#shark!sam

“Sam!  They’re gone!”  Dean yelped, barely able to focus thanks to how fast Sam moved them and Sam turned curious eyes his way, a strange gleeful grin on his face and Dean pursed his lips at the sight.  Kind of terrifying, that, what with Sam still bleeding all over the place and not to mention - Sam could smile?  Sam could laugh?

“We beat them?”  Sam asked, a breathless chuckle escaped him and they’ve finally stopped, Dean’s heart hurt from the exercise he never quite got around to doing.  The mer passed wild eyes all around them, and it looked like they stumbled right out of Veriport and into the Open Waters.  

Enchanted coral surrounded them, the stalks larger and far more sturdy than their usual counterparts.  All varying shades of sunset orange and reds, twisting and twining to create an atmospheric forest of sorts.  Dean would appreciate the beauty if not for the fact Sam had just ate two guards in front of him and said remaining squadron of royal guards just chased them out of town.  At least none let slip who he was exactly.

“Yes.  I -”  Dean paused to look around them, the Royals wouldn’t follow them out here, would they?  Dean liked to think he knew them pretty well, and well, Mister General wouldn’t touch the ‘filth’ of the Open Waters if his life depended on it.  “I - think we beat them.”  He couldn’t be too sure.

“That used to be my favourite game.”  Sam chuckled out, wiping at his bloodied mouth and found it even more entertaining when the mess of red worsened.  “Can’t beat me though, too fast.”  He almost laughed again, because it’d been awhile since he’s had to do the running, and it sort of felt thrilling to escape someone trying to kill you.  Or at least he thought so, maybe because it’s a reverse of his usual?  

Sam didn’t really care, but what he did care about now, despite his happy good time feelings he rarely ever got to enjoy, would be the fact he could now feel the full brunt of the wounds on his chest and arm.  “Oh.”  He breathed, gingerly gliding over the one on his arm with his free hand.

“Shit, that’s - yeah, that’s gross.”  Dean muttered to himself, and pulled his hand from Sam’s now slack grip - and paused of course to grimace at the red handprint etched around his wrist -, to reach into his bag and pull out a large, unappealing shirt.  This one should do.  His interest peaked as to what this ‘game’ that Sam referred too, but right now, he felt it might be best to stop the blood that still saw fit to gunk everywhere.

“Usually the bleeding slows by now, cuts aren’t that deep.”  Sam stated, and he watched as Dean struggled to tear a strip from the shirt and reached forward with a sigh to take it from Dean.  He easily cut it with his teeth, ripping it into strips and Dean stared at him with what Sam could surmise, his best rendition of his own sharky bitch face.  Dean did take the strips from him however, and fretfully dressed the wound on Sam’s arm.

“Of course it’s still bleeding, clean cuts always bleed out the longest.  That’s why it’s best to bandage it.  Actually, best to bandage all wounds, but you get the picture.”  Dean supplied, wishing he had the damned bag Sam so carelessly left behind, because it contained first aid supplies and healing salve but no, they had no time.  His face soured at the thoughts.

“Not really, I’ve never actually had any wounds covered.”  Sam said, and he hadn’t.  Out in the Open Waters, supplies to do such needless things weren’t really too common - if you got cut, you got cut.  And besides, most fishfolk living out so far would rather kill you the second your backs turned, no - they preferred you facing them when they killed you.  

The point remained, however, out here, it’s a survival of the fittest sort of deal.  And usually, not everymer out here in the Open Waters were so -well equipped.  Sam won most his fights without getting even a nick.  Intimidation played a rather large part in that.

“You’ve never bandaged - any of your cuts?”  Dean said, face squicked, and he found the shark’s words hard to believe.

“I’ve lived in the Open Waters.”  Sam said, because there it goes, Dean’s privileged life rearing it’s ugly little head in comparison to Sam’s to be honest, kind of fucked up one.

“Oh, yes, well, uh.”  Dean stuttered out, feeling moderately embarrassed, and he looked at his hands while he finished the loose knot to keep the danged thing in place.  Shirts weren’t the best for these sort of things.  “Anyway, if you hadn’t left the bag, I would’ve had actual gauze to apply to these shits.”  He said, gesturing the wounds and Sam shrugged, arm feeling uncomfortable under the makeshift bandage.  

