A destiny is not a fate. It is not forced upon us, and someone who is intensely fearful and stubborn may even be able to evade it. But neither is a destiny merely a desired or ideal end. It is that for which we were born, and evading it would entail, not deprivation of this or that particular good, but loss of self, or soul. -Glenn E. Tinder
"Are you ready, Castiel?"
Castiel stares at the celestial being stood at his side, stares at the six gleaming white wings fluttering manically behind the archangel's Michael's formless grace. Castiel's wings are ebony, prepared since creation for the slaughtering battle through Hell. His grace was created with the power needed to find the Righteous Man and to return him to Heaven. Castiel has prepared for this since the day he flickered into existence.
No one knew that Castiel was to be the chosen one. No one knew that the weak, quiet angel would become the strongest angel in all of Heaven. When his wings developed, revealing the dark ebony feathers upon his back, Castiel thought himself broken, scarred. His brother, Gabriel, a mere angel back then, told him the story of the Righteous Man, of the apocalypse, of the battle between Heaven and Hell which would surely end the world, and of the destiny Castiel was created to fulfil.
And now, as he stands with Michael; his mentor, his brother, his friend. As he stares into the gaping maw of Hell itself. As he hears the screams leaking from the hole. As he feels the draw of his destiny... he is scared. More scared than he has ever been before. He does not think that fear this strong could ever exist in Heaven. But he must fight through it; for Heaven, for God. For the Righteous Man.
"I am ready." he confirms, flexing his wings and grace in anticipation. He knows that the demons will fight him, and he knows that the tortured souls will pull and tear at him. Michael will defend him until he reaches the Burning Lake. Then he is on his own, left to find the Blood Mountains alone.
"Then, Castiel, let us fly." Michael says with a solemn note in his voice.
Castiel bends his knees - so to speak - and launches himself into the air. The sparkling wind rushes through his wings like dust, dancing along the feathers like fingertips along skin. I have been observing the humans for too long, he thinks, I need to focus. Castiel tilts his wings just so, and shifts his weight until he begins to plummet towards the gaping split in the celestial plane. He hears the frantic fluttering of Michael's wings behind him as he descends, shooting faster and faster into the darkness.
The gravitational pull of Hell's craw drags him down, screaming, as his wings lose control and start to splinter with the force. It is dark, darker than anything, the hot wind rushing past him as he falls burning his grace. He can smell the demons and the souls, can hear the screams and merciless laughter. Michael's piercing screech from behind him echoes down the hole, ringing and bouncing and repeating, mingling with Castiel's own. His wings are burning, tearing, ripping, feathers careening up the hole behind them as they fall.
Suddenly, the seemingly endless fall stops, and Michael's scream is no longer alone. Now, Castiel can hear hundreds of thousands of tortured yells bursting into his grace like bullets, slicing into him like knives. He drops to the scorching ground just before Michael, sinking his grace low, shielding it from the wary eyes of demons. A few dimmed souls scatter away from them, screeching their alarm.
Castiel clutches at his angel blade, holding it before him. Michael mimics him, and they observe their surroundings. The scorching, burning earth they stand on stretches for miles and miles, demons and dimming souls littered across it like ants. Rivers of fire run hot through the earth, surrounded by cackling demons. He can smell the smoke of the fires. Castiel can see souls twisting and warping like liquid, the bright white glow tainted with red and black, their descent into their newfound demon existence. The Blood Mountains glow hot red at the end of the fiery plane, and Castiel can see him. Can see the Righteous Man.
He is on an outcrop, his soul still bright, though a core of deep black sends fear rushing through Castiel. Maybe they are too late? He sees a burning red soul appear next to the Righteous Man. Alastair. His soul can hardly be called a soul, not after the brutal transformation it undertook when Heaven and Hell last battled. Alastair, once a respected angel, turned to the side of demons when Heaven showed sign of falling. No angel had ever sunk so low as to willingly transform into a demon.
"Castiel. We must move before we are noticed." he hears a panicked Michael mumble. Castiel nods, and starts to trek across the burning plane, low to the earth. He sends his blade back into nonexistence. Souls scatter as they approach, and demons cast them mysterious, wondering looks. Castiel wills them to look away, wills them to not notice. They do so, turning back to their torturing duties. He breathes a sigh of relief, and continues to stealthily move.
Michael follows him, and Castiel can feel the worried buzz and pulse of his grace. "Michael." Castiel warns. If the demons catch sight of a fully fledged angel grace, they will never reach the Righteous Man in time. Castiel cannot allow that.
He picks up the pace, silently repeating over and over, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this. Michael seems more tense than he, and that worries Castiel no end. Michael is his mentor, the one who has trained him for this since Castiel's wings grew. Perhaps Michael is the one who needs comfort. Castiel sends out a wave of his grace to Michael, a gesture of comfort he has used many times, without thinking. He only realises his mistake when Michael mutters, "You fool!"
Castiel looks up, and sees that they are surrounded by hundreds of black eyed demons, all their souls pulsing with black smoke. Castiel freezes, his wings twitching. Suddenly, a single demon shrieks out a violent war cry, and then Castiel is engulfed by the demons. He materialises his blade once more, swinging it up wildly and slicing through as many demons as he can handle. He hears the swipe of Michael's blade, hears the scream of demons, and he is propelled further. The demons clutch and tear at his wings, cackling and laughing as they dig their torture devices into his wing bones, tearing out feathers, drawing blood and grace. He feels sharp, pointed teeth and a hot mouth latch onto a wound where his grace leaks from his wing, and he loses control.
His grace explodes, hot white fire shooting out from him in every direction, sending the demons flying up into the air, bursting into clouds of black smoke. His fury pulses through his grace like fire, fuelling the manic defence/offence as he surges onwards towards the Blood Mountains. Demons jump at him, all teeth and claw, and he swipes at them with grace, snarling out his own primal noise. Michael follows him closely, obliterating the demons that get under his radar.
They cover miles. Maybe two hundred of them. All powered by this infernal rage blasting from Castiel, which he knows will slip, knows will drain him of his power. He stops, calming his infuriated mind, still attacking the circling demons with his blade, but calming his grace. Michael warned him this may happen if he loses control, and he should've listened. Castiel speeds across the plane, darting around the snarling and spitting demons, swinging his grace through the ones which get in his way.
