THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

2

You open your eyes. 3 am. You've barely slept at all, you can feel your tired eyes struggle against the darkness of your room, wishing they could rest. Pulling your phone from the bedside table, you squint your eyes at the light.

29 missed calls from BOBBY.

14 missed calls from UNKNOWN - Bobby's burners.

Your phone begins to ring once more. Eyes wide, you unlock it and hold it up to your ear, "Sam? Are you alright?"

"Stop following me, this is the only time I'm gonna tell you. Back off or you'll regret it."

The call goes dead, you're left listening to a dial tone, totally unaware that you were even following Sam in the first place. You guess both your demonic deal hunting has brought you to the same places. Great. He sounded serious, so un-ordinarily angry. He's never spoken to you like that. Before you know it, your bottom lip is trembling. The tears come to your eyes, and you begin to cry quietly, holding your head in your hands. There's so much pressure in your head from sobbing that you begin hearing a tiny ringing noise.

Pressing a name on your phone, you let the call ring and ring and ring. You stay quiet, the tears still stream down your face but you wait in anticipation for the sound.

"You've reached Dean Winchester's phone, lucky you." You can't help but cry as you listen. "If I don't answer, call my brother Sam. He'll help you. If it's urgent, find Y/N Y/L/N, she's a very good friend of mine; she'll help. Good luck."

You let out a shallow breath, ending the phone call before pressing another number. It's automatic like you barely even make the choice.

"Y/N?" Bobby's muffled voice comes across the line, "You okay? Where are you?"

"Hi," you smile, sniffing quietly as you sit up in bed, "yeah... yeah, I'm good! I-I didn't think you'd answer, why are you up?"

Bobby lets out a sigh, "I don't get much sleep these days."

There comes a pause. "Sorry to hear that. Listen, did you get the stuff I sent over?"

"Yeah," he answers gratefully, looking at the now empty grocery bags by his door, "yeah, I did. Thanks for that. How'd you know I was running out of milk?"

"Psychic," you joke, hearing him chuckle.

"Yeah? Can you predict when I'm gonna see you next?" He asks the dreaded question.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, wishing there wasn't such a heavy silence between your answers, "Bobby, uh, have you heard from Sam?"

"No," Bobby sighs again, you hear him take a sip of a drink, "not a peep. You?"

"No," you tell him, looking around your dark room, "nothing."

"Well," Bobby grunts, "I assume he's fine by the way he keeps declining my calls right away. I hope he isn't getting himself into something he can't handle, especially on his own. Ya get me?"

You shut your eyes for a moment, picking up his hidden meaning, "He's a grown-up, I'm sure he's fine on his own. Anyway, I just wanted to check in on you, that's all."

"At 3 am?"

"I guess you're not the only one who can't sleep," you tease him, "Listen, I have some work to do. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, you too," he answers, "and pick up your damn phone every once in a while! Idjit!"

"Will do, sorry!" You cringe over the phone, "Bye, Bobby."

"See ya, kid."

You hear him hang up the phone, and you let out a pleasant sigh before setting it down again.

Rising to your feet, you grab the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from your duffel bag and head for the door. It's dark outside when you open it, no one is out and about like they usually are at other motels. They must all be sleeping soundly. You lock the door to your room, put the key inside your pocket and head to the stairwell to the rooftop. It isn't far, just one level up. It's cold as ever but you don't care at this point. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you stare out into the blurry lights of the nearby city. So many people out there, probably fast asleep, not worrying about demons or monsters, or friends that are suffering in Hell. You press your thumb against the lighter, drawing it close to your cigarette as you suck in a deep breath. Sitting on the edge of the balcony, you admire the lights. Some turn off, some turn back on. Some are tiny cars driving steadily along. You wonder where they're going. To work? To their homes? Another town, perhaps. You wonder if their lives are simple, you wonder if you're right in longing to be one of them. You blow out a string of smoke, watching as it dissipates into the cold air. Sometimes, on very stressful hunts, you'd catch Dean smoking. It wouldn't even be on purpose, you'd just happen to find him by his car, or hiding from Sam behind a diner, sneaking a cigarette to calm his nerves.

"Just don't tell Sammy, alright," Dean had told you, the first time you saw him smoking out the window of the hotel room you were staying at, "he's already on my ass about the burgers and the booze."

You remember laughing at him crouched on top of the toilet seat, head craned towards an open window. And you remember how he narrowed his eyes at your teasing, putting his cigarette out just to grab you and throw you onto the hotel room bed before running back to the bathroom to sneak another cigarette. You never did tell Sam about his habit. You still probably won't.

"It'll be just between us," you mumble to no one, finishing off the last of it in one triumphant puff, "our secret." 

It had been such a bad habit on his part, and such a stressful job being a hunter, that it didn't take long for you to pick it up too - just like Dean. The headache from before rises back again at the thought of having to smoke by yourself for the rest of your life, without Dean.