“Now stay still, the one on your chest is gonna be little bit tricky.”  Dean said, swimming over Sam and huffing out silent complaints as he barely managed to get the shirts strips over the broad stretch of Sam’s back and chest.

While he fought a fruitless battle, Dean spotted a strange quill on Sam’s right shoulder blade, about two inches in length and barely a centimeter in width.  He tilted his head, flicking the thing and he flinched back when Sam made a low hissing sound, glaring over his shoulder at Dean and the mer sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.  

“I think they shot at you with something, I’m not sure.”  Dean gingerly pinched the object between his thumb and forefinger, “Warning , might sting.”  He yanked it out, eyes widening at how deep the thing had embedded itself - about another inch inside - and flung himself away from the shark who made a strange snarling sound at the twinge of pain.

Holding up the orange-reddish quill Dean managed to chuckle.  Really, the item appeared more like one bitch of a splinter to something far more severe from what he could see, Sam didn’t even bleed a little.  “Oh, calm down you big guppy!  Was just a little splinter of sorts, see?”  He waved it where he knew Sam could see it, and paused his movements when Sam stalked forward, ripping the thorn-like item from Dean’s hand and snapping it in half.  “Overreacting much?”  Dean asked, staring at the snapped item as it floated with an almost sad water to the sand floor.

“Fucking hurt.”

“Noted.”  Dean paused, and continued with,  “Duly.  Now turn back around, gotta finish bandaging your chest.”  Sam did so silently, grumbling under his breath while Dean fixed the wrappings which went loose from when Sam fidgeted about.

“This feels weird.”  Sam complained when Dean managed to finish it up, shrugging his shoulders and disliking how the cloth slid with him.

“Yeah, well get used to it.”  Dean said.

“Fuck you.”  Sam said to him, anger evident in his tone as he tugged at the cloth, feeling constricted.

Dean, noticing, swatted his hands away and shot a cheeky grin up at Sam, and, quoting the shark from not too long ago, “No thank you.”  His voice all snark, and he pat an unconsidering hand on Sam’s chest.  The shark didn’t look too pleased at the little pit pat, but taking note on how Dean didn’t outwardly panic all too much when Sam frenzied, he let it go - just this time though.  

“Anyway, Sam, unlike some fishfolk, I actually like wearing clothes.  So pardon your shark ass, I’m going to find something decent from what supplies we have left.”  Dean said.  Thankfully, the clothes were mingling with the food, so Dean figured not everything got fucked.  “However - we should find someplace more - I don’t know, safer, or whatever, to hide.  You're the shark who’s lived here all his life, so - I nominate you to lead us to a quaint little hiding spot.”

“You can literally only nominate me, jackass, I’m the only other fishfolk next to you.”  Sam retorted.

“Not true, I can nominate myself.”  Dean said, stuffing the torn shirt into the bag and he swam up and around Sam with a shrug.  Sam watched him with annoyance before he huffed out a sigh and took point, eyeing the enchanted coral around them.

“That’d make you a dick.”  Sam replied to Dean’s words, and the mer made a thoughtful face.

“True.  I can agree with that.”  Dean said, and Sam pulled a face as he turned them into the thicker parts of the coral.

“Don’t agree with me, it’s fucking weird.”  Sam said, sticking his tongue out momentarily in distaste and Dean popped up in Sam’s face, again, with an even cheekier grin.

“I can also - agree with that.”  Dean felt oddly giddy, unsure of why , but he had snacks and clothes and maybe he’s lacking the entire bag of tools he swindled, but they actually escaped the Royal Guards.  Those douchebags had been haunting him for the longest time.  And since that one, small, insignificant time he went and well, royally, pissed them off - they hadn’t been too kind in forgetting about it.  Then again - well.  

No, he didn’t have time to think of that.  He’s on a important mission - a goal.  Asides, he found it pretty fucking elating to have finally pulled a fast one on them, give them a taste of their own medicine, angry-eat-everything-shark style.

“Did you not see me eat the last two fucks that annoyed me?”  Sam said, poison dripping from his tone and Dean tuned back into the world with a chuckle.

“Alright, alright - just feeling pretty swell right now.  Aside from the missing tools bag, we’re alive.”  The mer said, shrugging, and he relented back from pissing the shark off more and Sam rolled his eyes.