He hears Michael's pained screams from behind him, hears the maliciously joyous laughter of the demons, but he continues. If Michael's peril becomes too great, another archangel will pull him from the Pit. The Righteous Man is more important, because, as every moment of fighting passes, he is slowly slipping into the form of a demon. He increases his pace, still killing the demons tracking him.
The Blood Mountains come into view, and the screaming of Michael is dimmed by the endless screeching of tortured souls on the racks. Castiel prepares to jump into the hot air and fly up to the Righteous Man, crouching, but is halted when a fiery pain shoots through his left wing. A demon has embedded his knife into the stump of Castiel's wing. Castiel releases a powerful roar, tearing the knife from his wing, launching it at the cackling demon with all of his force. The knife strikes the demon, and it explodes in a black cloud.
He stares up the side of the Blood Mountains, and starts his ascent, gripping the burning rock as tightly as he can. Red eyed demons appear now, their warped features dark and determined. Castiel sends out vines of grace, watching with unruly satisfaction as they implode into red smoke. He continues to move up the side of the mountain, tendrils of angelic power defending him, his wing bleeding more and more grace every time he moves. He needs to find the Righteous Man, and fast.
Castiel clings to the rockface, scaling it as fast as the infuriated demons allow, clambering higher and higher, closer and closer to the outcrop where the Righteous Man tortures a soul. He hears the screams of the torturee, and the restrained sobbing of the Righteous Man. The coppery scent of blood fills the air, empowering and revolting at the same time, and the dusky smell of smoke seems dimmer now. His wings tighten painfully as a new wave of demons launch themselves at him, pulling and tearing and biting.
Grace power seems beyond his control now, not as strong as the explosion he experienced earlier, though. More like a fiery heat that matches the atmosphere in Hell. Castiel catches sight of the glowing soul, sees the pointed knife it forces into another soul, one marred with knife slices and soul blood. His own grace floods with a million unknown, human emotions, and he stumbles. His hand just grabs onto the ledge of the outcrop as he begins to fall into the hissing demons below him.
He is about to pull himself up, his wing hanging uselessly at his side, when a deep, tired voice stops him.
"Going somewhere?"
Castiel looks up and sees the soul. Sees the Righteous Man. His white hot form with a dark core is starting to morph into a human form, with dark, matted brown hair, faint freckles, and vividly bright green eyes. Several layers of clothes appear on the Righteous Man, shielding his nakedness from Castiel. The Righteous Man gazes down at Castiel with curious eyes, pain and hesitation flashing in them.
"You're not a demon." the Righteous Man observes.
"No. I am an angel of the Lord." Castiel replies with forced calmness, pulling himself up onto the outcrop. He morphs his grace into the familiar form of his true vessel, Jimmy Novak. Castiel knows that this will make the Righteous Man more comfortable.
"You're an ang- angels don't exist!" the Righteous Man argues, "There are only monsters and demons and hell and fire and- and- and-" the Righteous Man seems to shift into a state of panic, unneeded breaths making his bloody chest rise and fall.
"Righteous Man, do not fear. I am here to take you out. You will be back on earth with your brother, soon."
"S-Sammy?"
"Yes. Sam."
"You can't get me out. No one leaves. Ever. Only demons can leave. You won't be able to get out. You're gonna die! They're gonna torture you and take your blood and your soul!" the Righteous Man practically screams at Castiel, green eyes wide, "You need to leave! Now! Before Alastair comes back!"
"Oh, Dean. Surely you know that I, hmm, never left?" a sly, drawling, familiar voice rings. Castiel turns just in time to see a completely black soul morph into the familiar form of his long lost brother.
"Alastair." Castiel breathes, his wings shooting out in recognition.
"Hello, Castiel." is all he hears before a sharp pain shoots through his already broken wing. Alastair's hand is curling around the broke wingbone, bending and twisting, and Castiel screams. He swings up at Alastair with a swift kick. The demon growls at Castiel and dodges it, coming around the slam a punch into Castiel's spine. He falls to the ground, hissing in pain.
"Alastair!" the Righteous Man - Dean - exclaims, coming to crouch next Castiel with a worried expression on his scarred face.
Castiel watches as Dean receives a hard kick to his chest, sending him flying several metres. Alastair stalks after him, white smoke leaking from his vessel in his anger. Castiel scrambles up, following the path of the angered demon. He yells out a panicked no! as Alastair strikes forward with a blade. He throws himself between Dean and Alastair, arms spread wide
The sharp knife pierces his vessel, white hot grace leaking from the word. He hisses in pain and shock, crumbling to the ground. He watches helplessly as Dean launches himself at Alastair, stabbing him in the centre of his chest with a sharp silver knife. Alastair laughs, evil and loud, as his vessel explodes in a cloud of white smoke. Castiel leaps forwards and cradles the shaking Dean in his arms, protecting him with his wings.
"I'm... I'm so tired." Dean murmurs, fluttering eyes gazing up at Castiel wondrously. His entire form is limp, the blue light of his soul returning. The handsome form he had created disappears as the soul takes over. Castiel holds him close to his chest, and launches himself into the red sky. His broken wing fails him, feathers pointed every which way. Pain shoots through him. He flaps his one wing heavily, flying shakily across the burning plane towards the glowing light of Michael's grace.
He hovers above the battle, calling out Michael's name. The soul reaches out to Michael, the draw of his paired angel too strong to resist. Castiel feels jealousy, and shuns himself. Father forbids jealously amongst the angels. Michael flies up from the battle and morphs into the temporary vessel he found himself on earth, holding his arms out for the soul. Castiel shakes his head, cradling the soul closer to himself. This is his mission.
Michael nods knowingly, and zips up towards the jagged split in the sky. Castiel follows, wobbling in the red air as his wing tries to fold itself. He fights against the urge to land and heal himself, and shoots after Michael. The soul squirms as they near the split, and he sends waves of calm to it. Surely the Righteous Man would be happy to leave the place he has been trapped in for forty years? Humans are confusing creatures. Michael gets sucked into the dark void, his screams ringing bells in Castiel's ears. Castiel wraps the soul tightly in his vessel's beige trenchcoat, and folds his wings as the gravity of the split pulls him in.
They are definitely in for a rough journey home.
Castiel cannot remember much of the journey. He remembers entering the void from Hell to Heaven, grasping the Righteous Man's soul in his hands. He remembers landing on the celestial plane once more, and then there is a huge black gap in his memory. Perhaps he lost consciousness? All the same, he just remembers waking up with the soul on a dusty beach, surrounded by millions upon millions of vivid colours. This beach is the beach in his own Heaven. And that's where he is now.
