In reality, he doesn't miss a beat.

"Of course."

As soon as Dean steps outside, he lets his feet take him where he pretends he doesn't want to go. All around him, people are preparing, getting ready for what they expect will be their last mission, one way or another. But even though this is it, no one is even anywhere close to looking relieved. Every face he sees is set with fear and doubt and most of all resignation. Only a few nameless people glance up at him as they walk past, most of them looking like they think all of this is somehow his fault. And he kind of has to agree- it's definitely him- well, one of him anyway.

The last person to notice him is Chuck, and when the prophet sees him standing outside Cas's cabin, he half-nods, ducks his head and starts walking faster, as if he's seen Dean standing outside this cabin before. It's like he knows what's about to happen and would rather pretend he doesn't. It's very weird but very eye-opening.

Dean pauses for barely a second before pulling the curtain of beads aside and stepping through the doorway, knocking twice after the fact. He doesn't see Cas at first, but before he can even open his mouth to announce himself, the owner of the cabin walks into the room- a lit joint in his hand, smoke curling from between his lips and billowing around his head.

"Hey there, 'other' Dean."

"Hey Cas." There's no point in even commenting about how baked the guy looks- or how insanely weird the 'hey there' sounds in place of 'hello'.

"Shouldn't you be, uh, 'getting the grunts moving' or something?" Dean enquires when the other man flops down on the thin mattress in the corner, staring blankly at the ceiling (which is filled with a frightening amount of holes).

"Risa's on it. She may think you're a total dick, but she'll do anything for you. Well, not 'you' you, but yeah, you get it." Cas answers, taking another puff.

"Are you really sure you're talking about Risa?"

"Well, yeah, but only because I used her name in direct reference to the rest of the sentence." It's obvious he knows exactly what Dean is talking about. Pot makes him dumb, but definitely not stupid.

My Superiors have begun to question my sympathies.

Your sympathies?

I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. They feel I've begun to express emotions, doorways, to doubt. This can impair my judgement.

"I mean, you didn't even blink, man." Dean reminds him. "I know you got an unfair advantage when it comes to fighting freaks, but this mission, this plan to just walk in and shoot the fucking devil, it's-"

"Suicide? Yeah I'm aware. More likely now that I have just about as much of an advantage as anyone else."

"Wait. What?" Dean starts.

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore." Cas sits up and looks right at him as he says this, as if he's confessing something that will somehow let somebody down.

"What?"

"Yeah, I went mortal." This time he almost shrugs, like the same admission is somehow less shocking the second time around.

"What do you mean? How?"

"I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of went- psshhew!- drained away." Cas's eyes linger on nothing for a moment, as if he's holding on for dear life to the memory of his glory days. "And now, you know, I'm practically human. I mean, Dean, I'm all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months." The (apparently former) angel of the lord pulls out a bottle of pills, pops a few and tosses the now empty container into the open nightstand drawer.

"Let me see those." Dean crosses the room, picks up the bottle and takes one good look at the label before-

"Amphetamines?"

"It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe." Those blue eyes look over and catch the silent demand for an explanation.

"I stopped sleeping a while back. Years ago now, I guess, but it's hard to remember- and not just because I'm killing brain cells here." He gestures to the blunt in his hand and the cloud in between the two of them. "I was having nightmares, barely getting any rest- and then I went off the reservation one night, ranting and raving about God's plan, and angels, and free will-" he's on his feet now, and he realises he's been rambling- but there's nothing that Dean doesn't want to hear- "you- he- got me sleeping pills, which worked wonders- and when those lost their magic, there was pot and about a million and one types of alcohol and alcohol-based substances. Of course after the downers came the uppers. Then the thing with my foot happened, and since I couldn't just snap my fingers and fix the problem, I needed some hardcore painkillers. After that, well, I guess you could say I liked it too much to kick the habit."

"And the orgies?"

Well. Last night on earth. What are your plans?

I just thought I'd sit here quietly.

Come on, anything? Booze, women?

You have been with women before. Right? Or an angel, at least?

You mean to tell me you've never been up there doing a little cloud-seeding?

I've never had occasion, okay?

Cas gives a genuine (read 'hollow') laugh at that question- although there's a good chance that most of the giddiness can be accounted for by the marijuana.

"It's a high, Dean. Sex is a high that is in a class all by itself. And hey, I'm 'just a man' now- I can feel, so why not exploit that advantage? Take a good long look- I'm powerless. I'm hapless, I'm hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It's the end, baby. That's what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that's, that's just how I roll."

It's Dean's turn to laugh, because Cas saying 'that's just how I roll' in any context is fucking hilarious. Also, there's the laughable matter of how full of bullshit he is. Not entirely, but claiming 'it feels good' when you have every other 'it feels good' known to man at your fingertips- that's weak. There's something else.