The shark chose not to reply, focused on maneuvering them through the thick stalks of coral and other intricate rocks of the same nature.  Sam often avoided these places, mostly because he’s a fishfolk that’s larger than what most usually perceived as large, and trying to chase prey that tended to be much faster than him through small corridors - well, the points across, he didn’t get to eat.  

Sam’s not sure what Dean’s looking for, and to why he found himself looking instead of just settling in the open area - though he loathe to admit it, Dean’s right on this one, it would be safer to be in a more secluded location.  Adding on with the fact Sam’s still in pain - and quite exhausted, it wouldn’t be fun to go up against other creatures and fishfolk for some reason or the other were dicking about in these parts.  Which, were unfamiliar, but Sam figured he’s on a trail to a semi-decent hiding spot.  And if he’s to admit it, the scenery was nice.

“Scenery’s nice.”  Dean commented, eyeing some of the glowing sea flowers helping light their steadily darkening area - not that Sam would have a hard time seeing -, and the mer’s tempted to pick one.  The shark narrowed his eyes in mild annoyance, tempted to disagree with Dean just for the sake of disagreeing but held his tongue, mostly because Dean didn’t know Sam’s thinking the same thing and he really didn’t feel like instigating more conversation.

Or maybe he didn’t agree because everything became fuzzy, and Dean’s annoyingly loud commentary started to sound distant, far off, and wow - he’s tired.  It had been a good four days since he last slept, and all this commotion - all this change, apparently, took a larger toll on his mind than he previously thought.  

And Sam, well, Sam’s always on guard, so he knew with a bone deep assurance even with how tired he felt - he still wouldn’t be so quick to pass out.  There’s something more, something which tugged at his eyelids and dragged him down, a strange burning shot from his shoulder and he couldn’t place himself in the know-how from when he slipped from being moderately not okay to goodbye world, I’m clocking out for the day.  

He figured it might’ve been around the time his face smushed against the uncomfortable craggy sand floor and Dean’s terrible lack of strength tried to pull him off said uncomfortable craggy sand floor.

-

Dean kind of thought they were having a moment, you know, close enough to a moment as they could have.  Silence that bordered almost comfortable, gorgeous scenery, having just escaped near death and hoping Sam completely forgot why he currently had it out for Dean.  Hell - Dean even bandaged some of the shark’s wounds.  

If anything, the mer could only assume that maybe, just maybe, they were kind of bonding.  But the shark had to ever so rudely pass out like a dick and leave Dean all by his lonesome, surrounded by enchanted coral and forcing the mer to find them a secluded little area himself.  

“Fucking ass.”  Dean grumbled, huffing out in exertion while he attempted to drag the far-heavier-now-that-he’s-passed-out shark into what he’s assuming a safe spot.  The enchanted coral is more twisting here, twining into narrow corridors and in between it all Dean could spot a small cave opening, which looked like a good enough spot to go over what they were supposed to do now.  

He winced as he dragged the shark over the lower branches, snapping some and Sam let out a low groan of pain.  Served the shark right for letting himself pass out and leaving Dean to defend them - after what just transpired, bad move, Sam - Dean thought as he lets out another huff of exertion, tempted to just leave Sam here.

But the shark did just save him, and Dean does have some semblance of a moral compass, one which didn’t allow Dean to ditch his sort-of-kind-of-hero-at-the-moment on the sand floor.  Except as he continued his fruitless task of moving Sam, the realization dawned on him that this whole ‘dragging face down’ thing can't really be referred to as working out for either of them.  He figured getting Sam on his back might be just a tad bit more helpful.  

He swam down to the shark’s level and pulled a face at the strange purplish colour to the shoulder where Sam got shot with the quill.  Well, going by Dean’s vastly inexperienced knowledge on wounds and infections, he can only really surmise, judging by the wonderful discoloration of the skin, Sam’s not doing too good - or in better terms, he’s fucked.  He pressed soft fingers around the small hole, jumping back when the shark flinched and let out a strangled groan.   Definitely fucked.

“Oh, okay, yeah, not good.”  He tilted his head and squicked his features, “Also kind of really gross.  Anyway, yeah, cave, let’s - go - there.”  He grit out between huffs, pulling at Sam’s arms and after what felt a good amount of hours he managed to get to the entrance.  He looked down, noticing said entrance had just that slight bit of elevation into it and he glanced at Sam’s pained expression.  