The soul is next to him, the hot white light formed into a vaguely human shape. Castiel sits up and looks at the soul.
Hello? Where am I?
Castiel is startled. The soul... it's talking to him. He replies aloud, "Dean?"
Who is Dean?
"You. Your name is Dean."
I did not know I had a name. What is your name?
"My name is Castiel."
That is a very nice name.
"Thank you." Castiel falls into silence, morphing his form into the familiar shape of his vessel.
Your body just changed. Why do you look different now? Your glow has gone.
"This... this is a vessel. I am an angel, Dean. And angels require a human body to be on earth."
Human. What is human? Is that a name?
"No, no." Castiel smiles, a thing he rarely does around others. He hasn't smiled for several hundred years, not since Gabriel had left Heaven, and skipped off to an unknown country on earth, "You are a human. The body I'm in is a human body."
But we look different.
"You are a mere soul right now, Dean. You have no body."
Can you make me one?
Castiel considers this, gazing out into the emerald ocean. He could, perhaps. His grace has somehow healed from his excursion to Hell, and he hopes that his wings have too. He spreads them wide, feeling joyous as they beat against the warm air, lifting him up into the hazy air with renewed power.
What are they?
"These are my wings!" Castiel shouts happily as he flies around in a circle over Dean's soul. The wind rushing through his feathers is familiar and natural. He can see the green canopy of the trees lining the beach, can see the rocky outcrops from the cliffs of the bay. The sparkling emerald ocean rocks gently with foaming waves, the reeds beneath the surface creating patches of deep green across the edge of the bay. The beach itself is speckled white and yellow, the sand smooth and untouched. The island they are on is small and beautiful, delicate and perfect.
Castiel tilts his wings and descends to the sand where Dean's soul is still waiting. He lands gently on his feet, walking a few steps before stopping.
That was amazing.
"Yes. It is. Flying, I mean."
Will I have wings?
"No, Dean. Only angels have wings."
Oh.
"I'm sorry, Dean. But at least you get to live a normal life."
What do you mean?
"I am bound to Heaven. I must obey what Heaven commands, and I have no free will. You, Dean, you have a family - your brother, Samuel,and your stand-in father, Robert. My family are all angels and archangels, and there are hundreds of them. But our love is programmed into us. Your love for your family is... is developed. It twists and warps and moves, somewhat like the ocean, but at least your love is genuine love. Not artificial, choice-less love."
I am able to love...
"And you are enabled to break your laws. You can imbibe alcohol, poison yourself with drugs, have extramarital intercourse with strangers. You can sin, Dean. Can actually enjoy yourself. Whereas I... I have no choice but to obey my laws."
Do I love you, Castiel?
Castiel stares at Dean with wide, glassy eyes. Nothing he has said about sinning has passed into Dean's thoughts. Dean's soul is damaged and worn, but surely he remembers their meeting? "I have only just met you, Dean. I pulled you out from Hell."
What is Hell?
"It is a cruel place, where evil humans go to be punished."
Am I an evil human?
"No! Dean, no, you are not! You are the Righteous Man! You are, by human standards, as morally right and good as you can possibly be! Dean, Dean. You are perfect."
But I am not. I am 'just a mere soul'. I am imperfect, and I do not have wings like you. I can feel a dark shadow around me. It is like a shroud. It scares me.
"Dean, Dean." Castiel leans forward and runs his fingers along Dean's soul comfortingly, whispering his name over and over as his grace pulses with affection and love. The soul is damaged and broken, but the consciousness belonging to Dean is pure, "You are always perfect. Appearances do not matter."
Thank you.
Castiel continues to sooth Dean as the fiery colours of the sunset dye the sand a deep orange, and makes Dean's soul glow even brighter. Castiel shelters the precious soul with his ebony wings, cradling Dean close to his chest as night falls upon them, and the stars glisten in the sky.
Tomorrow, he will create Dean Winchester.
On the first (or, rather, the second) day, Castiel creates Dean's skin.
He takes the sand beneath his feet, and pours it through the gaps in his fingers. It is fluid, gentle and soft, but strong and durable at the same time. Castiel lifts water from the ocean with his grace, and mixed it with the sand. A damp paste is formed, and Castiel can mould this to create small structures. Dean's soul watches him curiously.
What's that?
"This is sand. I am going to use this to create your skin."
My skin?
Castiel points to the soft skin on his vessel's visage, and watches as Dean's soul pulses. Dean has been acting more like he should be since they slept, using terms the humans call contractions, rather than formal speech.
I'm going to have a body!
"Yes, Dean. Now come here and watch."
Castiel has already created a rough set of hands, and a pair of feet. Dean's soul hovers around him as he creates the legs and attaches them to the feet with water from the ocean. Next, he creates a muscular torso with two strong arms, joining them to the hands and the legs. A non-featured head is joined to the torso by a swiftly made neck. In every limb, the bones are moulded carefully, precisely. Castiel works on details:
Castiel curves the shape of Dean's jawbone and the jaunty angle of his nose and ears. His cheekbones, slightly defined and medium height are shaped from the damp sand. He leaves space for eyes and lips. He digs little fingernails and toenails into the hands and feet, and presses his finger into the centre of the sandy torso to created a navel. Hipbones are long and sweeping, defined and sharp. Castiel recreates Dean's genitals, positioning them carefully. This makes Dean's soul shiver with silent laughter.
Castiel remembers the location of every faint freckle on Dean's body, and he leans down over the sandy figure to press gentle kisses to the sand where the freckles must be. Arms, legs, face, back, two on his stomach, one on the base of his member. He sits back up, gazing over the body before him. It is Dean. It really, really is.
"You may inhabit this body now, if you wish." he tells Dean's soul softly, "But you will not be able to move yet."
Please. I want to be in a body, for a change.
"As you wish." Castiel pulls apart the chest of Dean's body carefully with tendrils of his grace, and gestures for the soul to slip inside. Dean's soul does so, squeezing into the space. Castiel seals the chest up, smiling down at him.
Can you hear me?
"Yes."
Good. It's very dark in here.
"It shan't be, as soon as the sun rises tomorrow morning."
What's going to happen?
"I am going to use the power of the sunrise to create your life force and blood."
Awesome. Will I be able to move then?