"Cas, are we having sex?"

"Well, I was under the impression that we were having a pleasant conversation, but if it was that good for you-"

"I'm serious. You don't become a borderline raging sex addict unless at least part of you is trying to get back at someone. And you don't get back at someone by having a shit-ton of sex unless you've had sex with that someone. And the only someone you seem to care about enough to wanna get back at is me."

I'm hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, for you, and you failed.

There's a long pause, and after a while, the quiet begins to collapse in on itself.

"Late oh-nine, right?" Cas suddenly shatters the silence, grinding the butt of his joint into the floor with the heel of his shoe.

"Huh?"

"When you're from. I was just trying to remember what we were back then." The way his voice gets quietly fragile when he says 'we' gives Dean goose bumps. And then Cas is crossing the room and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and fuck if he isn't planting one on him right then and there. Without even thinking, Dean shoves him away, breathing hard and trying to figure out what the fuck just happened, not to mention trying to ignore the pounding in his ears that resonates from his chest.

"Oh yeah, that's right." That grin is back on Cas's face, and this time the heartbreak is right there at the surface. He stares hard at the floor, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Then his gaze snaps back up, catching Dean totally off guard and the noise in his ears stops for a second. Cas laughs breathily.

"Late oh-nine. We aren't anything."

"No, Cas, I didn't mean-"

"But you've thought about it right? I mean, you wouldn't have asked a question like "Are we having sex?" if you hadn't at least thought about having sex with me." It's obvious that he's trying to reassure himself, but it's also obvious that he's not doing very well.

There are two things that I know for certain. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, you are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.

"No- I- yeah- yes." That night at the strip club seems like an eternity ago- mostly because he's five years in the future, but partially because he actually does regret not manning up and kissing Cas right there in that alley and actually making sure he didn't die a virgin.

"I've thought about it. I haven't done anything about it."

"Why not?" Cas wonders. "Why haven't you-"

"I don't know, maybe 'cause you were an angel of the fucking lord, talk about blasphemy, Jesus, I- or, you know, maybe 'cause I'm Dean Winchester, and guys aren't my-" Cas gives him a skeptical look and he abandons that excuse pretty quickly.

"Didn't think you cared. That you'd want to. You know, angels not having feelings and shit."

Feelings are overrated, if you ask me.

Beats being an angel.

"Hah, well, you were wrong about that." And then he gets this look in his eye- don't believe me? Let me prove it to you.

This time, when Cas quickly closes the space between them, Dean is ready, or so he thinks. But by the time he's been backed up against the wall, his imagined preparedness gets thrown out the window faster than his hands can find their way into Cas's eternally dishevelled hair. It's softer than it looks, and when dean pulls his fingers around to the back of the other man's neck, he gets a half moan and another faltering hurried kiss.

Dean pulls back, catching Cas's wrist and flipping them around, downright pinning him to the wall (which he really hopes is structurally sound) and diving back in to kiss him again. That irresistible mouth opens up for him right away, and of course he can taste the deep bitterness of the pot, but there's something else on the ex-angel's tongue besides the smoke and the half-sigh half-groan- it's like that weird tang of what pills actually taste like when they're in your mouth for too long before you swallow them. But beyond that even there's something sweet and clean and pure-like rainwater or maple sap. And (even though he has no frame of reference for what Cas tastes like in 2009), the fact that he can taste something so good under everything else makes him think that maybe there's some of the old Cas still in there somewhere.

Wow. Speaking of sap.

Neither one of them wants to break the kiss, but eventually they do- trying to catch their breath and slow their pulses. Dean catches Cas's eyes- the electricity arcs through them for an instant- they spark and they burn and they glow- and then they're once again glassed over, red and tired. Indescribably tired, like that same smirk that creeps onto his face as he speaks and steps out from in between the hunter and the wall.

"Believe me, late oh-nine, I definitely wanted to do that."

And then Dean wants to know why Cas's old self, the socially inept angel who never gets the reference, is just an aftertaste in his mouth.

"Cas, what happened to you?"

Life.

"You."

"It was right after Detroit. You did hear about Detroit?" Dean nods and Cas continues. "I wasn't there- technically neither were you." He sticks to the 'you' rather than the 'he' and it's weird (but so is everything). "You heard about it after the fact. You were on the road, the message didn't get to you before it got to camp- I knew before you did. And when you finally did get back, Chuck was the one who- needless to say I could hear it from across camp. You let out this scream that was probably supposed to be something like 'no' but came closer to a dying animal than anything."

"I was here, hung over- this was back when I actually allowed myself to be sober long enough for there to be a hangover. You came barrelling in here- it was weird, because up until that point, when shit happened, you would lock yourself away and I would have to be the one who went looking for you- if I could walk straight enough at the time. But nope. After Detroit, you sought me out. You stood in the doorway for a second and then fell to your knees on the floor, saying nothing at all. I thought maybe I was hallucinating or sleeping at first, but then you started screaming again, loud enough to wake the dead."