“Yeah - sorry about this.”  None too gently, he yanked Sam’s head over the shy of a foot wall into the cave.  Taking no thought to the scenery, he gave one last tug and landed on the floor with a huff, the shark’s heavy body tumbling after him and he grunts when they collide.

He blinked once into the groaning, still fainted shark’s face, noticing huh - Sam’s not bad looking, actually had a rather pleasant face when it wasn’t tarnished with a snarl or a bitch face.  

He took a second longer to appreciate this perchance once in a lifetime moment to examine Sam’s features before Dean shoved him off with an exclamation of disgust because gross, Sam’s still kind of bleeding - and also running quite the temperature.  He swiped at the few blood droplets on his chest, thanking everything he had yet to get a shirt on because blood is a bitch to get out - in fact, Dean’s pretty certain it’s impossible?  Anyway.  Back to the probably poisoned shark on the sand floor.

“Alright, so, funny thing, Sam - Sam.”  He repeated, a nervous chuckle bubbling from him because the feeling running rampant through his chest found its own special little name under - fucking worried.  Sam’s poisoned and Dean, well, “Funny thing, is, uh, I know jack diddly squat about poison, and uhm, gonna take a quick little gander - you’re pretty fucking poisoned.”  Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s correct, judging by the sudden undue temperature of the shark’s forehead.  

The mer doesn’t know much about poison induced fevers, not to mention poisons.  He’s feeling pretty fucking useless right now until -

“Well, funny thing about poison is that I know about it.”  Said a voice with a lyrical tilt, and Dean’s eyes shot wide open, quickly ducking behind the shark lying on the ground - who still had his face smushed against unforgiving sand, reminding Dean of the shark’s current condition, that being, passed out like an asshole .  Which - right right, Sam’s conked, guess it’s up to him to be the one in front right now, though he could use him as meat shield.  He entertained the thought for a moment before the guilt of Sam’s ailment niggled the back of his mind and he rushed in front, hands held up as he crouched semi-defensively over the shark.  

The mer watched with minute horror as the owner of the voice flit about the darkest parts of the cave, and Dean cursed his lack of night vision as he struggled to keep watch on the stranger - and to hold his stance over Sam.

“And how is that a funny thing?”  Dean managed to stutter out.

“Things tend to be funny.”  The stranger supplied, and Dean grit his teeth.  

“Alright - what do you want?”  Dean snapped out when one creepy ass tendril from something popped out of the darkness and tapped his tail fin curiously.  He swat his tail at it with annoyance, inching increments away from Sam because - ew , gross.

“Maybe for a poisoned, possibly dying shark, to not be on my cavestep, but you know, funny things.”  It said again, humour tainting it and at the very least Dean can place the voice as a woman.  

“Well, do you want me to - move him?  Because getting him here wasn’t an absolute bitch?”  Dean said, throwing his hands out at the darkness and completely forgetting any element of possible danger.  It’s not the easiest task to go hefting around a four hundred something pound shark, and when you’re Dean - who, well, hasn’t had to do much really in lieu of exercise then it’s double not easy.

“Can you?  From what I can see...”  The voice trailed off, and Dean jolted when he felt something both slimy and sticky allow itself the grace to touch his arm.  Without thought he bounded away from Sam completely, scratching at his upper arm and wondering what in the seven swimming fucks just touched him.  “Those arms aren’t lifting anything.  And really, your loyalty is impressive.”  The voice deadpanned and Dean stopped slapping at his arm long enough to stare with incredulity at where he assumed the stranger.

“What?”  Dean said.

“See, for a moment, I thought you were going to be noble and hide your pretty much fucked friend from the big bad scary whatever in the darkness, but you jump at the slightest touch.  Plus, that was only two of my arms.  How would you even hold to the other six I have?”  She-he-whatever said, and Dean wondered briefly why she’s being such an ass to him until her words on the whole ‘arm’ thing register and Dean snapped his mouth shut in a fine fine line.

“You’re an ocotpifolk?”  Dean spit out, rubbing at his arm with a newfound shuddering terror, imaging the slimy tentacles that just touched him.  Gross.

“And you’re an ass who leaves his poisoned, passed out friend alone - to defend himself against said octopifolk?”  With that said she’s out of the darkness - or rather, her body seemed to shudder with colour and Dean could actually see her -, and there, floating over Sam, a red octupifolk.  Her arms were crossed and she had a lazy grin,  one which Dean could now sort of remotely see why others always had such a harsh reaction to his own snarky grin.  “Seriously, that’s a dick move right there.”

