THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

17

Stepping from the car, you feel the sun shining down on your eyes. You wish it were raining, that would make more sense. Especially for Pamelas funeral. It's been really difficult lately, you haven't been sleeping much at all - mornings like this, you wished you'd be able to dream again. But then again, you don't really feel like seeing a particular Angel. You're embarrassed from the other night. Still. You felt pathetic waking up the next morning. Dean stands beside you, looking at the hotel room in front of you. Room 106.

"Ah, home crappy home," he remarks, hotel room key in hand. He opens the door, looking around at the dark, smelly, tiny place.

"My head is killing me," you sigh, shoving your bag onto the closest bed. Sam turns the lights on, nearly making you gasp out loud at the two men inside the room. You meet eyes with Castiel, before looking at Uriel as he speaks.

"Winchester and Winchester," he nods to the boys, "and other. You are needed."

"Needed?" Dean scoffs, "We just got back from needed."

"Now, you mind your tone with me," Uriel barks angrily.

"What authority do you think you have over us?" You shoot back, staring at him and watching as his face builds with anger, "That's a genuine question, by the way."

"Please," Castiel sighs, his voice tender as he takes a step towards you, "just listen. It's important."

"No, I can't," you respond honestly, shaking your head in anguish, "not today."

"You haven't slept," Cas notices, feeling low energy radiating from you. He looks between you and the Winchesters, "What happened?"

"We just got back from Pamela's funeral," Sam states, a sense of attack in his tone. Cas looks to the floor, seemingly deep in thought.

"Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela?" Dean asks sarcastically, a vicious smile on his lips, "Cas, you remember her. You burned her eyes out. Good times!"

"She died saving one of the seals," you add, feeling a lump in the back of your throat, "she was a good friend."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Castiel whispers seriously. He feels as though he can feel your pain radiating into him.

Uriel rolls his eyes at his brother, taking a step towards Dean, "We raised you out of hell for our purposes."

"Yeah, what were those again? What exactly did you want from me?"

"Start with gratitude," Uriel remarks slyly.

Castiel gives a sad expression, "Dean, we know this is difficult to understand-"

"And we don't care." Uriel speaks louder, giving Cas a pointed look, "Seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

"Demons?" Dean suggests plainly, "How they doing it?"

"We don't know." Uriel admits.

"I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it?" Sam frowns, "I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?"

Uriel glares, "We can handle the demons, thank you very much."

"Once we find whoever it is," Cas adds.

"You want us to hunt the thing down?" You wonder, confusion written on your face. Castiel tries not to notice the dark bags under your eyes and the unwavering line of pain between your brows. You look like you haven't slept since the last time he saw you, which was roughly a week ago.

"Not quite," Cas answers, "we have Alastair. He won't talk. His will is very strong. We've arrived at an impasse." Castiel continues, frustration evident in his tone.