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Dean stumbled through the heavy underbrush, squinting in the failing light this far into the forest. He had no intention of spending the night out here and had failed to pack provisions had it come to that. Twisting the faded parchment of Rowena's hand-drawn map around trying to match up landmarks was wasting daylight.
Another quarter mile in a guessing direction, to Dean's luck, he found the tree depicted in the Latin scroll work of the page. It stood alone from the rest of the forest as if it had been abandoned by it's brothers and the world around it. The oak stood leafless and towering. And dark. Dean couldn't help but notice how heavy the atmosphere around it was. Looking up, "That is so weird."
Rowena hadn't lied about the tree. Perhaps she hadn't lied about the blade either. His digging around rocks at the tree's base confirmed. The hexed angel blade did exist. Unwrapped from the swatch of tattered wool, the polished surface still shone bright where it hadn't been etched.
Dean turned the blade over and over reading the various inscriptions. Latin. Icelandic. Romanian. They all read the same. чөлөөт тэнгэр элч. Angelus Liber. Frjáls Engill. Free Angel
…An Angel pierced by this blade would not die an Angel's death as one would from any brother of this blade. Vessel blood spilled would trap them in their form, severing connection to all their kind and Heaven itself. As their grace was used up, it would not be replenished. They would age within the confines of their vessel and die as it did.…
Dean wrapped the blade again and tucked it securely in his jacket. Walking away from the tree he heard branches cracking. A glance over his shoulder showed bats circling the tree. Hundreds of them in an instant and the cloud was building in size. He quickened his pace back to the Impala. It was a 4 mile hike and he was not looking back again.