Chapter Text
Sam glanced at Dean from the corner of his eye, noting the faint green pallor washing out his brother’s usually honey-toned skin. “Um…Dean?” Sam asked hesitantly. “Are you feeling okay?”
Dean’s jaw clenched perceptibly before he ground out, “I’m a fish, Sammy. No, I’m damn well not okay.” Dean tugged fretfully at the blanket wrapped around his waist, concealing what lay beneath in yards of damp fabric.
“Besides the fish thing, I mean,” Sam insisted, turning his head to face his brother. “You’re looking a little…green around the gills.”
Sam couldn’t help himself and he snorted, his eyes skirting to the side in an attempt to hide his sudden amusem*nt.
“Not f*ckin’ funny, you asshole. And keep your eyes on the road. If you put even a scratch on my car, I will proceed to kick your skinny ass with my tail tied behind my back.” Dean glared at him meaningfully. “And you know I could do it.”
“Seriously, Dean. You look like you’re about to float belly up.”
“I’m just feelin’ a little sick, Sam…since I was just turned into a f*ckin’ fish,” Dean reminded him vehemently.
Sam tentatively reached over and touched Dean’s bare shoulder, feeling a soft flakiness to his brother’s skin, even as Dean slapped Sam’s hand away with a muttered curse involving toothpicks and sensitive body parts. “I think you’re drying out,” Sam stated worriedly. “We need to get you wet.”
“I will kill you and bury you at sea if you even think about getting my baby’s seats wet,” Dean threatened, his unblinking gaze ensuring Sam that he wasn’t kidding.
“God-dammit, Dean!” Sam shouted, slamming the flat of his hand against the steering wheel as he pressed his foot more firmly on the gas pedal. “I think your life is more important than the vinyl on the car seat!”
“Vinyl?!” Dean squawked indignantly. “This is pure leather and you know it!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean awoke to the muffled sound of roiling water, the liquid feeling heavy with minerals as if it were coating him with a fine layer of grime. Blinking lazily up at Sam through the ripples, Dean took a breath, the sensation much like those days in LA when the mere effort of breathing made him cough from the impurities laden in the air.
After taking several deep breaths, something occurred to Dean – he was looking at his brother through a sheet of water, which meant either Sam was under water…or that he was. Considering that Sam seemed to be looking most definitely downwards at him from what appeared to be their bathroom, Dean put two and two together and reached a rather disturbing conclusion. One, they were back at the motel without him remembering getting there and two, he was in the tub…under water, and had been for the past several minutes. Dean sucked in an automatic breath, his subconscious brain screaming at him that water meant drowning and he needed air like now and why wasn’t he dead?
With a panicked flip of his fins, Dean pushed himself upward toward his brother, erupting from the bath in an explosion of water, splashing Sam from head to toe. They both landed hard on the tile, Dean’s weight pinning Sam as his tail flopped back and forth, fins hitting the puddles on the floor with a rhythmic thwack! thwack! thwack! as he tried to right himself.
Whoa…back up. Fins?!
“What the f*ck, Sam!” Dean yelled, still trying to get to his feet. He managed to roll over gracelessly onto his back, unable to gain purchase as he slithered over the wet tile. “Where in the hell are my feet?” His eyes widened in horror as he glanced downwards and demanded in an even higher pitch, hands scrabbling over his scales, “Where in the f*ck is my dick?”
“Calm down, Dean,” Sam urged soothingly, trying to restrain his brother and heft him back into the tub at the same time. “You passed out on the way here.” Sam gave him a decidedly peeved glance as he managed to still Dean’s wild wriggling. “I told you that you were drying out.”
The afternoon slowly came back to Dean.
They’d been hunting a nix who had somehow found its way to the middle of Bumf*ck, Arizona, probably the last place on earth anyone would expect to find a water sprite of any kind. It had been killing the local men over the years, mostly those in their 60’s or even older since it was located in the midst of a retirement community.
Fish food for brains, obviously.
Apparently, the bitch had gotten lonely and decided that since Dean was the youngest piece of flesh she’d gotten her hands on in the past few decades, she was going to make a mate out of him - damn the consequences.
So she found herself with a chest full of iron rounds and burning merrily on the lakeshore while Dean found himself the next in line to play King Neptune, scales and all.