"Yes, but I suggest you wait until your eyes and mouth are created first. And your hair. And everything else."
Okay.
They sit there, in near silence, for three hours, until the sun starts to sink below the horizon. Castiel lays himself down next to Dean's new body, shrouding them in his wings.
"Goodnight, Dean. I will wake you in the morning."
Goodnight.
On the second day (or, rather, the third), Castiel does as he promised, and creates Dean's blood and life force.
The sun rises with a gradient of pink, into lilac, into purple, and, finally, into the deep blue of the previous night. Castiel sits up and places his right hand on Dean's right shoulder. Dean's soul stirs.
What's wrong?
"It is time."
Dean's soul hums with excitement, and Castiel holds his left hand up to the sky. His grace shoots out of his fingertips, and grabs the heat and power of the sun. Castiel feels it burn through him, passing into Dean's body through his hand. The body shakes and bucks and blood and life fills it, the limbs swell as blood rushes through the new veins. Dean's member thickens and stands erect, but Castiel graciously ignores this.
As the life-giving blood floods Dean's body, the rough, sandy skin that Castiel created flattens and smooths, a delicate shade of pink blended with yellow - the colour of human skin - embraces it. Castiel knows that a burn mark will rest on Dean's shoulder where his hand lay, but it feels like a mark, of some kind. A signature.
This is amazing. I've got a pulse!
"Yes, Dean. You are now biologically alive."
Awesome!
On the third day (or, rather, the fourth) Castiel creates Dean's eyes.
The ocean they have been sitting and sleeping by for four days is a beautiful emerald green colour, sparkling and glistening in the sunlight. Castiel decides that this is the perfect colour for Dean's eyes, seeing as it is impossibly close to the previous shade. He tell Dean this, and is somewhat honoured by his answer.
The ocean? My eyes were never that colour!
"Yes they were, Dean."
No, surely not! Blue eyes are the only colour of eyes!
"No, Dean, my vessel's eyes are blue. Eyes vary in colour, and you humans all think it's down to the human genome and DNA. In fact, eyes are the colour they are because, when humans are born, a minor angel comes down to bless the child. This blessing is granted by one of the angels, such as the Blue angel, or the Green angel. Sometimes, more than one of the angels comes to bless the child, and so a child is born with two separate coloured eyes. These children are special."
That's awesome. So... if you're the angel blessing me and my 'birth', because you're creating me, then shouldn't I have blue eyes, like you?
"I- I would assume so..."
Then I want blue eyes! I want to be like you, Castiel.
"Dean, I-"
Please?
"I can't. Your body needs to be recreated as it was before it was destroyed. I cannot deviate from this."
Castiel, please!
"Dean, I can't!"
I want to be like you, Castiel. You are all I have ever known. You are my world.
"And you are mine." Castiel replies softly.
Then, please, let me have blue eyes.
"I can't, Dean. But I can bless you in a different way."
How?
"I will mark your soul. I will mark it with my grace. This will make you, essentially, mine. You will belong to me, wholly. I will not use this to force you to do anything, or to coerce you in any way. But you, Dean Winchester, will be mine."
Do it.
"Really? You want to be bound to an angel for all eternity?"
Yes.
Castiel nods, and straddles Dean's motionless body, "Relax, Dean. This is going to hurt." Castiel bends his hand into a claw, and pushes it slowly into Dean's stomach, forcing his way into the lining of Dean's soul. Dean screams in his head, piercing and loud, but Castiel continues. He places his hand flat in the centre of Dean's soul, and channels his grace through his hand into the soul. Dean's body stills, the screaming slowing, as Castiel's grace soothes and calms the soul. Castiel withdraws his hand, feeling a strange loneliness at the loss of connection.
But he can feel Dean. Can feel him just there in the core of his grace. A bond has been created, and Castiel knows that he and Dean are now linked. Permanently. He stands up from his straddling position, before kneeling down once more next to Dean's head.
"Are you okay?"
Castiel... I can feel you.
"Yes. We are bonded."
This is awesome. It's better than an orgasm.
Castiel splutters violently, "Excuse me?!"
Sorry, I don't know where that came from. What even is an orgasm?
"It is a human sexual gratification, um, symbol. Supposedly the most pleasant feeling a human can experience."
Well, this surely tops that.
"Dean!" Castiel chastises, "Now, can I make your eyes now?"
Sure, sure.
Castiel summons a thick tendril of grace, which materialises next to him. He morphs it into a bowl-like shape, and dips it into the ocean, gathering up the beautiful emerald water. Using his finger, he carves oval holes into Dean's face, and uses some of the sea foam on the top of the water to create the whites of his eyes, filling the holes completely. Next, he makes two smaller holes in the foam, and fills them with the water. He places a small black stone in each centre of the two water irises to create the pupils of his eyes. Castiel plucks individual black strands from a feather nearby and arranges them as eyelashes on Dean's eyes.
He moves his hand over Dean's eyes as humans do when their kin pass on, and when he moves away, Dean's new eyes are there, fully formed. Castiel smiles down at him.
This is amazing! You look so cool through real eyes!
"Thank you. Remember to blink often, or they will hurt a lot."
How do I do that?
"Just close your eyelids really quickly, and then open them again just as fast."Deans obeys, eyes scrunching up as he blinks fast, and then slow.
Thank you, Castiel.
"You're welcome."
On the fourth day (or, rather, the fifth) Castiel creates Dean's lips.
And yes, Castiel does think that Dean's mouth deserves a whole day of creation. Mouths are used for everything, as far as humans go: eating; drinking; taking; kissing; conveying a thousand emotions. They are very important to them. And Dean's mouth was a very nice one, sculpted perfectly, with soft curves.
What're you doing now, Cas?
"Dean, my name is Castiel."
Cas is easier to say. Now, what're you doing?
"I am going to make your mouth."
And what's that?
Castiel point's to his vessel's lips with a sigh. He really wishes Dean had his memory back. "This is a mouth. You use it to speak, to consume food and water."
Do I need it?
"Yes, Dean."
Okay.
Castiel walks into the water, leaving the still motionless body of Dean on the sand. His clothes remain dry, water being chased away by his grace. He stares around the seabed, peering amongst the rocks and reeds, until he finds what he is looking for: shells. He dives down quickly, wiling his vessel to sink. He bumps onto the seabed lightly, and crosses his legs. The shells surrounding him are a whole array of colours and shapes; some are pink and white, whereas others are a pale green colour with flecks of blue; there are large conch shells, and there are tiny, fingernail sized shells, too.
