THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

5

With your shotgun steady in your hands, you stand behind the brothers as they enter the room first. It's quiet and as they step aside, you see the floor littered with bodies. Each one have their eyes burned out. Angels.

"I see you told the demons where the sword is." A deep voice cuts through the tense silence, making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

Zachariah stands behind you. You turn to face him and the two suited Angels stand beside him - his back up, you presume. He has this easy look on his face, like he's content to see you all there. Like it's planned. It makes a lump form in your throat. You swallow it down.

"And to think... they could have grabbed the sword any time they wanted," Zachariah waves a hand to close the door, "It was right in front of them."

Sam gives him a glare, "What do you mean?"

The Angel responds with an arrogant smirk, "We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true," Zachariah gives a small pout as he pauses, "We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it."

You furrow your eyebrows at the way his eyes land on Dean. Zachariah continues, "Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us."

"We don't have it, jackass," you retort bitterly, glaring into his sunken gaze, "why do you think we're here?"

His eyes snap to you, face voice of any expression at all, "Ah, I've missed our little squabbles. You trying to be threatening and me trying not to smite you where you stand."

You stare plainly at him, unflinching, giving him the same energy, "Me too. I especially enjoy the part where you fuck off. Can we skip to that?"

"Watch the way you speak to us," one of his bodyguards spits harshly, almost taking a step towards you. There a fire already burning in your chest, and when the arrogant Angel steps to you, you feel it ignite further.

"Watch the way you're looking at me," you shoot back with a small grin. The angels takes a step towards you and you stand a little taller, ready, but Dean shouts.

"Alright!" He interrupts, giving him a deathly glare, "Listen. Long story short: we don't have squat."

"It's you," Zachariah tilts his head down at him, "You're the Michael sword."

"What?" You hear Dean let out an almost inaudible breath.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you turn to glance at him. A weapon. A vessel. He meets your eyes and you can see the fear deeply masked behind their cold facade.

The archangel lets out a small scoff, gaining your attention, "What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer? You, simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing?" You bite your tongue, jaw clenching as you stare at him. "No," he tilts his head down, "You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one."

Deans voice is low, "What do you mean, I'm the sword?" The oldest Winchester was never one to ask questions that he already knew the answer to, but something within him needed, craved, the clarification. Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong.

"You're Michael's weapon. Or, rather, his... receptacle."

"His vessel," you mumble. The fire that had once sparked in your chest has faded, replaced by nothing but dread. Every unsteady breath causes your heart to thump roughly, and you almost feel cold with anxiety.

"The vessel," Zachariah reiterates with a smile, "Michael's chosen vessel."

Dean stares blankly for a moment, his brain incapable of understanding. He's adamant when he tells the heavenly being, "You've got it all wrong."