”Come with me,” it says and Castiel goes.
•••
They’ve been here before. They’ve met through ages, danced around each other, and every time, the result is the same.
”Come with me,” it says, cocking its head, a cruel smile playing on its lips.
Castiel knows he shouldn’t but he’s never been able to resist. No matter what face it wears, no matter how it speaks, he’ll always come when it calls.
It’s always the same slow waltz, the steps hesitant and almost coy until they’re swept away in the whirl of life and death, pain and pleasure, catch and release. They dance until they bleed and they don’t know where the other ends and the other begins.
It’s Heaven and it’s Hell.
It’s everything.
•••
”This is the last time,” he says under his breath.
It winks. ”Of course,” it agrees amiably.
They both know it’s a lie.
•••
There must be something wrong with him, Castiel muses, as he watches his brothers and sisters. They never seem to have this… restlessness within, the burning need to hold and be held, to be consumed as a whole, to be ground into dust only to be put back together once more.
They never seem to crave.
Castiel isn’t sure if he’s sorry for them or ashamed of himself.
•••
The tendrils of its very being seep through his skin and merge with his Grace, and Castiel is powerless to do more than be ripped open, caught in the rapture of being owned inside out, being known thoroughly. He is laid bare before the endless emptiness of its gaze, reveling in its embrace.
He knows he’s lost, but there’s no place he’d rather be.
•••
”Come with me,” it says.
And Castiel comes.