Title: Washed Up
Pairing: background Sam/Gabriel
Dean kicks at the sand, scowling as he watches his brother and his brother's boyfriend (a surfer, short and insufferable) having fun in the shallows. Hell, they're practically frolickingand it's making Dean wonder just how he's related to Sam.
He'd been dragged along-against his will, mind you-under the pretense of 'needing to get out more' (Sam's words). Dean might have agreed with that assessment if 'getting out more' hadn't included being a third wheel at the beach with his girl of a brother and his equally girlish boyfriend.
But unfortunately, Sam's fucking strong for such a pansy and Dean got dragged along to the beach. Where Sam and Gabriel promptly ignored him in favor of making googly eyes at each other.
It's sickening, is what it is.
He kicks at the sand again, then sighs. Another glance at Sam and Gabriel to confirm that they're still not paying attention to anything but each other and he's turning, headed down the beach in the opposite direction. Might as well check out the rest of this place and maybe there'll be a hot chick or guy wanting sun screen rubbed on their back.
Hey, it's California. These things happen.
He's out of sight and clambering over a rocky outcropping when he first hears the noise. It's sounds sort of like the whine of an engine, except infinitely smoother. And higher-pitched. More like the recordings of whale song that he'd been forced to listen to when Sam was on his marine kick.
Dean frowns. Behind him is the beach, his brother and his brother's boyfriend and he really can't think of anything that would make a noise like that that's back there. And, looking to the side and down, he can't see anything between him and the waterline that would, either. Which probably means whatever's making that noise is ahead of him.
He considers turning back and getting someone else, just in case, then remembers how Sam and Gabriel had been ignoring him. Yeah, no. He can do this without needing his hand to be held.
So, he climbs over the rocks and down the other side, ending up in a small cove, protected on one side by the rocks and on the other by a rather steep cliff-type thing. There's a small crescent of dirty sand and something long and dark and shiny that looks sort of what Dean thinks dolphins look like.
Then he hears the noise again and the thing moves and he realizes it's alive.
"Holy shit," he breathes and then he's edging closer, trying to see what the hell the thing is without getting too close.
He's maybe ten feet away when he realizes that the thing is two different colors. The dark grey skin or scales covers most of the body, but then the front end tapers off into a paler color, almost like human skin. Two steps closer and he sees the arm.
"Holy shit," he says again, but this time with a lot more feeling. "Holy shit. You're a mermaid."
The thing-mermaid, holy shit-makes that sound and moves again, only this time, it rolls over onto it's back and Dean's left looking at very human-seeming torso attached to the back half of a dolphin. (There's no nose, that he can see and the hand closest to him is spread out, showing webbing between each of the short digits and there are gill-looking things fluttering all down the creature's-mermaid's-side and he's really not thinking about any of that right now or he'll freak out.)
"Uhm, I don't suppose you understand me," Dean says, "but you're kind of a mythological creature. You're not supposed to exist. So, if you could maybe not exist anymore, that'd be great, because I'd really like to just go drown in some beer, or hell, vodka and forget I ever saw you. So, yeah."
The mermaid (Merman? How do you tell gender on fish, anyway?) opens its eyes (bright blue, Dean notices), looks right at Dean, says, "Please help me," and goes limp.
Dean just kind of gawks at him.
And then he steps back a bit, because the slippery-looking fish skin is fading, shrinking, the gills are getting smaller and smaller and the webbing is disappearing and in short order, there's a naked guy laying on the beach where the merman was.