“Back in the water, Dean,” Sam ordered. “I’m calling Bobby.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam peered at Dean’s figure scrunched awkwardly in the tub, which was obviously not designed to hold a man over six feet tall with any degree of comfort, particularly lying down.
At least Dean was sleeping; it kept him from complaining too much. Who knew “accidentally” dropping a few Ambien into the tub would work so well?
“God, Bobby,” Sam murmured quietly into the cell phone tucked by his ear. “It’s…weird. I keep thinking I should drag him out and perform CPR.”
He sat on the lid of the toilet and gazed down at his brother, troubled by the absence of bubbles that indicated a human underwater. Sam’s eyes slid down to Dean’s ribcage, where the delicate gill slits that were nearly disguised by the lines of Dean’s ribs fluttered gently. The water lay undisturbed except for the slight twitching of Dean’s tail as he dreamed; Sam was reminded of a slumbering dog, wondering if Dean dreamed of chasing guppies and spawning.
“At least he’s freshwater, Sam,” Bobby said comfortingly. “Imagine having to dump rock salt in there with him.”
“He’s not looking too good,” Sam interrupted. His eyes continued their path down Dean’s body, studying him with the peculiar intensity of a scientist observing a unique new lab specimen. Sam’s gaze swept over his brother’s bare belly, amazed by the almost human appearance Dean maintained up until that point, where a faint smattering of scales began just over his groin and curled around his hips before melting into the supple firmness of a merman’s tail, the deep bronzed gold of his scales already dulled by faint patches of gray.
“You’ve got him in a bathtub,” Bobby pointed out. “He’s a six foot tall mermaid for God’s sake; he needs room to move.”
Sam chuckled wryly as he made his way out of the bathroom. “If Dean hears you call him a mermaid, he will find a way to kill you in your sleep.” Sam shifted awkwardly, trying to hold the cell phone on his shoulder as he continued to search the ‘net for a possible solution to their fish problem. “We’ve got to get him moved soon. Even though he can use both lungs and gills, the lack of ventilation in the water isn’t good for him. The whole oxygen to size ratio is….”
“f*cked up…I know. It’s like keepin’ a killer whale in a swimming pool,” Bobby agreed.
“You sure you have a truck big enough?”
“Yeah, I got an old U-Haul,” Bobby replied. “Can fit that broken meat freezer in the back and once we get some water in it, it’s a fishbowl on wheels.”
“Is it safe?” Sam asked worriedly, changing topics again without warning. “No…natural predators?”
“Sam,” Bobby began gruffly. “That pond’s lucky if it’s got a fish bigger’n my finger. He’ll be fine.”
“All right,” Sam agreed curtly. “Then get here as soon as you can. I’ve got to go change Dean’s water.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean paused in scarfing down the can of tuna, a distinct expression of distaste made plain by the way he wrinkled his nose whenever another forkful slid into his mouth. “This sh*t stinks, Sammy,” Dean stated, adding another wrinkle to his forehead. “It stinks and it tastes...dead.”
Sam arched an eyebrow at his brother lounging uncomfortably in the bathtub, trying to avoid the splashes of water that Dean inadvertently aimed at him – well, Dean said he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but no matter where Sam sat, water somehow reached him. Sam was beginning to doubt Dean’s honesty on the matter. He might as well be sitting there in a bathing suit so he didn’t have to suffer in wet jeans all night.
“It is dead, Dean. Most people make a point to kill their food before putting it in their mouths.”
Dean frowned more heavily, the lines in his face deepening with disapproval as he stabbed at the tuna left in the can. “I can’t eat this anymore. It’s making me sick.”
Sam studied his brother thoughtfully, noting the gray pallor that seemed to be deepening across his skin and the loose scales that floated on the surface of the water. “How about some sashimi?”
“I’m not sure what that is, but does it taste dead?” Dean demanded grumpily.
Sam paused before shrugging thoughtfully. “It tastes like raw fish, Dean. That pretty much sums it up.”
Dean nodded absently at his brother’s assertion, still not looking very happy. He tossed the fork onto the towel puddled on the floor – one of Sam’s earlier attempts to clean up the water pooling on the tiles – and studied the tuna can thoughtfully, running his finger back and forth over the wrapper.
Sam went back to researching, clicking rhythmically on the keys before another wave of water washed over his shoes.
“God-dammit, Dean!” Sam yelped in annoyance, lifting his feet off the floor as he scooted further backward on the bathroom counter. “If you electrocute me, you’ll have a hell of a time driving the car anywhere!”
