In the last lights of the dying street-lamps and the crackly spotlight of the vacations-sign, the door to the room 14 looked old and feeble. It had once been bright red, but now it only had a washed-out shade of pinkish colour on it.
The room which it led to was no means better than the door in itself. A dirty mat covering the entire interior was yellow, and had since its pride days seen contains of many already consumed dinners. Unfortunately for it, this could be seen on the slightly darker spots, which multiplied near the bathroom door.
The room was panelled, which probably was the wisest decision the owner had made, for the walls were the only thing not looking like belonging to the motel graveyard. But the choice of furniture had proved that even the panelling had for certain been just a lucky error. The greenish armchair had seen its best days decades ago and it being the only reasonably furniture like thing in the room, no one could argue for the allegation that the room would have the best décor. The plainly ugly green full-length curtains just sealed the deal for the room's alleged ugliness.
The room was nearly quiet. The only sounds you could hear came from the broken heater or the overly loud clock. The much more decent sounds of two men asleep were lost behind the noisier ones. But with concentration, you could hear regular huffs and deep intakes of breath. An occasional snore here and there made it easier to forget the banging of the heater or the ticking of the clock and totally concentrate on the sounds of the two sleeping shades.
On the floor, there was a humongous pile of clothes clattered across the bedcovers, which also, conveniently, were lying on the floor. They were all merrily forgotten by the sleepers.
The amount of clothes that had had to bee stripped could be explained by the cold weather and the devilishly sharp wind that had teamed up with it. The amount of undergarment on the floor next to the bed though, that could not be explained by anything else but with the words that somehow resembled one of the following: desire, passion, angelic attraction or fucking.
The sleepers were nearly completely in their birthday suits. They were both lying on the same bed, confined to each other. The green floral pattern of the sheets was undetectable, because the sheets where tangled at their feet, and the only reason they weren't shivering, was the heater banging away with little coughs in the corner of the room.
The wind was still blowing outside and snow had now started to fall down in heavy flakes, making the ground soggy and greyish. It was not yet the time for a full snow cover, and the snow seemed to refuse to stick to the murky ground. So it melted nearly at the instant it touched the ground and made it hard to anyone to walk around without brown smudges all over their legs and backs.
The leaves in the trees were dead and had the same brown colour as the ground that they were destined to fall on. It was as if they had already given in to the upcoming winter.
Above, behind the wall of clouds, the sun was rising, but the grey clouds hid it so efficiently, that it could as well have been night; a dark night without a trace of neither the stars nor the moon.
This was the morning our sleepy town woke up to. For most people, that morning wasn't a particularly beautiful one, but for the two men, snuggled up against each other, it was the best and the most beautiful morning in a long while.
If someone would have told Dean a while ago, that he would be shagging Cas a month from that time, in a shady little motel room somewhere in northern Idaho, he would have laughed and asked for a puff of whatever they were on. Now, waking up with the angel curled besides him, he could have sworn that it was how things had always been.
"Cas?"
"Mhmm?"
The angel was still clearly asleep. He had started to pick up human treats after his angelic mojo had run out. This Dean doesn't mind. If picking up human treats meant a burger, laugh, good nights of sleep and drink here and there, then Dean was all for it. Especially the drink part, because those usually lead to mornings like this one. Dean smiled at the thought and glanced at the empty bottle of Jack Daniels and the two glasses next to it on the floor by that fucking hideous chair.
Dean was definitely all for the drinking part.
Cas interrupts Dean's train of thought by shivering and snuggling a bit closer to the other.
"You're warm."
Dean makes a little huffing noise instead of laughing and twitches himself a little closer to the angel. Cas doesn't seem to mind, but instead wraps his warm arm across Dean's chest and mumbles something obscure before going back to his usual light snoring.