Dean didn’t have a good reply to that, and so grit his teeth with indignation.  So he ditched Sam without much thought - she’s a bloody octopifolk and Dean’s chances against her were already zero - so yeah, trying to pointlessly defend a shark who’s already dying would’ve just caused both their demises.  And though Sam would be a bitch to replace, Dean was, on a very important mission.  And Dean?  He’s the VIP of said mission - thus, he cannot die.  

“Listen, lady, I’m on a sort of very important mission here, and I can’t go around risking my tailhind to save someone who’s probably already dying.”  Kind of shitty, that, because Sam began to teeter on almost enjoyable before he conked right out - sort of, but still not to the point he’d be willing to risk his life for him.

“Then why’d you drag him to my cave?”  The octopus gave in rebuttal, and Dean crossed his arm with a shrug.

“I’m not without decency, if Sam is dying, might as well be in some privacy - which you are interrupting, so if anything, that’s a dick move.”  Dean said, triumphant and he passed the octopus a jolly smile.  One which, said octopus, just tilted her head at and didn’t seem the slightest affected by.  This made Dean falter.

“Ah yes, I never knew common decency involved leaving dying shark’s on stranger’s floors.  Clearly, I have some things to learn from the likes of you.”  She said, in faux shame.

“I -”  Dean stopped, glaring up into her eyes and he balled his fists.  Snarky bitch.  “Look, Sam’s poisoned, and how the hell am I supposed to know an octopifolk is living so close to a village?  You guys aren’t allowed anywhere near the Declared Waters!”  Dean tossed his arms in the water, annoyed to all hell because yeah - octopifolk, alongside sharkfolk, weren’t exactly welcomed anywhere near where the Royal Army could be even remotely found.  

This coral forest grew not too far from Veriport, so Dean hadn’t been expecting the first cave he spotted to have, what he recalled, an extremely rare species of fishfolk just - just octopifolking about.

“Well as true as that may be - seeing as all you simple fishfolk are so offended by my efficiency and all -, maybe I’m just enjoying the thrill of living so close to the Declared Waters.”  She said, an odd grin on her face as she placed a hand on her chest, but all Dean could see were her creepy to all hell tentacles swishing about, above Sam’s drooling face, and Dean thought for a moment that he’s feeling the smallest twinge of guilt at letting Sam lay below - that.  

Not to say Dean’s all for the whole banishment of fishfolk species, he had to agree, octopifolk just carry a certain - water about them.  A creepy, highly uncomfortable water.

“Look, what do you want?”  Dean asked, wary and edging further away from the octopifolk.  She took notice, swimming from Sam to the entrance and easily blotted out any thoughts of running on Dean part.

“What do you want?”  She returned, and Dean does not feel up to playing such word games right now.

“For Sam not to be dying, for one, because he was my key component here - aside from me of course - and also for a freaky octopi lady to not be creeping me the fuck out right now.”  Dean said, though in general, no matter what she does, she’s still going to be regarded as ‘highly disconcerting, stay back’ in his mind.

“I’m not that creepy, you know.”  She said, arms crossed and she's just staring at him, and Dean cleared his throat under the undivided attention.  He averted his gaze to Sam, who doesn’t look at all to be having a good time.  “Give or take three days.”  She said, sudden, and Dean looked to her with an arched brow.

“What?”  He asked.

“Give or take three days and the shark - or Sam, his name, I’m assuming, will be dead.  Fast, but not too fast, acting poison, looks like.  Simple type, but seems someone put some elegance into it.  I know a few things that could probably ease him.”  The octopifolk said, and Dean grimaced.  

Octopi had a special way with poisons, one of the reasons they weren’t well liked before being banished, and Dean didn’t enjoy the idea of somemer not only creating deadly concoctions - but enjoying making deadly concoctions.  And the octopus seemed to be enjoying decoding the affliction on Sam, as she turned her back to the green mer and begag poking his wound, making small affirming noises and Dean huffed out an annoyed breath.

“And you’re telling me this why?”  Dean asked, unsettled and wondering why the octopifolk’s even bothering to poke around at Sam.  

“Well, look at this guy - poor shark’s burning up already.  Almost pity him.  I know just the algae to queue that down.”  She replied, touching the back of her hand to his forehead and frowning slightly.  

