THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

12

That's the last time you trust that son of a bitch. Sitting on the corner of the sink in your underwear and a shirt, you look down at the large gash on your chest. The shard of green glass clatters into the ceramic bowl of the motel sink. Your hands shake as you dab a paper towel against your upper chest, wincing when you feel tears brim your eyes.

"Shit," you grunt loudly to the boys in the bedroom, "I should really be used to this by now."

Dean, looks away from his own wounds to the ajar bathroom door, "You good, Y/N?"

You let out a breath, shaking your head, "Yeah, perfect. You?"

"Peachy," Dean admits, holding his arm close to him, "Sam, will you hurry up?"

Sam, pulling the needle through his forearm, gives Dean a harsh glare, "I'm going as fast as I can!"

You shut the door properly, looking at yourself in the mirror. Absolute shit. Your body's bruised and battered, but you're sure Sam took the worst of it when he held you tight. You uncap the bottle of vodka, your hand shaking as you're about to pour it on your wound, "Fuck, fuckfuckfuck."

"This is not 'taking care' of yourself, Y/N."

"Fuck!" The bottle slips from your hand. Castiel grabs it from mid-air before it crashes against the tiled floor. You look up at him, eyes wide as he gives you the bottle. "What are you doing here?" You ask, lowering your voice and giving him a quizzical look.

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks down at the state of you. Castiel goes to place a hand on you but you step away.

"You're hurt," his voice matches yours, quiet and low, "let me heal you." He stretches his hand out.

"What? You can heal people?"

A small smile grows on his lips and he moves towards you, "I can do many things. I'm an Angel of the Lord."

"No, no, you can't," you grip his wrist gently before he can touch you, causing him to stare down at you with confusion, "not unless you want them to ask how I'm suddenly not bruised and beaten."

"You're right," he mutters in dismay, hands now by his sides, "how can I help?"

"Deans shoulder is dislocated," you advise him, looking down at the bottle once more, "Sam's trying to pop it back into place."

"I'm here for you."

"Why?" You look up at him. Castiel takes the vodka from your hand.

"Hold the edge of the sink," he tells you gently.

"Answer my question," you order, staring up at him defiantly.

The mask placed upon Castiels demeanour fades, his lips twitch as he thinks. "I... have a certain... impulse."

"What?" You narrow your eyes slightly.

"Uh, I feel... an affinity for helping you," Castiel explains, his eyebrows furrowing, "Now, hold on to the edge of the sink. Please. This will hurt."

You do as he says, still facing him as he holds the bottle above your chest. Biting the inside of your cheek, you suck in a deep breath as he slowly pours the liquid onto your cut.

"Shit!" You grunt loudly, your body surging forward at the sting. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and you feel the alcohol burn, "God!"

"Shh, shh," Castiel pushes his other hand on your stomach, keeping you against the sink, "it's okay."

"Ah, fuck!" You exclaim, throwing your head back in agony, "Mm- No!"

"Hey! You good?" Sam calls out, knocking against the door.