THE ELEVENTH HOUR [Castiel x F!Reader]

1

"Governor O'Malley urged calm-"

"And I was 'round when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain-"

"-saying it's very unlikely an abandoned convent would be a target for terrorists, either foreign or homegrown."

"Change the station," Dean mutters, hands still gripping the steering wheel. There's nothing good on the Impala's radio but Sam flicks through anyways, because his brother told him to.

Your warm breath has started to fog up the window and you rub it away, eyeing the raindrops that sprinkle onto the car. It's dark. Only the headlights from passing cars illuminate the droplets.

"Hurricane Kinley, unexpectedly slamming into the Galveston area-"

"Announced a successful test of the North Korean nuclear-"

"A series of tremors-"

"Swine flu-"

Sam turns the radio off, leaving you all in silence. And it isn't much better. A shiver runs through you, making you wrap your arms around yourself. Sam notices. He turns the heating on.

You find yourself staring out of the window, watching trees whip past furiously. Deans starting to get annoyed at the sound of your anxious foot tapping, but he bites his tongue and drives.

Sam, who had been contemplating a myriad of sentences in his head, finally sucks in a quiet breath, "Guys, I-"

"Don't say anything." Dean cuts him off. You tear your eyes away from the window, looking between the two. The silence is hefty now.

"Dean..." Sam tries either way, looking at his brothers furrowed brows.

"It's okay," Dean continues, nodding to the road ahead, "we just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?"

Hash this out?

You almost laugh but you have no energy to. Things feel dull. Hopeless. You don't have anything to say, so you lean your head against the door. You're tired. Tired of being restless, tired of 'hashing it out' and grasping at straws to save the world. Tired of driving. Tired of sitting here feeling lonely. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and muscles, aching from the inside out, is the kind you haven't felt respite from for a long time now.

"All right, well," Dean begins, and you can tell he's trying not to clench his jaw, "first things first; How did we get out of there?"

"Angels, maybe?" Sam suggests, glancing back at you. You don't move and he swallows the lump in his throat, looking back at Dean. "I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm's way?"

"Speaking of," Dean looks at you through the rear view mirror, "any ideas where Cas could be?"

You swallow the lump in your throat, "I haven't heard from him."

"At all?"

You just shake your head, frowning back at Dean, "No."

Dean stares at you for a moment before flicking his eyes back to the dim road. There's something in your voice that makes the anxiety in his chest ride. At the lingering silence, you straighten up and meet their expectant eyes. "If I knew where he was, we'd be there by now," you admit, "but I think I know where we can go."

"Chuck?" Dean calls out, voice scratchy and deep. He's been driving almost all night. The sight of Chucks devastated house doesn't bring anyone any hope. Papers and books are tossed everywhere, furniture is tipped over. You'd think a hurricane tore through it but it looks the same as it did last time you were all here. "Uh... You here, buddy? Chuck?"