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UGH STOP. EITHER WRITE IT OR STOP BEFORE I CRY IN A CORNER
Death is easy, when it comes down to it. It’s closing your eyes to one life and opening it to another. But because most beings rather like the life they’re currently involved in, they fight. It’s the fight that’s painful, but no one can’t really blame them for wanting it. It’s good that they do – good that they’ve poured enough of themselves into it to give it value.
Often, Castiel doesn’t get the chance to fight it. Between exploding because an archangel’s snapped his fingers and exploding because his vessel can’t contain leviathan, his deaths are pretty swift. He closes his eyes to the feeling of sharp, sudden pain, and opens them to a pair of bare feet tucked under a desk, the wheels of a chair, and faux-hardwood floors.
The feet shift. The wheels slide back. The floor creaks. Castiel rolls onto his back and looks up to see Chuck’s bearded face peering at him from over the edge of the desk.
“You’re early again,” says Chuck. He sounds fond. “I don’t remember making you this much of a martyr.”
Castiel licks his lips and croaks out: “Don’t you?” Chuck pushes up his glasses, humming as if he is considering his question seriously, and Castiel flinches as he comes around the desk and kneels next to him. “Please, no – don’t–”
“Shh,” Chuck soothes, petting through Castiel’s hair. “It’s okay. I know.”
“It hurts,” Castiel says, unsure if he means living or dying. “I’m tired.”
“I know,” Chuck tells him. “And I am so, so proud of you. You’ve learned so much, so quickly. You’re more than I ever imagined you would become.”
“Father,” he gasps. “Father, please.”
Chuck snags a tissue from his desk and wipes at the tears squeezing out from Castiel’s eyes. “You’re doing so well, Castiel,” he says and bends to kiss the angel on the forehead. “But–”
(“No, please. Please let me–”)
“There is still much for you to learn.”
When Castiel is gone, thrust back into life and his vessel with as much ease as Chuck could grant him, the only thing that remains behind is a handful of memories. Chuck cradles them gently within his palms and feeds them gently into his computer for safe keeping. These words may never see the light of day, but they are His. Some day, He may even return them.