Dean didn’t reply, and when Sam looked up from wringing out the legs of his pants he noted a flush of color on his brother’s cheeks, Dean’s tail absently waving back and forth in the tiny tub.
Silently groaning over the distinct smell of wet carpet that had begun to seep from the main room, Sam asked, “You okay? Water still good?”
“M’fine, Sammy,” Dean replied, staring intently at the can displayed on his palm. “I still have opposable thumbs. I can turn on the faucets myself.”
“Want me to throw that out if you’re not going to eat anymore of it?”
Dean’s eyes flashed up at him, sparkling blue-green like Caribbean waters; this turn of events had startled Sam almost more than the tail because his brother’s eye color had been the one constant throughout their childhood - that and Dean’s ability to pick up women since he hit puberty, that was. “Did you ever notice how hot this Chicken of the Sea chick is?”
Sam rolled his eyes, finally deciding it was time to change out of his wet clothes. “Tell you what, Dean,” Sam began as he headed for the door. “I’ll give you two a few minutes alone, but when I come back, she’s going in the trash.”
Sam popped his head back in the room, reminding Dean with a grin, “Remember, whatever you do, you’re swimming in it until we find a way to change you back.”
The nearly empty tuna fish can came sailing at Sam’s head, and he ducked with a startled laugh as Dean’s plaintive voice followed him, the carpet squelching under Sam’s feet the first few steps into the room.
“Sam? Rent a movie! I’m booooored!”
“What do you want to see?” Sam called back, struggling out of his jeans as he pondered how he’d move the immovable TV into the bathroom.
Dean hesitated before stating with assurance, “The Little Mermaid.”
“Dude,” Sam said, turning to stare in the direction of the bathroom with a look of disapproval. “I am not renting you fish p*rn.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The theme from Jaws erupted menacingly from Sam’s coat pocket for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon. With a growl of irritation Sam snapped it open, vowing never to let his brother near his phone again in this lifetime. “What do you want now, Dean?”
“Hello to you, too, Sammy,” Dean replied in a pleasant tone. “What are you up to?”
“Currently, I am imagining my brother as the main course at a fish fry.”
Dean ignored the obvious signs of annoyance in Sam’s voice. “Can you pick me up some more take-out?”
“They’re beginning to think I have a pet whale or something,” Sam complained with a noticeable whine. “Which I soon will if you don’t stop it, Shamu.”
“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean pleaded, the faint sound of splashing indicating his agitation. “They’re like Lay’s – you can’t eat just one.”
Sam sighed with resignation, taking a right towards the pet shop. “All right, but this is the last bag of goldfish I’m buying.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam debated the merits of banging on the window and demanding Bobby switch places with him. The mix of sulky Dean and the strong scent of fish was making him both annoyed and nauseous, particularly when trapped inside such a contained space.
He hadn’t noticed it so much in the motel room, where the aroma of wet carpet had won the battle of odors. Lucky him.
“How’s my car?” Dean demanded again, doing his damnedest to kneel in the sloshing water despite the fact that he currently had no patellae to support his weight. He used his upper body strength to pull himself up by the tiny ledge in the back window, his eyes peering suspiciously through the grime coating the glass to make out the faint figure of Ellen steering his baby down the road behind them.
“She’d better not strip the gears,” Dean growled warningly, sending her a reproachful glare. Noting his expression, she waved at him with both hands, an impish grin dimpling her cheek. A howl of outrage filled the van as Dean lost his grip at the sacrilege he’d just witnessed, falling back into the tank with a splash and dampening Sam’s legs yet again.
“I’m moving this damn thing,” Sam told him, hunching over as he did his best to shove it further away from the temptation of the back window. Dean swatted at him uselessly, threatening Sam with all manners of uncomfortable outcomes if he took him away from his view of the car. Realizing they’d strapped the freezer down too well, Sam gave up, letting Dean think he’d won.
“She’s doing us a favor, Dean,” Sam reminded him with a soft pant as he tried to catch his breath. “Quit bothering her.”
The tiny sliding window between the cab and the back of the U-Haul slid open, Bobby’s gruff voice spilling in. “You boys okay back there? I thought I heard the voice of a little girl cryin’ about her car.”
Sam snickered against his shoulder, trying to hide his amusem*nt at Dean’s look of betrayal aimed at the man in the safety of the front seat. “Stop this truck right now. I want Sam driving my car and Ellen can f*ckin’ babysit.”
