Say a prayer to yourself
He says 'close your eyes, sometimes it helps'
And then I get a scary thought
That he's here - means he's never lost
And you can see my heart beating.
No, You can see it through my chest.
Said I'm terrified but I'm not leaving
Know that I must pass this test.
So, just pull my trigger
Rihanna "Russian roulette"
Dean's words echo in the angel's mind: roaring, raging, imperious. The same thought repeated all over again with every beat of Castiel's heart:
"If there's anything worth dying for, this is it"
There's a precipice of new life behind these words: terrifying, alluring, overwhelming. To decide what to live for and what to die for. It's so easy to get lost when you're the only one to chose the path.
Then again, it's so easy to waste eons of life, to let it trickle between your fingers and soak into sands of time.
Is it even life?
Perhaps Dean was right. Castiel let thousands of years slide in front of his eyes. He watched them through a thick pane. Amused, curious, but not really involved.
"What do you care about dying? You're already dead."
Castiel walks in circles, breathing heavily, with his hands clasped on his hair.
What does it mean to live? There's more to it than simply being aware and acting. There is this spark, that cinder in his chest. It burst into life what seems like a moment ago compared to his whole existence. Why does this moment render past millenia insignificant?
Dean... The righteous man. Castiel is certain that none of other angels really understands what it means. They don't know the doubt, guilt, pain. They are not even capable of imagining how much it took to withstand these downfalls. What is a smoldering ember in Castiel, is a raging flame in Dean; flame able to overcome the cold of brassbound destiny. The blazing denial of the inevitable. The unquenchable craving.
The angel breathes out jerkily, running his shaky hands down his face. Hurricane of taboos and fears start to swirl in his mind, but this call can no longer be ignored. He wants to let that flame set him ablaze.
What he fears the most is that he could never feel the warmth of that flame again. That he could spend the rest of eternity half-dead. With that hollow in his chest, that pile of ashes left after the spark extinguishes throbbing with dull pain forever.
He appears in the green room again; determined and robust. For the first time in his life he feels blood really pumping through his arteries. For the first time in his life he really feels warm.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
He squints in the blinding light of Raphael's fury and tenses up in preparation for the fight; hair on the back of his neck bristle; the blade in his hand feels cold as ice.
It is not a fight he can win, but he can buy Dean some time. Perhaps Winchesters will win. Perhaps they will lose. It doesn't matter. What matters is that they are free; they can keep on fighting. Now, finally, he knows that these precious seconds are worth his blood. His whole life was leading to this single moment, when everything falls into place, when every question is answered, when every doubt is dispelled.
When he made up his mind he didn't hope to live long. It took seconds to get them there - seconds that flare up in eternal darkness. Perhaps the prophet could remember it, pass the flame to others. Let them know that there is always a choice.
With a prophet by his side and Dean's words in his mind Castiel takes his last breath. He is ready. He is ready to die, because he knows he has really lived.
