moonlettuce | MMoM Day 2: Last Chance Motel, Supernatural

Title: Last Chance Motel
Author: Claire
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: R
Summary: This was where they would stop running.
Notes: One possible future. Written for

mmom

They meet every day now, their Council of War. (And Dean still doesn't know who came up with the nickname, but Ruby smirks every time she hears it.) Angels and humans and demons and other, trying everything to stop the darkness from coming.

They're holed up in a place in the Midwest. Dean doesn't know what it's called; the sign on the road into town had already been blackened and burned long before they arrived. But the name doesn't matter. All that matters is that it's theirs, a hundred levels of wards and protections flaring into life as soon as they had decided this was the place, this was where they would stop running.

And it's not as easy as good versus evil, black versus white. Not any more. Not since Ruby had shown up with a legion of demons behind her and ready to fight beside them, not since Jophiel had spent her last breath telling them that Hasmed's garrison now flew under Lucifer's banner. All the old allegiances, all the old grudges, fell like dust in the wind as the choices were made: fight against Hell or with it.

The room is covered with notes, books, maps showing just how badly they're losing. There are vast swathes of red covering the US, and it's spreading every day. There used to be a time when Dean could place his hand there and cover all the red, and now it bleeds out between his fingers, under his palm. And that's just America. He's not looking at the others, at a world that used to be green and blue slowly turning the colour of blood.

"Dean?"

Sam's hand on his shoulder finally pulls Dean's eyes away from the map. "Yeah?"

"You should get some sleep. You haven't slept since--" Sam's word trails off, but Dean hears them anyway, since Cas left for London.

"'m fine, Sammy." But the look in Sam's eyes say more about his not believing Dean than any words could.

"Dean--"

Dean cuts off the words, cuts off the concern. "He'll be back in another couple of days." Dean can cope with the nightmares until then. He scrubs a hand over his face, more than sure that Sam thinks he's about to flake anyway. "Where are we?" he asks, waving a hand towards the group still arguing around the table.

Sam hesitates, gaze flicking between Dean and the others, before he nods slightly and allows the change of subject. "Barachiel thinks we should go for an all-out assault, Ruby thinks we should wait until Cas and Michael get back and see if they managed to get their hands on the scrolls."

"The problem being," Barachiel's soft tone reaches them, "although Ruby's plan has both merit and an admittedly better chance of success, I simply don't believe that we'll be able to hold the gate for another two days." Because another doorway from Hell opening is exactly what they need right now.

"We don't need to."

And Dean knows it speaks volumes as to how exhausted he actually is that takes Cas's voice for Dean to realise he's there, bloody and dirty and fucking perfect. The mark on Dean's shoulder flares as Cas moves, heat and want and need, and Dean wants to tell them all to get out, wants to sweep everything off the table and bury himself so far in Cas they'll never be able to tell them apart.

"Constantine was right," Cas says, holding up the rolled-up scroll in his hand. "We can close the gates. All of them."

Dean's pretty sure he's not the only one holding his breath at Cas's words. Because if he's right, if this is it, then it's fucking epic. Because for every demon they're fighting that goes down another five take its place. And if they can stop that, if they can seal Hell again, then they've got a chance.

"What do we need?" And Dean's moving towards the table at the same time Cas is, trajectories subtly altered so they reach each other before they reach everyone else, arms by their sides and fingers brushing once before they're all business again.

The conversation goes on deep into the night, but eventually there's a plan, a hope, a fucking chance that this isn't going to end in fire and pain.

The others start filtering out when they're done, Sam and Ruby the last ones to go, her fingers wrapped around Sam's as they leave and finally, finally, Dean and Cas are alone.

"Cas--"

Name barely in the air before they're reaching for each other, mouths fusing together in a clash of teeth and tongue and lips. And it's only been three days since Dean's had this, but it's three days too fucking long.

"Missed you--" The words are a breath against Dean's skin as Cas's hands pull at Dean's belt, his fingers sliding inside Dean's jeans as soon as they can to wrap around hard flesh.

"Jesus, Cas, c'mon--" Because Dean wants this, needs this, as Cas jacks his cock, hard and tight and fucking there. His arm moves and he knows he should be careful, but all Dean can think about is getting the stuff off the table and Cas on it.

Cas whuffs out a laugh as his back hits the table, hand still wrapped around Dean's cock and arching into the touch as Dean finally gets Cas's trousers open, finally gets his fingers on Cas's cock.

And they don't have time for care and concern and for drawing it out. Don't have time for anything apart from furtive and hard and quick. They haven't had time in a while. Not since they lost California, not since Raphael appeared, bloody and beaten and with Ellen unconscious in his arms, lone survivors of the team they had there.

But that's going to change, Dean thinks, heat pooling in his belly as Cas knocks Dean's hand away and wraps his fingers around both of them, skin sliding against skin, slick and hot.

It's going to change because they've got a chance.

And when Dean comes, bright and sharp and spilling heat onto Cas's fingers at the same moment Cas comes with Dean's name on his lips, it feels good. It feels like love, it feels like want, it feels like fucking hope. And Dean closes his eyes and breathes.