The man who was standing in the room with him was not someone Castiel could easily have identified as him. The man standing there with a bitter smile plastered on his face, the hair on his jaw grown out more, less well kept, his hair scraggly and greasy from lack of bathing, and the shift loose on his thin frame. The empty blue eyes, the cold laughter, the sad look passing along his face, replaced with blankness. Castiel had never imagined his future self looking this way.
The future Castiel laughed and shook his head at him. “Falling hurts, just so you know. It hurts a lot.”
He frowned and took a step forward. “I don’t understand."
"Not an angel anymore, Bucko. It’s painful. Being a human? It hurts."
Castiel watched as his future self walked over to a cabinet and removed a bottle; when it was jostled, Castiel heard the sound of pills inside moving. He watched as the cap was removed and his future counterpart swallowed a handful. He blinked in surprise. "We take drugs?"
The future self nodded. "Oh yeah. Good stuff. Good, good stuff. I’d start hoarding now if I were you. It’s addictive."
Castiel ran his eyes over his future’s body and then looked down at his own; his future self was much thinner than he was now. Much more fragile. As if he were ill. "You’re sick,” he whispered.
The future Castiel laughed bitterly. “Aren’t we all? It’s the end of the world, Baby."
Castiel swallowed thickly. He did not want to end up here; he did not want to end up like this. He did not want to end up a bitter shell of what he was now. "You are no angel."
His future self grinned and shook his head. "We never were really,” came the chilling reply.