Castiel moves aside the larger shells with his fingers, searching for the deep pink cockle shell he just knows matches the colour of Dean's lips. His eyes are immune to the stinging effect of the chlorine water as he blinks needlessly, automatically. The cockle shell is half buried in the seabed, and he swirls the ochre material around until the shell flips and drifts through the water with lazy movements. Castiel grabs at it, enclosing the perfect shell in his fist.
He rises to the surface, walking back to the beach where Dean's body is shaking.
Cas? Cas?! Cas?!
"I'm here, Dean." Castiel calls as he jogs over to Dean, "What is wrong?"
You vanished! I couldn't hear or see you!
"I went to retrieve your lips. I am here now."
Oh, god, thank you. I was really worried!
"Relax." Castiel murmurs as he kneels next to Dean's body. Dean's eyes follow him cautiously.
He places the shell in the gap left between his nose and chin. Castiel pinches the sharp ends of the shell, tugging them like rubber, twisting and stretching. He continues to mould the shell, smoothing and curving it. The shape of Dean's old mouth is gradually coming into existence, delicate and divine.
"Speak, Dean." Castiel commands when he is finished.
"What do yo- yo-... I can talk! Like you!"
Castiel smiles down at the half formed face below him, watching as the newly created dark pink lips move with Dean's speech. He sees a row of white teeth and a damp pink tongue. A bright smile crosses Dean's lips, laughter bursting from him.
"This is amazing!" he practically shouts, "I can talk and laugh and smile! I'm like you!"
"Yes, Dean. You are." Castiel rubs his thumb over Dean's lower lip wondrously. Dean's smile disappears as Castiel does this, his glistening eyes widening.
"Why does that feel so good? It's like someone has... has..."
"It is called pleasure, Dean. You use to be a connoisseur of sorts, when it came to pleasure."
"Can you do it again?" Dean asks fervently, blinking his eyes quickly. As Castiel watches this now familiar action, he remembers something.
"Dean! You can move now."
"I can?"
"Yes."
Dean inhales a sharp breath, and then sits upright in one swift, fluid motion. Castiel practically whoops for joy. "Dean! Dean, you can move!"
"I can move!"
The two of them stand to their feet in an almost simultaneous action, and Dean falls heavily into Castiel's arms as his new legs fail him. Castiel is reminded of the young giraffes in Kenya, who wander around on shaking legs after their birth. "Are you alright?" he asks the laughing Dean cautiously.
"I'm fine, Cas. Just a little bit wobbly, is all."
Castiel pulls himself out of Dean's embrace, gripping him by his wrists. Dean's slightly bowed legs wobble shakily, his pronounced stomach muscles tense. Castiel considers creating some clothes for Dean, but he sees so reason to. After all, he has just created Dean's body; he knows every nook and cranny back to front.
"Just take a step forward."
"How?"
"Just think about it."
Castiel watches as Dean's face contorts in concentration, and then his leg moves, taking a shaky step forwards. Castiel nods encouragingly, walking backwards in time with Dean as he gets to know his new legs. They end up walking around in circles, until Dean finally releases his firm grip on Castiel's wrists, and walks alone. Castiel watches him proudly. "Want to try running?"
"What's running?"
"This." Castiel says as he commands his vessel's legs to move, and he runs swiftly across the beach, trenchcoat and wings flapping madly. He runs back to Dean, smiling unconsciously. Dean greets him with a wide grin, then turns on his heel and speeds away from Castiel, who watches him with a wary eye. Suddenly, Dean stumbles and crashes into the sand beneath him. Castiel flies over to him, panicked, and falls to his knees next to the Righteous Man. He realises with a flood of relief that Dean is laughing, brushing the yellow sand from his hair and eyes.
"God, Cas, thank you so much."
"For what?"
"Teaching me. All of this. It's just... thank you." Dean smiles slightly at Castiel, before sitting upright and gently pressing his lips to Castiel's. He pulls away as quickly as he'd come in, a nervous blush spreading across his cheeks, "I'm sorry. I dunno what that was. I guess it just seemed like the right think to do.
Castiel's vessel's heart is beating faster than he'd ever felt, his grace pulsing. Somehow, his hand has curved around Dean's in a soft assertion of comfort. "That was a kiss, Dean."
"T-that was kissing?"
"Yes."
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
They sit there in the sand, silent, not passing a single word back and forth, until the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Castiel pulls Dean into his arms, gently and comfortingly, falling into the familiar sleeping position they have perfected over the past five days.
Castiel sleeps better than he has for a long time, with Dean wrapped in his arms.
On the fifth day (or, rather, the sixth) Castiel creates Dean's hair.
Dean's body is smooth, flawless, the freckles barely scratching the surface. The only prominent mark on his entire body is the hand print Castiel burned into his shoulder, and this is the only impurity. Castiel knows that Dean needs hair - both on his head, and on every part of his body. It's a general human necessity. But he doesn't know what to create his hair out of. There is nothing, nothing on this island that resembles Dean's hair, aside from the minuscule hairs on the surfaces of the coconuts scattered in the trees.
"Dean?"
Dean looks up from the hole he is digging in the sand, "Yeah?"
"Can I borrow you?"
"'Course!" Dean replies cheerfully, standing up and dusting off his hands. He walks over to Castiel, his damp naked body glistening in the sun.
"We're going to make your hair today." Castiel tells him when he stops, "This." he says before Dean even asks, pointing to his head, "It's going to be all over your body, but this is going to be more difficult than your eyes and mouth."
"Why?"
"The only hair-like things I can find on this island are on coconuts - those brown things in the trees - and they are tiny."
"That's okay! We have all the time in the world!" Dean says with a grin, running over to the nearest tree. Castiel watches as he scrambles up the tree, feet and hands clinging to the trunk with amazing strength. Dean scales the tree, and knocks the coconuts from the branches, and they land on the ground with an echoing thud.
Castiel walks over and picks up the coconuts, cradling them in his arms as Dean clambers back down onto the sand. "Will you go and get more of these?" Castiel asks, smiling gently when Dean nods and runs into the thicket of trees. Castiel retreats to the beach with the coconuts, sitting in his usual patch of sand. He places three of the coconuts on the sand next to him, running his fingers over the fourth. He grasps the end of one the petite hairs on the coconut, pulling it from its root gently.
