Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.

Notes: Written for day_by_drabble at lj. April Showers Prompt 8: motel. It's AU.


It was no different from any other run-down, roadside motel on the edge of the highway; a cursory stop on a never-ending journey, and none of them knew the destination. Where they ended up didn't matter so much, in the long run, and it was easier to ignore the pressing concern of their inhumanity, to cling to the thin veil of 'used to be' and hope it would be enough. They had all been to some version of Hell, carried the scars from it both inside, and out, and it was enough to know they would never let each other go back.

"Cas!" he gasped when his back hit the wall, sudden, unexpected, but not unwelcome. The war in Heaven took up much of Cas's time; he was away too much, didn't check in nearly often enough, and the brothers were left feeling bereft, and alone. "You forget how to work a fuckin' phone?" he asked, shivered when the angel's hands slipped beneath his shirt. Dean risked a glance into washed-out blue eyes, and got caught; there was a wildness there that he rarely saw in Cas, that the angel rarely let him see, and it had always been reserved for times when shit had gotten desperate.

Cas had been sacrificing himself to Hell the last time Dean had seen that look.


Sam's voice, cut off from behind them as Cas reached back with one hand, and yanked him forwards until he practically crashed into the two of them. Sam sent Dean a bewildered look over Cas's shoulder, and Dean shook his head.

"Cas, woah, what's going-" he tried, was cut off again when his angel reached up, and tugged him down. Cas kissed him hard, desperate, like he needed it to live, and they were both breathing hard when they finally pulled apart. Cas shifted, angled himself so that he could look at them both, shook his head.

"Please," he finally said, pleaded, "just. Give me this."

Dean shared a long look with Sam, who nodded, leaned forward, and slid a hand along Cas's jaw in a gesture so loving it almost made Dean ache. He moved forward to tug at the trench coat, and suit jacket, pulled them off while Sam leaned down, and kissed Cas, gentle, and soft, and that didn't surprise Dean. Sam had always been the one who kept them grounded.

Cas leaned into Sam, sighed a little, and Dean felt invisible feathers push back into him; he grinned, un-tucked Cas's shirt, and slipped his hands under it to run over the angel's back. They'd learned years ago that it was the most sensitive part of him, where his Grace was closer to the surface, and though they'd never quite used it for this, it was still easy to make Cas whimper, and cling to Sam, push back against Dean's hands.

"C'mon Cas," he murmured, moved until he was pressed up against the angel's back, and could press a kiss to his pulse point. Sam shifted, obviously completely comfortable with this, and it was a little surprising how easy it all was.

"We've got you," Sam said, gentle, nodded, and Dean slid around to the front to join his brother in tugging Cas towards the bed.

He went willingly, pupils blown wide, and half-drunk on sensation already, and they drew him down with them, pulled out of clothing, and coaxed Cas into losing himself in pleasure, and them, and the way they could make him squeeze his eyes shut, and cry out silently, wings arching up to curl around them both possessively.

It was only after, when they all lay curled together, a tangle of limbs, and wings, and not really knowing where one began, and the other two ended, that Cas spoke. His face was hidden, buried against Dean's shoulder as he sprawled across the two of them, an arm and a wing strewn casually possessive over Sam.

"The war is over," he said, voice muffled, and his hand roamed idly over the Enochian cleansing sigil tattooed over Sam's heart. They kept silent, watched, and listened. Dean shifted, inhaled deeply, and caught the scents of sex, and Cas; Sam, and pack, but there was more. There was fear, and anger, and disbelief, all of it radiating from the angel sprawled across them. Beyond that, though, there was the scent of Igrief/I, and Dean reached an arm around, slid it beneath Cas's wing, and wrapped it around him tightly. Cas's breath hitched, and his hand stilled briefly on Sam's chest. Sam reached up, and caught it, squeezed tight.

"Father's dead," he said finally, after a long moment, and his voice broke. "We succeeded, but we lost too many. He let Himself-He said it was time for a new age," he added, and shook. Dean had no idea what to say to that, to the fact that God was dead, and Cas was apparently the last real angel now, and he shot a panicked look at Sam. It was no help, though; Sam just stared back, wide-eyed, both of them at a loss for what to say. Somehow, 'congratulations on kicking Hell's ass' didn't seem appropriate.

"You don't have to say anything," Cas said, looked up at them, and there, at least, was finally a sad, half-smile that let them both relax a little. Dean ran a hand down Cas's back, gentle, tried for comforting.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he said, and he was, because he remembered all-too vividly what it had felt like to lose Dad; to realize that John had sacrificed himself for Dean, and done it even after all the problems they'd had.

Sam nodded. "Me too, man."

Cas just huffed, burrowed back into them, and let himself forget, for a while, that he was now all that remained of Heaven.

Outside, cars drove past on their way to nowhere, and the old neon 'motel' sign blinked once, came back on without the 'o'.