“Hell, no,” Bobby interrupted before Dean could get further into his rant. “We can’t have round two of whatever the f*ck that was back at the motel.”
Sam wished for brain bleach as his mind drifted back to that scarring event. He’d let Ellen into the room to keep an eye on Dean, who was humming along to Metallica’s greatest hits while splashing happily in the bathtub, enjoying his latest bag of goldfish. Just as Sam stepped out the door to take a better look at the set-up Bobby had rigged in the back of the truck, he heard Dean break into the chorus of Ride the Lightning, making Sam thankful to be out of the room so his ears could take a break for a few minutes.
When he and Bobby came back a couple of minutes later, they found Ellen straddling Dean, practically trying to crawl into his mouth as she yanked at the soaking wet shirt stuck around her elbows, goldfish flopping in complaint on the tile. She fought like a hellcat when Bobby and Sam tried to pry her off, Dean flicking his tail against the porcelain tub as his hands grazed the wet denim encasing her legs, looking far healthier than he had the past couple of days even with the drugged expression that made his features slack and his eyes nearly black with want.
The separation of skin-on-skin contact made Dean cry out with need and he started humming again, singing small words and phrases that just caused Ellen to fight all the harder to get back in the tub. Realizing the problem, Sam clamped a hand over Dean’s mouth, wrestling with his brother as Ellen tried to climb over Sam’s back to get to Dean who was now under water due to both Sam and Ellen’s weight atop him.
At a loss, Bobby turned on the shower, the cheap motel plumbing willingly providing a seemingly endless supply of freezing water that made Ellen shriek with discomfort as it hit her nearly bare skin. She slid off the Winchester dog-pile and landed ass-first in the water coating the tile, the shock to her system awakening her from her lust-filled stupor.
Sadly, several goldfish gave their lives in the saving of Ellen Harvelle.
While traumatic to Sam’s delicate sensibilities, they had discovered something useful - Dean could feed off lust as well as endless bags of goldfish though, according to legend, the unfortunate main course usually wouldn’t survive, drowning in the process of mating.
Sam didn’t want to get into the logistics of how sex was possible or what went where when it couldn’t be seen in the first place, but trust his brother to turn into a water-based incubus.
Dean grinned at the reminder, momentarily forgetting the nearly drastic consequences as his voice deepened with pride. “What can I say? I’m adorable.”
“Yeah, cute as a Gerber baby,” Bobby stated with a touch of exasperation. “You’re apparently a God-damned siren, Dean…which means you’re stayin’ away from Ellen or you might wind up Jo’s step-daddy.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Bobby, we have to stop for a refill,” Sam informed him, practically pushing his head through the tiny opening into the cab just for a breath of fish-free air.
“And some snacks!” Dean demanded grumpily. “We’re outta goldfish already!”
“He’s gone through ‘em all?” Bobby asked in amazement. “You sure he ain’t hidin’ a piranha in his pocket?”
“I wish,” Sam grumbled, trying his best to ignore Dean’s chant of goldfish! goldfish! echoing in the van behind him.
“You positive they’re okay for ‘im? He acts a little…funny after he eats ‘em.”
“He acts like a freakin’ two year old,” Sam shouted over his shoulder, Dean’s retaliatory splash soaking the back of his shirt. “I’ll do some more research once we get to your place. I’ve noticed some…things that have got me worried,” he murmured quietly to Bobby.
“More so’n a fish tail?” Bobby asked. “Oh, this has got to be good.”
A larger wave of water suddenly washed over Sam, making his hair lie flat against his scalp. Even Bobby felt Dean’s wrath as generous trickles of water made their way down the back of the seat, following the slope to soak through Bobby’s jeans.
Bobby swiped at his damp cheek, glancing back at the water-ridden Sam. “I guess we better stop.”
“Goldfish!” Dean agreed happily, the flat of his tail making a hollow clapping sound against the side of the freezer as he disappeared beneath what little water remained in his container.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Those. Are. Not. Goldfish,” Dean declared pointedly, aiming an undeniable look of disgust at the offering in Sam’s arms.
Bobby covertly yanked the hose out of the freezer, jumping out of the back of the truck and leaving Sam to bear the brunt of Dean’s tantrum.
Sam stood with a Styrofoam cooler clasped to his chest, the sun slowly drying out his still damp clothes as he hesitated on the bumper before stepping into the coolness of the van’s interior.
