THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

3

"You don't want my soul?" You question, taking a step towards the red-eyed man. His hair is short. Like Deans. "It used to be hot on the market not so long ago."

"Things have changed now," he answers, arms placed upon his hips as he walks up and down a straight line, "there's nothing we want more than to keep Dean locked away, suffering."

You tilt your head at him, looking up through your lashes, "Why?"

"Payback, darling," he clenches his teeth, running a finger down your jaw, "for all the demons he's killed, and all the harm he's done."

"I've killed many demons, saved many people," you tell him, "saved Dean Winchester's ass more times than he's saved mine. Your boss doesn't want payback for my deeds?"

He seems taken aback at the mention of his higher up, but maintains his aura of calm, "No. You and your soul are pretty much worthless to us."

"Why?" You ask once again, "What's the fucking hold up?"

He lets out a laugh at your anger and you pull back, on the verge of shouting - begging - for him to please, please, take your soul, save Dean Winchester. "The more anguish you're in, the more we enjoy it. We feed off it, and boy, am I full just being near you."

"Dean's suffering," you mutter to yourself.

"It's Hell," he answers back, looking at you like you're the saddest excuse for a being.

"What about Sam Winchester's soul? Is that worthless too?" You wonder.

He lights up at Sams name, "Oh, Sam's soul! That's sure to be a juicy one, not ripe yet though. Still needs to feed on more hatred, more anger."

Looking up at him, you narrow your eyes, "Has he been around here too?"

"What is this, 20 questions?" He remarks, standing just on the border of the devil's trap you've made for him, "Well then, let me ask you this: what was it like seeing your boyfriends insides?"

"Fuck you."

"What was it like hearing him scream, huh? You know, when he was being ripped to shreds." He goes on, watching as you brandish a knife, "You watched him take his last, damned breath alive! Do you hear the sound of it still?"

You march towards him, knife held high but before you can plunge it into him, he takes a swing at you. He lands a blow to your left cheekbone, you feel your skin split but you don't care. He hits you again, sending you to your knees upon the gravel ground. Looking up at him, you send a glare his way but you have no will to stand anymore. You're too tired. Maybe sleep will help.

He pouts his lips at you, leaning down beside your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing at his closeness. "Pathetic," he whispers, "just like your friend Sammy."

When you open your eyes, he's gone. You're sitting in a demon's trap, in the middle of nowhere, on your own, blood trickling down your cheek. And you don't move for a while, you sit there, deserving of all the pain you feel.

When you do stand, your knees are aching from the gravel, and your head hurts like always. Part of you wants to stay there for the rest of your life, but a few cars have already driven by and it's more attention and interaction than you can handle right now. One car even seemed to slow down as it passed you.

You head to your dusty car, seeing how worn the tires are from speeding along dirt roads. For some reason, you just feel heavy yet empty at the same time. You shut the car door to silence before the keys are placed in the ignition. Your car fires up, roaring to life in the desolate landscape.

There isn't much else to do now, except go back to your hotel room, study the local map, and go from there.