She reached over with one of her long tentacles, to something behind Dean, and the mer flinched when it yanked down a dark cloth concealing several glowing flowers.  The room comes to light, several old shelves holding an assortment of jars becoming visible to Dean - all filled with varying flora and algaes.  Without even looking she picked the one to the farthest right, unscrewing the cap with another limb and Dean almost felt jealous at how much she could to do in one go, her other limbs picking up Sam without much struggle and they laid the shark down on a makeshift bed.

Dean watched with little interest while she delicately grabbed some of the green smush of plant, she ground it into an even grosser looking smush and forced it into Sam’s mouth.  It didn’t look like it tasted pleasant, the shark’s features screwing before the octopus forced the rest down, her face passive.  Instead, while she did whatever the fuck she did with dying strangers, he eyed up the now lit room.  

It’s all very - rushed, it seems.  Nothing really set, and most of the furniture appeared mismatching or entirely handmade by somemer who obviously didn’t know what they were doing.  He tuned back in when Sam coughed, body jerking with each violent retch before falling limp and Dean jumped at the blood that hacked out with each harsh breath.

“Oh Poseidon is he dead?  Did he just die?”  Dean sputtered out, holding his stomach and he felt painfully queasy at the limp expression on Sam’s face.  The octopus didn’t reply for a moment, pulling out a rag and wiping at the shark’s face to clear the blood that stayed there from both earlier’s snack and just now’s lovely display of poison induced dying.  Dean found momentary humour in how the sight of two Royal Guards being eaten in front of him bothered him little to none aside from the obvious gross factor, but Sam dying - or whatever he just did, made him uneasy.  He figured it’s guilt doing that.

“He’s fine - or well, for now, that is.  The poor fuck’s still going to die in a few days, but what I just gave him will make it less agonizing.”  She said, forcing Sam onto his side so his back faced them, and from there she gave a careful speculation to the now swollen wound on the shark’s back.  “You still have the dart that did this?  Preferably intact?”  

“He,” Dean replied, “snapped it in half.”

“Figures.  That would have been helpful.”  She said with a sigh, and Dean stared at her for a moment, wondering why she asked about it and why it even mattered before he recalled how octopi tend to be specialists in poison - masters of it, to be more precise.  

“You can cure Sam.”  Dean said, and though it’s true, he didn’t think she’d be all for helping them, despite how she seemed to be fawning over Sam’s wound.

“Yep.”  She answered from over the shark.

“But you’re not going to, are you?”  Dean said.

“Not really.”

“Then why the fucking fuck are you messing with him?”  Dean snapped out, rubbing at his head because he felt the oncoming pangs of a vicious headache.

“Because maybe I can be persuaded to help.”  She said, and there's a hint of hidden something in her tone that had Dean’s interest piqued.  The octopus had a few certain things she needs, well, done.  Involving very personal matters but to get to those she needs to get the shark healed and this idiot of a mer collecting some vital components.  And not to mention, if she’s correct on what type of poison is afflicting Sam, well, she’s in luck.  

Bonus feature to it all, the mer didn’t seem too hard to manipulate though, very prideful - which, useful for her, most prideful creatures are verykeen on staying on that self imposed high seahorse of theirs, even though she didn’t know where such a quip came from.  Who ever saw a seahorse big enough to carry the likes of their egos, anyway.

“I’m listening.”  Dean said, squinting his eyes at her back and crossing his arms.  Not that he’ll do whatever she asked if it’s too out of the way, but on the off chance it’s simple - he guessed he’d sacrifice the time to get it done, Sam deserved as much from him.

“It’ll take a day or so to collect what I need to make a good antidote.”  She said, but that’s not defining the persuasion of what she’d be needing to actually help.

“Alright, and?”  Dean asked, gesturing to what she’d want him to do if she did this.  “Do you just want me to watch your place while you’re off getting the ingredients?”  Sounds easy enough.

“Oh, you think I’m collecting the ingredients?”  She replied, turning away from the shark to stare at him with humoured disbelief.

“You want me to?”  Dean said to her, because - nope, that didn’t sit well with Dean.

“As you so happily stated, I am an octopifolk, and we are not allowed near the Declared Waters.  So I’d rather not risk my tentacles to save your sorry asses - in short, you’re the most inconspicuous of the three of us to leave this cave.”  She turned back to Sam’s sleeping form.  “Really out of the two of us, this guy ain’t moving for a while.”