He uses a tiny amount of grace to hold it in the air next to him, and continues to pluck the entire coconut, moving onto the other coconuts when the first one is finished, continuing to pluck as Dean brings him more and more of the brown nuts. He finally has hundreds of thousands of the tiny hairs, and moulds them together in a basic hair shape. He instructs the panting, red-faced Dean to sit in front of him, and he places this wig of sorts upon his bald head, smiling at the perfect fit. He runs his fingers through the hair, lining it up and making it look realistic, until he is satisfied.
Castiel is left with a couple of thousand of the airs, and he uses his grace to apply them all over Dean's skin. The hairs concentrate under his arms, around his genitals, and on his chest. Castiel smiles at his work and instructs Dean to stand up. Dean obeys, spinning slowly on the spot at Castiel's command.
"What's happening tomorrow?"
"There is one more thing to do." Castiel says softly.
"What's that?"
"I will tell you tomorrow."
On the sixth day (or, rather, the seventh) Castiel lets Dean go.
When Castiel awakes, Dean is snoring gently in his arms, his chest rising and falling with every breath his sleeping body takes. He watches him with adoration flooding through him, his fingers twining with Dean's comfortingly. Today is the last day they will spend together, because Castiel must send Dean back to his family on Earth. This means that his memory must be wiped of their time together, and that Castiel must return Dean's old memory to him.
Just thinking about this deed pains him, and he dreads to think about the torturing experience of actually doing it. Dean stirs in his sleep, releasing a soft yawn as his eyes drift open slowly. Castiel smiles down at him gently, tousling his hair as if he were a child.
"Good morning." Castiel states politely.
"'Morning." Dean replies with a wide yawn, pulling himself out of Castiel's grip. No, Castiel thinks selfishly, Don't leave me. Stay. Stay with me, here, and don't go back to your family. You are mine, Dean, and I am yours.
As if he could feel his despair, Dean presses his hand gently against Castiel's cheek, "What's wrong?"
"I- I... you must leave today, Dean."
"W-what?"
"You must leave. Earth needs you back."
"N-no! I won't go! I don't want to leave you, Cas!"
"I am afraid you don't have a choice."
Castiel is stunned as Dean releases a vehement scream, making the birds fly from their roosts in the trees with panicked gusto. Dean scrambles up from his seat on the sand, running faster than Castiel can process into the thicket of trees. He can hear wracking sobs fade as he watches Dean run deeper and deeper into the speckled shade of the trees, quickly vanishing from sight. Castiel stands up slowly, sighing. He spreads his wings wide, and launches himself into the air.
Flight training in Heaven for fledglings often involved flying through trees, so Castiel expects for this to be easy. He dips down from his high position, curving himself sideways so he can fly through the trees. He enters the thicket carefully, scanning ahead of himself for the trees in his path. Large vines dangle from the trees, thick and diverting, and he swerves around them skilfully. He can faintly hear the sobs coming from Dean as he flies towards the sound, and he speeds up. The sound becomes louder, stronger, and he is brought suddenly to a halt midair as he catches sight of Dean running away from him.
The gentle breeze pushes him after the sobbing human as he falls to the earth and begins to run after Dean, his wings folding against his back. Dean glances at Castiel over his shoulder, eyes frenzied as he continues his run. Castiel's vessel begins to ache with the strain of continuous running, and he slows down just as Dean does the same. He leaps forward, looping his arms around Dean's waist and throwing both of them to the ground. He straddles the squirming Dean, pinning him beneath him.
"No! Cas, please! Don't make me go!"
"Dean! Dean! Relax!"
"I can't relax! You're going to make me go!"
"Dean!" Castiel shouts, covering his mouth with his hand, "Dean."
Dean shakes his head violently, muffled yells breaking from his mouth. Castiel does the only thing that he knows will get Dean to be quiet, and he leans down, moves his hand, and kisses Dean. Dean stops yelling when Castiel moves his hand, eyes going wide as their lips touch. Victory, Castiel thinks triumphantly.
Dean's hands grip around Castiel's vessel's hips tightly, his mouth pressing hard against Castiel's, who feels his vessel spark up with some new, unfelt feeling. He feels a tingle on his upper lip, and realises that Dean's teeth have nipped at it lightly. Castiel's mouth opens in shock, a gasp bursting from him, and Dean mimics him. Their open mouths slide along eachother with damp heat, and Castiel finds himself wanting more, wanting more of Dean. Pleasure, he thinks darkly, is not a sin in this situation.
His hands splay flat against the earth on either side of Dean's head as his mouth moves of its own accord, capturing Dean's in a lock of burning heat. Dean groans into his mouth, the vibrations running through his cheat, and Castiel moans, and it's deep, throaty and guttural. A thrumming heat has developed low in his vessel's belly, and his hips press into Dean's urgently, for whatever reason he doesn't know, and Dean replies with a growl.
Castiel finds himself being pushed backwards off of Dean as the human sits up and clambers on top of him, his wet tongue somehow joining the mix of heat. Castiel's body is being pressed into the earth, electric sparks shooting down him as Dean's mouth leaves his own and moves onto his neck. Castiel feels himself arch up into Dean as a hot mouth latches onto his skin. His hips are pushing into Dean's with vigorous rhythm now, raw and animalistic, newly felt pleasure exploding through him.
"Cas-" Dean moans into his neck as Castiel's fingers lace through his hair, pulling and tugging, "W-what do I..."
Castiel hisses loudly as Dean bites down hard on his skin. He feels a tugging sensation as Dean yanks his vessel's blue tie off with fervour, sliding the beige trenchcoat from his shoulders. Castiel's fingers join Dean's as they clumsily tear at the buttons on his shirt. Castiel can feel the insistent press of Dean's erection now, his vessel's own member screaming for something, something. Castiel thrusts his hips into Dean's, and then he knows exactly what's going on, knows that the pleasure his body is aching for is going to be found via consummation. This does not falter him.
Dean is pressing hard, nipping kisses to his chest and abdomen, trailing his way down to the hem of his trousers. Castiel sends them away with a short blast of grace, and Dean licks a stripe over his navel appreciatively. Oh, Father, Castiel thinks to himself as Dean nuzzles into the strip of pubic hair leading up from Castiel's vessel's member, why did you forbid us this pleasure?
