Remus doesn't want to die.
He knows he might – he's known right from the moment he left, when he ran a shaking hand through Teddy's hair and whispered hasty promises into Tonks's mouth – he knows he probably will. And that's fine, really, because he's always wanted to die, always wanted to see what comes next. He's never felt fear for death, it's always been just an insatiable curiosity.
Right now, though, faced with the sure knowledge that he is going to die, that there's no escaping it – right now, it is the last thing he wants. He feels dread, he feels horror, he feels pure fear.
He'd like to pretend he's scared now because he has so much to lose, because he has Teddy and Tonks and a family; he'd like to pretend, he really would. Anything is better than the stark, shameful truth that his fear doesn't stem from noble intentions and love for his family, that it is nothing but the selfish fear of a coward who must face death (a coward a coward, he's a fucking coward, he's not noble he's not brave he's not like the others he can't do this).
His hands shake, and he swears. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. There are Death Eaters surrounding him, he sees Dolohov raising his wand, Dolohov opens his mouth, and everything is happening far too quickly for Remus to comprehend anything more than the fact that he will die, cease to exist, any moment now (fuck it but he's going to die).
Time doesn't slow down, he doesn't have any sudden realisations of the truth, no sudden visions of the Light, no calmness or complete satisfaction. There's nothing, nothing at all (nothing not a fucking thing).
There's nothing but regret and shame and fear; cold, cold fear gripping him and numbing him (he can't do anything and it's so cold so fucking cold he's frozen to the ground, weak and immobile and he can't do a fucking thing).
Dolohov has said it, he's said the words and yet Remus can't hear them, those same terrible words that killed James and Lily and Sirius and many more, so many more, and Remus wants to run, run far away, he wants to scream, scream until his voice is hoarse, do something, anything, other than just stand here and die.
No, he wants to scream, stop, please, I don't want to die, not now, no–
There is a flash of green; it's a bright, glowing sort of green, perhaps far too bright and it hurts his eyes just looking it, but still he looks, he looks and looks at it as it makes its way towards him swiftly so swiftly and oh god it's here i'm dying it's here no no no no