“It’s all we could find,” Sam explained again. “Be glad we ran across a live bait shop or you’d be stuck eating a McFish sandwich with the rest of us.”
Dean ignored him, leaning as far as he could out of the freezer so that the rays of the late afternoon sun bathed his upper body in light. He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight like a beached seal, absorbing the heat with an almost obscene amount of pleasure. “I don’t even eat those on pizza,” he grumbled, absently flicking his tail and wetting his back with a quick wash of water.
Sam’s eyes skirted worriedly over to Ellen parked several yards away. He could see her leaning against the Impala’s fender, the headphone wires draped across her chest as she deafened herself with whatever came out of the i-Pod stuck in her pocket. Her eyes brushed guiltily away from Dean before slinking back, drawn to the almost p*rnographic image of Dean’s taught torso leaning into the light, carving every muscle out of the shadows as water trickled teasingly over his chest.
Great, siren song was not only an aphrodisiac, but it seemed to be as hard to quit as crack.
Bobby had noticed Ellen’s gaze, as well, and he swept into Sam’s view, taking Ellen gently by the arm and dragging her inside the small store to get her out of Dean’s line-of-sight.
With that concern taken care of, Sam refocused on his brother. “This is it, Dean. Think of them like Brussels sprouts – they don’t taste as good, but they’re nutritious.”
Dean opened one eye, staring evenly at Sam. “I’ll eat one if you do.”
“You are such a baby.” Sam reached awkwardly into the bin to grab a sardine before it could wriggle out of his grasp. “Deal.”
At that, Sam tilted his head back and dropped the sardine into his mouth, swallowing quickly before the taste registered. He set the container next to Dean’s freezer, stating briskly, “Eat up, Dean. I’m going to be outside throwing up now.”
Sam leapt out of the back of the truck, fighting the nausea as he bent over by the back tire, taking several deep breaths to settle his stomach. Dean’s cackle followed him out into the heavy summer heat as he flopped back into the water with an audible splash. “I can’t believe you did it!” Dean crowed with pride. “This is just like the time I got you to eat that earthworm when you were ten!”
Sam somehow managed to keep the sardine down – he swore he could still feel it wriggling in his stomach – and stood at the end of the truck, hands on hips as he said firmly, “Now you can’t complain the rest of the way to Bobby’s, got it?”
A small fish flew out of the shadows of the truck, splatting against Sam’s T-shirt before flopping into the dirt at his feet. “I still want goldfish when we get to Bobby’s.”
“Fine,” Sam grumbled under his breath. “Baby.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They’d swum in Bobby’s small pond as boys, spending a few golden summer days cooling themselves in its waters. They’d even tried fishing once or twice, but never seemed to catch anything worth eating.
Now Dean was going to live there until they found a way to make him bipedal once more.
Sam was a little concerned. “Okay, Dean…the water is fresh, it feeds off some small streams which are too shallow for you to possibly get lost in….”
“You mean escape,” Dean said, swimming in lazy circles by the shore where Sam sat in the shade of a large willow tree. Noting the look of alarm on his brother’s face, Dean reminded him, “I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.” An expression of disappointment flitted over Dean’s face, but was gone before Sam could really be sure it had been there.
Sam waded into the shallow water, feeling the coolness seeping over his skin as he idly wiggled his toes in the mud. “Here,” he said kindly, holding out a small, wrapped package in his palm as he squatted in the water to talk to Dean. “I got you a…house-warming present.”
“Really?” Dean’s eyebrows arched in comical surprise and he slithered closer in the shallows to snatch it out of Sam’s hand. He wriggled away, flipping around to float on his back as he rested the gift on his belly like an otter, pawing at the wrapping with a barely subdued curiosity.
“It’s not goldfish,” Dean stated with assurance after sniffing the outside of the package, tasting the corner with a quick dart of his tongue.
With gleeful anticipation, Dean tore off the paper, his mouth dropping open in disbelief as he stared at the offending item before turning the full weight of his gaze on Sam, who had sense enough to start backing out of the water.
The small plastic figurine bounced off Sam’s head, landing with a plop in the water at his feet. “You’re a dick,” Dean informed him with a growl.
“Thought you could use a little entertainment….might get dull out here.”
The tiny scuba diver bobbled in a sea of bubbles over the open treasure chest in the shallows, catching Dean’s eye with its colorful movement.