"YES, ALRIGHT?! YES! DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! YES!"

Cas is yelling too as he tells this part of the story- Dean almost sees the fire in his eyes again, but only until he quiets down.

"And then I knelt in front of you and I did the only thing I've ever known to do when it comes to you- I put my hand on your shoulder."

Dean lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"You grabbed me and kissed me much like I did you just now- and, well, you can guess what happened after that."

"It was the beginning of my greatest and worst addiction- the beginning of yours too, I guess. I can't fool anyone enough to say it was a relationship- that implies an emotional connection of some sort. We never really show our feelings to each other so much as we take them out on each other. I've gotten more than a few bruises from other things than fighting demons and Croats."

After that, there's nothing but uncomfortable (not awkward but pained) silence.

"I'm sorry." Dean blurts out a while later. "God, Cas, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. I'm fine." Is the reply.

"You're lying."

"I learned from the best."

Seriously? You're going to walk in there and tell him the truth?

Why not?

Because we're humans.

And when humans want something really, really bad, we lie.

Shit.

"Did I ever tell you that I cared at all?"

Cas tilts his head to the left and shakes it ever so slightly.

Dean's gaze glues itself to the floor.

"I know you care. Or you did. Back then, before you and Sam very accidentally sprung Lucifer. Before all of this; the demons running rampant, the Croatoan outbreak, the angels leaving. Before the drugs. Before Detroit. You were a different person then. So was I. You were the hard-headed thick-skinned hunter who sold his soul to save his little brother. I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." And for all he's changed, Cas still does a mean impression of himself. Dean nearly chuckles.

"You still are." He wants to say but mostly whispers, still not looking up.

"Yeah, well," Dean hears the sound of a gun being picked up and slung over Cas's shoulder, "a lot of good that does me now." The clunk of boots across the floor and a hand covering the place where it first touched him brings Dean's eyes up to meet the other's, and he desperately hopes to see light where there is none.

"I care, Cas." He breathes. More than you'll ever know. "I'm telling you now 'cause-"

"There will be plenty of time to tell me when you get back, even if there's no time left for me now. That's the great thing about skipping to the end of the story, other Dean." Cas lets go of his shoulder and heads for the door, the sound of jeeps rumbling to life in the distance.

"There's time."

"Hey, uh, me. Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Dean can see his own future's plan laid out in front of them like a fucking highway, but now he wants to hear the asshole explain himself. They step aside, and out of habit, he sees himself throw a glance over his shoulder to where Cas is with the others, doing a weapons check and not looking too optimistic.

"Tell me what's going on." Dean demands.

"What?"

Oh, playing dumb. He suddenly understands why that always annoyed the hell out of Sam.

"I know you. You're lying to these people, and to me." No big deal. He lies to himself all the time. But-

"Is that so."

Jesus, what a dick. Risa was right.

"Yeah. See, I know your lying expressions. I've seen them in the mirror. Now, there's something you're not telling us."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I'm gonna fucking kick his ass.

"Oh, really? Well, I don't seem to be the only member of your posse with some questions, so, uh, maybe I'll just take my doubts over to them." He turns on his heels.

"Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait."

Dean rounds on himself, employing every bitchface technique he ever picked up from Sammy.

"What?" It doesn't sound like a question.

"Look around you man, this place should be white-hot with Croats. Where are they?"

Unfortunately that would have been an obvious question even if it hadn't been asked by himself.

"They cleared a path for us. Which means this is-"

"A trap. Exactly."

Motherfucking shit.

"Well, then we can't go through the front."

And once again, the answer is plain and simple, cut and dry, undeniable; even though denying it is the one thing he's hell-bent on doing.

"Oh, we're not. They are. They're the decoys. You and me, we're going through the back." His twin says like they're discussing where to go for dinner.

"You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder?"

Cas too?

"Cas too? You want to use their deaths as a diversion?" Dean can barely get the words out. Because no. Just, no.

The bastard can't even look him in the eye.

"Oh, man, something is broken in you. You're making decisions that I would never make. I wouldn't sacrifice my friends."

Or Cas.

"You're right. You wouldn't. It's one of the main reasons we're in this mess actually."

Talk about blaming yourself.

"These people count on you. They trust you."

Cas trusts you.

"They trust me to kill the devil and save the world and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"No. Not like this you're not. I'm not gonna let you." He squares his shoulders and digs his feet further into the ground. This had better turned into a fight because he has never wanted to punch himself in the face more than he does right now.

"Oh really?" his reflection does the same, and okay yeah he is kind of intimidating. They seem to inch closer to each other, and something about ripping a hole in the fabric of time-space crosses Dean's mind. As if a little thing like that's gonna make him back down.