Castiel's thoughts falter as a hot, wet sensation engulfs the end of his aching erection, and he looks down just in time to see Dean's mouth close over the head of his member. Uncertainty fills his eyes, his pupils blown wide, and he slides his mouth back from Castiel's member.
"Is this... is this right? It just seemed like the right thing to do." Dean says cautiously from that sinful mouth which Castiel begs to anyone who's listening that he will put it around his erection once more.
"Dean. Keep going." Castiel says firmly, threading his fingers through the human's damp hair.
Dean nods, and wraps his lips around Castiel's member once more. Sparks of a million different colours explode in Castiel's vision as Dean takes the entirety of his length into his mouth, sucking and pulling. Castiel's hips thrust shamelessly into Dean's begging mouth, his common sense lost in the pleasure engulfing him now as Dean's cheeks hollow and pull him deeper and deeper and oh, is Castiel glad he'd forgotten to give Dean a gag reflex.
Castiel pulls on Dean's hair, tightly yanking at the brown strands as he gets lost in the feeling, his body thrumming on the high, and he's just pulling tighter and tighter, reaching for something, something that's just there, and he's, he's, he's... Castiel knows he yells Dean's name as his entire body explodes with feeling, as his hips jerk erratically into Dean's tight mouth, which overflows with Castiel's ejaculate. His vision blacks out, hands falling to his sides and digging into the dirt as he rides out the pleasure which is pulsing through him, like waves on the ocean.
He hears a muffled scream as Dean's mouth slides off of Castiel's member, their bond exploding with the mutual climax, and Castiel sees that Dean's hand is fisted around his own member, pumping furiously as his whole body shakes. Castiel's head falls back onto the earth, his grace wrapping itself around Dean and pulling him against his chest. Castiel presses a panting, sloppy kiss to Dean's slightly bruised lips, inhaling the sweet, salty scent of the human. Dean replies enthusiastically for a moment, and then lays his head on Castiel's chest. After a few seconds, Castiel hears the gentle snoring coming from Dean, feels the vibrations running through his body.
It is time. He knows it is. Dean needs to leave, and soon. And even though it physically hurts his grace, making it throb with bursts of emotion he wishes he didn't have. Castiel stares down at the sleeping human, softly running his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. Dean stirs slightly, nuzzling into Castiel's chest with a small smile forming on his face. A yawn falls softly from his lips, and Castiel feels a soft emotion muffle his mind, numbing his grief.
He releases his wings, wrapping them around the both of them. Dean stirs slightly, snuggling closer and closer into Castiel's chest. Castiel stands up slowly, cradling the sleepy Dean in his wings and arms. The sticky mess between them vanishes with a quick sprinkle of grace, and Castiel walks slowly back to their beach, mumbling soft, comforting words into Dean's ear. As his bare feet come into the contact with the smooth sand, as the afternoon sun lights up the bay water, sparkling, he desperately wishes that he could stay here.
Wishes that he could just stay in his own personal Heaven with Dean, and cherish his soul-bound human with all the love he could give. Castiel lowers Dean onto the sand, gently releasing him from the grip of his wings. Dean barely stirs, snores starting to burst from his throat. Castiel sits cross-legged next to him, stroking his cheek. He presses two fingers to his temple, closing his own eyes. He gazes into Dean's mind, glimpsing upon the colourful dreams darting through his mind, and he sees his vessel's face pop up every few seconds, then sees the two of them making love in the forest, sees the gentle kiss Dean pressed to Castiel's lips.
The memories of their time together are strong, the only things Dean has in his mind. He sees them all, floating through Dean's subconscious like leaves on a river, bright and full of love. Castiel takes the memories, grips them in his grace, and twists and warps them to create Dean's human memories. He creates Dean's childhood all over again, taking all of Castiel's observations of Dean as he grew up, and recreates them. He sees Sam, sees the amulet that he gave to Dean. Sees their father, their mother. Bobby.
Castiel does not want to do this, but he creates Dean's mother's death, and his father's death. Creates all the monsters haunting Dean's life, regrowing the memories in Dean's mind. The body beneath his fingertips shakes and quivers as the memories reform, and Castiel sees a tear leak from Dean's eye. He sends a wave of comfort into Dean's mind as he creates the violent memories of Hell, of the forty years of torturing that Dean inflicted upon souls. Dean jerks beneath his touch, his breaths sharp and fast.
"Dean. Dean!" Castiel shakes his friend lightly when he's finished recreating his memories.
Dean stirs awake, his wet eyes staring wide at Castiel, "Who the hell are you?" he asks violently, scrambling away from Castiel.
Castiel's heart sinks, his hands falling to his sides as he stands up, "It is of no concern to you," he murmurs quietly. He sends out a jet of grace, throwing Dean into unconsciousness, who falls into the sand.
Castiel picks up the human in his arms, cradling him. He feels wetness on his cheek, and he wipes the tears away. He holds Dean up to the sky, face crumbling as he is lifted into the sky by some unknown force, leaving Castiel stood on the sand, weeping for the loss of his friend.
Castiel stares upon the rickety barn, where he sees the smothered souls of the Righteous Man, and his stand-in father, Robert Singer. He can see the glow of the summoning sigils on the interior walls of the barn, and he lands on the damp earth in front of the doors of the barn. The ebony wings on his back fold against his vessel's spine, adjusting until they are comfortable. Jimmy Novak's vessel is comforting, his true vessel, and the two of them share a bond like no other. Except perhaps the strong soul bond he created between himself and Dean.
Ah. Dean. After Castiel was separated from his friend, his lover, he returned to Heaven, where he was told to return to Earth once more, and to guard the Righteous Man. He tried speaking to Dean as he had on the island, in his heaven, only to be shocked as his true voice burned Dean's mind and ears, making their bond squirm and writhe. And then that imbecilic human woman who commanded for Castiel to show himself. Surely a woman of such intelligence would've realise that seeing an angel's true form would, at the very least, blind her?
Humans.
Most humans. Not Dean.
Castiel summons his grace and lights up storm clouds above him, making heavy rain, wind and thunder crash down upon the barn. He strides through the double doors which open with a vein of grace, taking in the not-so- expertly painted sigils, the weapons and defensive devices laid upon the various surfaces. He looks upon the two men stood side by side, sees the body he so carefully created. The men are holding a shotgun each, and Castiel feels hot bullets embed themselves into his vessel's chest as showers of sparks from the exploding lightbulbs above his head rain down upon him.