“We’ll find a way out of this,” Sam said, feeling a sudden tug of guilt for the teasing.
“A way out of what?” Dean wondered distractedly, a smile brightening his features as he ducked his head beneath the water to take a closer look at his prize.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that week, Bobby sat with Sam on the shore, observing Dean as he did a back flip out of the water.
“Better’n Flipper.” Bobby said kindly, elbowing Sam so that he’d drag his nose out of his book. “Did you tell your brother what all those goldfish are doin’ to him, yet?”
“They’re not hurting him,” Sam insisted.
“I think he’d have a different opinion if he looked in a mirror lately,” Bobby disagreed. “His hair’s turnin’ orange, Sam.”
“Gold, actually,” Sam sighed, giving Bobby a reluctant nod. “I think it’s due to the chromatophores that are responsible for the coloring of the goldfish – kind of like eating too many carrots turns your skin orange. I’m not sure how it works, but even his tail’s turning gold.”
“Y’are what you eat,” Bobby added wisely.
Dean’s head popped up by their feet. “If that were true, I’d have turned into a wom-….”
“Dean!” Sam interrupted with a wrinkle of his nose. “I’ll make you a clamshell bra if you don’t shut up. We get it.”
“I need to damn get it,” Dean grumbled. “It’s been over two weeks.” He disappeared beneath the water once more, leaving Sam looking after him worriedly.
“What about the other…side-effects?” Bobby asked with a grin.
“The giddiness?” Sam chuckled wryly. “The chromatophores relate to light absorption and reflection. I’m guessing Dean’s literally jonesin’ on vitamin D.”
“Ya mean he’s high on sunlight?”
“Something like that. Goldfish of such bright coloring aren’t found in the wild; they usually revert to a more natural brown-ish color. The bright colors are a domesticated affectation; otherwise, they’d be eaten on sight by any predators – too easy to see. It’s not mixing well with his nix/human physiology.”
“I can see that,” Bobby replied dryly, following the flash of Dean’s golden hair and scales as he darted beneath the water. “Just lucky we don’t have any condors or eagles ‘round here or your brother might find himself some hatchling’s dinner.”
“I’m pretty sure Dean wouldn’t go down without a fight,” Sam disagreed, watching a flock of ducks swimming idly across the way. A sleepy duck gave a startled squawk as it was dragged underwater before quickly reappearing. With a ruffled shake of its feathers, it took off into the summer sky, leaving the smooth pond reflecting the clouds like a picture trapped behind smoked glass.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Playing King of the Hill today, are we?” Sam asked with a laugh when he swam out to meet Dean in the middle of the pond.
Dean was sunning himself on the pile of rocks that had started to appear barely a week after his arrival. It had begun as a barely noticeable breaking in the water’s smooth surface, but it seemed to grow a little larger each day.
This was obviously some sort of pet project for Dean and Sam was determined to be supportive. It’s not like Dean had anything else to do.
“It’s nice up here, Sammy,” Dean admitted breathlessly, splashing some water over his body from where his tail dangled in the water before rolling over and allowing the sun to caress the smooth planes of his back. “Come and join me.”
Sam scrambled clumsily up the pile, amazed at the engineering this had taken. The little island offered small spots of dryness amidst the spreading rocks that still somehow remained damp from the waves that washed over them with even the slightest movement. Pools of water dotted the mound so that no matter where someone sat, water was only a hand span away.
“You’re doing a really good job on this, Dean,” Sam admitted proudly, running his hand over the smooth surface of a boulder and into the water that lapped at its sides. The perfect rocks had been selected for the top, without sharp crags and rough spots to tear at soft skin.
Sam sprawled beside his brother, turning his head to stare at the sleepy-eyed Dean who was half in and half out of the water, reclining against a sun-warmed rock. Sam relaxed into the soothing water heated by the collected warmth of the stones, enjoying hanging out with Dean after following almost a month’s worth of useless leads.
With the world’s foremost expert on mercreatures turning out to be Hans Christian Anderson, Sam had a feeling this might end up an extremely long summer. Building a fort out of a huge pile of rocks might be just the break he needed.
“Want any help?”
“It’s done,” Dean told him, flicking his upper body with more water as he rolled to face Sam lying nearby.
“Where’d you get all these?” Sam asked, writhing against the warmth of the stones rubbing along his back and feeling his stress just seep away. God, Dean was a frickin’ engineering genius – this was like a spa and a hot stone massage all rolled into one.