"Yes."

He's about to take the first swing but then-

"Dean."

Both of their heads whip around and there he is. Cas is standing maybe six feet away, eyes shifting between the two of them with equal parts frustration and affection. Dean, for one, is a little put off by the fact that Cas now seems to fully comprehend the importance of-

Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space?

My apologies.

Now he seems almost reluctant to walk any closer. Dean shakes his head, aiming a death glare at himself and then walk over to where the third man stands.

"Cas, I-" he tries to say something, what he isn't quite sure.

There's a hand on his shoulder again, and this time it sends a shiver down his spine, because Cas will never touch him again. Well, this Cas won't. And once again, he can't look anywhere but the toes of his shoes.

"There's time, Dean." The hand is gone, and now the crunch of boots on gravel tells him the once brave warrior of God is walking away from him. The sound is suspended for a moment and Dean's breath is loud in his ears.

"Do me a favour, when you see your Cas again, tell him something for me."

"Anything." Dean chokes out.

Tell him you care.

"Don't ever change."

Dean looks at Cas one more time, then lets out a broken laugh and turns his back, giving the guy a moment with his lesser self, though their voices carry easily through the stagnant air. He closes his eyes and listens.

"Cas-" the other him breathes.

"Dean, I get it, I do. I figured some shit like this would happen the minute you found the colt. Youcan't walk straight up the driveway and shoot the devil, not without collateral damage."

No reply.

Say something you son of a bitch. Dean internally screams.

You're not just collateral damage to me Cas.

You've never been collateral anything to me.

I care.

Nothing.

"I have something for you." Cas continues the apparently one sided conversation.

Private moment aside, Dean turns to see what it is. The two of them are toe to toe, staring intently at each other, completely ignoring the entire world around them, so it's not like they care of someone's watching. Cas reaches into his pocket and pulls out, what do you know, the very amulet that he is currently (like 2009 currently) using to look for God.

What, this?

May I borrow it?

No.

Dean. Give it to me.

All right, I guess.

Don't lose it.

Great. Now I feel naked.

"I never found him, of course." The former angel loops the chord back around future Dean's neck, letting the pendant drop to his chest, where one of his hands covers it.

"Maybe if I'd have given it back earlier your luck would have been different." Cas is well aware that neither of them believes in luck or any shit like it.

"I'm sorry it's gotta be this way." Finally there's an apology, though it doesn't sound very genuine.

"Believe me. I am so ready for this to be over." Cas shakes his head. "I am not gonna miss being human." And then he looks up, and those eyes begin to show some honest to god peace.

"It's been too long since I've seen heaven."

And then he grabs the back of the other man's neck and kisses him fiercely, pouring everything he has into this last kiss, and Dean has a whole new understanding for what 'taking out emotions on each other' because when Cas's kiss is returned, it's the most intense and passionate exchange the hunter has ever seen. And when they let go, future him looks more human than he ever has in the last three days. And he looks like he might finally say it.

"Cas, I want you to know-" he's silenced by another kiss.

"I know." Cas murmurs against his lips.

"I still can't hide from you, even after all this time."

The fallen angel smiles once more, with the same half amused and half not-really-there look in his faraway eyes.

"Especially after all this time."

Everything is a whirlwind. One second, Satan is promising Dean the end of the world, then Zachariah is hauling his ass back to the present day, and just as he's hearing (but but not really listening to) the dickhead's threat of "I got you now boy!" he's being grabbed again and whisked off to what, after barely a second of observation, appears to be a random street corner occupied by no one but him until he turns around and-

"That's pretty nice timing Cas." There's a laugh in his voice that he can't explain (he totally can though).

"We had an appointment."

And goddamnit Cas is smiling, like really smiling, at him, and his eyes have their light back (or rather the light hasn't left them yet, and it never will if Dean has anything to say about it) and there's about a million thoughts in his head but he just claps a hand on the angel's shoulder and stays true to his word. But not before he does something he will be damned (again) if he waits five years to get done.

The kiss is frantic, and Cas seems to not realise what's happening at first, but obviously he's a fast learner (and future Cas was right about him wanting it), because before long, they are wrapped up in each other's arms, and Dean couldn't fucking care less if this reminds him of all those chick flicks he doesn't watch, because even though the air around him is cold, there's a glowing warmth spreading from his chest outward to the tips of his fingers which are busy digging into Cas's shoulder and holding him close (as if he's gonna go anywhere). And sure enough, Cas tastes like Dean hoped he would- sweet and clean and pure.

The kiss breaks, and Cas looks at him with trust and happiness and shockingly not a lot of shock (cheeky bastard) and Dean can just feel his face light up with the stupidest grin.

"Don't ever change."