He continues to walk towards the men, stopping just before Dean. Green eyes watch him carefully as their soul and grace reach out to one another. Castiel sees him reach for a silver knife. He ignores this for the sake of belief.
"Who are you?"
That familiar, grace-twisting voice rips through him, grief and love and pain powering his answer. Of course Dean doesn't remember him. Of course. Castiel wiped his memories. But it still wounds him more than any weapon could, still makes him ache to see the love in Dean's eyes once more, still makes him wish he could just throw himself to the floor in front of Dean and just profess his love unto him with no holding back.
"I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." he answers mechanically, grace buzzing as Dean's soul dances in his presence.
"Yeah. Thanks for that." Dean replies, jumping forward with a silver knife and plunging it deep into Castiel's vessel's chest. Castiel feels the pain in his grace more than his body as he looks down at the knife embedded in him. My Dean would never hurt me he thinks, selfishly, Nor would he call me out as a liar. Castiel retrieves the knife from his chest, dropping it to the floor. His eyes link with Dean's, and in his peripheral vision he sees Robert come towards him swiftly, raising a thin metal bar.
Castiel catches the bar in his hand, turning to face the man. He hears the voices of a thousand whispering souls as he raises two fingers to Robert's forehead and sends him into unconsciousness. Robert body falls to the floor, and Castiel turns back to the human he once called a friend. A lover.
He feels love and an overwhelming sense of security wash over him as he gazes into Dean's eyes. He glances down at the unconscious form of Robert, and then back to Dean.
"We need to talk, Dean. Alone."
Castiel knows that Dean loves him. Or, at the very least, that his soul loves him. On the island - three years ago, and yet it feels like no time at all - Castiel created that bond between them, and now it burns hot and strong, tying the two of them together. His grace longs for the soul it so desperately needs for comfort, and the body of his vessel aches for the warm touch of another human, a physical need that Castiel cannot control. And he sees the warmth stirring in Dean's soul whenever he is near Castiel, sees the trust and adoration in his eyes.
Dean, of course, the ever 'heterosexual' male he is, refuses to accept that Castiel is, in fact, gender-less. And so this drives his friend to believe that, as Castiel's vessel is male, Dean would be breaking into "the land of rainbow unicorns and glittery condoms", as he once said to Castiel, if he decided to express his love. Somehow, Castiel knows that, although Dean refuses to admit it, his friend would happily fornicate with Castiel, and form a 'relationship' with him. Human customs ruin everything.
But, even though Dean is strictly into fornication and 'relationships' with females, Castiel finds that claim hard to believe as a soft pair of lips fall onto his own, and a warm hand curves around his cheek. Of course, he had been the one to teach Dean the art of kissing, but he did not teach him this. Did not teach him the delicate human custom of a slow approach, the gentle beginnings of a kiss. The promise of more.
This is all new to Castiel. Dean is putty under his hands as Castiel pulls the human flush against his vessel's body. He's being driven by something beyond his control, something primal. The same force which led to their fornication all those years ago, and now images of that, memories, spark up in Castiel's mind, and his vessel responds. Dean notices, looking down into towards Castiel's crotch as he releases his liplock on him.
"Have you ever done this before?" Dean asks as he runs his finger down Cas's cheekbone lightly.
"Y- no."
"Never?"
Castiel does not want to lie, especially to Dean. But he doesn't remember their sordid week of love, so why should Castiel bother to bring it up?
"Never." he confirms, shifting awkwardly as Dean's soul changes from a state of gentle passion and curiosity to one of joy and intense lust, "This pleases you?"
"'Course! You know what they say about virgins, huh Cas?" Dean says, bringing his hands around and clutching at Castiel's rear with hot hands, a wink appearing on his eye for a second. Castiel barely contains the groan that threatens to erupt from within him.
No, I don't, Castiel thinks as Dean's head tilts and he feels the sensation of lips on his once more. He lets out an almost needy sigh as he presses his lips against Dean's insistently, his arms curving around Dean's waist and pulling him tightly against him. Dean's lips part beneath his, hot air ghosting over Castiel's lips. He presses forward, keening, begging and Dean pulls away, a small laugh escaping from him.
"Dean." Castiel whines, his mouth wrapping around the tip of Dean's nose, nibbling.
"Sure you haven't done this before?" Dean smirks slightly, "You seem awfully experienced."
"Observation." Castiel murmurs as he releases his hold on Dean's nose, moving down to kiss him firmly, separating his lips expectantly. Dean gasps, and Castiel can just about feel the curve of a smile forming on Dean's lips through their hesitant kiss. The grip of Dean's hands around his hips tightens, drawing their bodies closer and closer together.
"Are you sure you want this?" Dean breathes into their kiss, his tongue flicking out and leaving a line of electricity along Castiel's lower lip, "We can stop. If this makes you... weird."
"Oh, no, Dean." Cas practically groans, pressing soft kisses to Dean's delicate mouth over and over again, "I do want this."
"Then let's get this show on the road."
Castiel remembers their consummation in Heaven being slightly more... consummative than the previous night. Dean seemed far less eager than he had in Castiel's personal Heaven - their island. There had been no intercourse. Rather, they had engaged in copious amounts of "foreplay", ending the night curled together under Dean's sheets. Dean himself. was hesitant, slow. Oh so very human. He had been cautious and gentle, under the impression that Castiel was a virgin, pure and untouched.
Oh, Dean, Castiel thinks to himself, I was a virgin once. And then you strode into my life - or, rather, I into yours - and you took that away from me, just like you took my heart, my grace. To quote you, my love, you are a "thieving bastard". And if only I could tell you. If only I could take you there, take you to our island. Surely then you would understand, and engage in intercourse the way we did all those years ago?
Castiel sighs, rolling onto his side. He stares into the sleeping face of his lover, eyes grazing over the smattered freckles across his features. Castiel remembers creating those freckles, kissing every spot where they mar Dean's skin. Mar... perhaps not. The pale marks enhance Dean tenfold. They make him... him. Add the individuality to Dean's body, without spoiling it.
Oh, that body. Castiel is not one to be boastful, but he is proud of the thing he created. Proud of every nook and cranny. Proud of every scar and freckle. Proud of Dean. And Dean is his. Whether through their emotional bond, through their relationship... or through the bond between Dean's soul and Castiel's grace. However you put it, Dean belongs to Castiel, in every sense of the word.
And he's never going to let him go.