Dean yawned slightly before blinking up into the sun’s glare, knowing Sam’s curious gaze was aimed directly at him.
“Lots of rocks on the bottom,” he admitted. “Rockslide must’ve blocked it years ago…water tastes musty.”
“Blocked what?” Sam asked with growing alarm.
“Underwater caverns,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the water. He flashed Sam a grin, his teeth looking slightly sharper these days, and said happily, “Larger fish are able to get through now that I’ve cleared some of the blockage.” He co*cked his head to the side, suddenly demanding, “Where are my goldfish?”
Sam blinked in amazement at Dean as he disappeared beneath the water with a playful tug on Sam’s foot inviting him to follow. He watched as Dean made his way to the shore, wriggling forward in the mud to grab the edge of Sam’s jeans and dragging them towards the water to search the pockets for his treat.
“Dammit, Dean! Get your hands out of my pants!” Sam threatened with a grin. It wouldn’t be the first time in the past few weeks that he’d lost a pair of jeans or a shirt to his brother’s insatiable curiosity. Where he managed to hide them, Sam was never sure. Probably had some kind of nest underwater lined with Sam’s lost clothing.
Sometimes, Sam was sure Dean was more seal than fish, but he refused to balance a ball on his nose no matter how nicely Sam asked.
Sam swam towards shore to give Dean the bag of goldfish he’d hidden out of Dean’s reach, still wondering how far those tunnels extended if larger fish were making their way in – and if there were now a way for a six foot tall fish to get out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was over a month in when Sam took a break from sorting through Bobby’s books earlier than usual one afternoon and jogged his way towards the pond. A few steps out the back door and a subsonic vibration made his ears tingle, like a slow change in air pressure – not an entirely unpleasant sensation – but it made his skin prickle with a faint hint of…something. Before Sam even left the confines of the salvage yard, Sam could make out words, his brother’s voice ringing over the water and crashing through the thick trees as he sang Wheel in the Sky at the top of his lungs.
Sam shook off the desire to just lie back and listen – his brother had always had a natural talent for song – unnerving images of Dean singing him to sleep as a child brushed by something darker.
“Dean!” Sam shouted almost angrily once he reached the shore, shaking off the sensation as he interrupted his brother’s recital. “No singing, remember? We’re just lucky there aren’t any people around!”
A flash of something inexplicable slid over Dean’s face, gone faster than a sparkle of sunlight across the water’s surface. Dean kept his gaze fixed in the distance as he murmured softly, “No people around…yeah…”
Sam’s head suddenly popped up alongside Dean, clinging out-of-breath to the pile of rocks nearest his brother. With another flash of sharp teeth, Dean slid into the water beside him, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “Tag, you’re it.” At that, he splashed Sam in the face, leaving him sputtering in his wake as Dean sped across the water.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Have you heard from Ellen lately?” Dean asked casually, swinging his tail back and forth to tickle Sam’s feet as he dangled his legs in the cool depths of the pond.
“She’s in Oklahoma, I think,” Sam replied. “Hunting a poltergeist or something…as I explained to you before.”
“She gonna swing by this way any time soon?” Dean’s movements became less fluid, and he clung tenaciously to the rocks until his knuckles turned white.
Sam laughed, shaking his wet hair out of his face as he said, “You ask about her every time I see you lately. Why are you so curious….”
Dean’s voice growled around the rocks, making Sam draw his feet nervously out of the water as he lost sight of his brother around the curve of a boulder. “I’m hungry, Sam!”
Sam unconsciously settled himself more centrally on the rocks, momentarily regressing to the age when anything dangling over the edge was in danger of being dragged under into the darkness. He couldn’t catch sight of Dean’s golden head anywhere around his outpost, but his brother’s laugh came bubbling up behind him, the sound of warm summer rain on the rooftop. “Stop worryin’ so much, Sammy,” Dean chuckled teasingly, darting off to the right with a flash of golden fin.
Sam let out his breath, relaxing atop the rocks as his eyes slid closed, basking in the warm summer sun.
Everything was fine. Dean was only kidding.
Sam smiled as he heard the surprised squawk of another duck as it disappeared beneath the water.
He wasn’t paying enough attention to realize he didn’t hear it surface, the red tinged feathers quickly lost amidst the dry leaves on the shore.