“Oh, no, that doesn’t work for me.  I’m not some lackey you send off to go find things.  I am far above that pay grade, lady.”  Dean said, one hand on his hip and the other waving with his words.  He, in his mind, ranks far too important to go on such menial tasks.  And besides, it’s not his fault she chose to live so close to Veriport.

“Are you suggesting you’re above me and are far more capable to save your friend’s life?”  The octopus asked with a tilted head, her eyes and voice holding a dangerous tint to it and Dean hugged his shoulders close under the sudden no-good-bad-feelings he’s experiencing at the look.  He couldn’t even muster the snark to point out Sam’s not exactly his friend.

“How do I know you won’t kill Sam while I’m out?”  Dean instead tried for.

“Because in my mission, your shark here is the VIP, and you?   Well, you are far below that pay grade.  You just so happen to look smart enough to get me the right plants I’ll need, s’all.  ‘Sides, I can’t leave Sam’s side, in case, you know, he decides to try to go tails up worse.”  She said all in one lovely burst, and the amount of insult Dean felt at her words fell under ‘indescribable’ and he grit his teeth, cheeks flaring red and he muttered choice words.  

While Dean stared indignified at her back, she pulled out a small, old journal, and began to circle various pictures on the pages before tossing the book at Dean who barely caught it in time.

Dean didn’t bother to look at it, still glaring at her head.  “Do you even know who I am?”  He asked, hellfire in his tone.

“Of course I do.”  She replied without missing a beat, turning to him with knowledgeable, dangerous eyes.  Dean’s heart stuttered at that.  “You’re Dean.  And I know exactly who you are.  And from where you hail.”

“Then you know what I’m capable of.”  He said, thrown off at how quick she replied but if she knew his lineage then it’s settled.  How she knew him when she’s all the way out in the Declared Waters, however, felt just a tad bit unnerving to Dean.

“I know what you were capable of.  What you are of now?  Not threatening, boy.”  She said, venom dripping from her voice and her words stung Dean.  “Now what are you still doing here?  I circled what I’ll need, and it all can be found in the forest.”  She made a dismissive gesture at him, and Dean spent only a second longer to huff out in bright anger before shooting out of the cave to start gathering what she needs.

-

“Friggen’ high-seahorse octopus lady, who the hell does she think she is…”  Dean grumbled while he plucked a few oddly shaped sea-flora from a small corallite, the glowing tidbits at the end entranced Dean, and he double checked the description for the plant - can’t get it wrong here - before he shoved them into his emptied satchel.  “I’m important!  Hell, I’ll always be far above the likes of her, no matter what she does or accomplish.”  He shouted to nothing in particular.

The indecency of that fishfolk, now, if Dean only had an ounce of the pull he used to have, he would’ve pulled all the strings - and then some more just for the halibut - to show the seawitch her place.  Dean’s not some lowlife lackey, or - or idiot to be ordered around.  And yet, here he had found himself, gathering all the ingredients with more care than he thought he would’ve initially put into this.

Dean sighed as he pulled up the journal, a small check placed by the depiction of the flower he just picked, and shrugged his shoulders.  He figured he’s taking extra precaution because Sam’s life is on the line, and though he didn’t want to own up to having anything resembling that of a proper moral ground, he didn’t want to be the cause of the shark’s death.  Sam was helping him, even saved him from the Royal Army, so the guilt of the shark’s death wouldn’t be so easily buried in it’s proper grave.

“Serves me right for having standards.”  He drew the last word out, and rolled his eyes while he swam up a bit higher to collect some smaller, oddly splotched algae that grew at the top of the coral branches.  Apparently it soothes the fever or some other odd medicinal shit, Dean’s not a doctor, he wouldn’t know.  The mer would assume this exact plant not really necessary, as he had all the right things - he hoped - to make the antidote, but Sam last didn’t appear much to be having a ball and if Dean had been in his position, he’d hope the shark would do the same.  

Except, if Dean honestly got down to it - he’d just go on a limb that someone would do the same for him, because, you know, he is rather important.  Though currently…  He’s not exactly high on the food chain, which might work against his survival, and his actual history might cause said survival to drop down into the territories of no thank you and - Dean shook his head, none of those thoughts.  He hadn’t the time nor the place to dwell on this.

Though he had to admit - it fucking sucked.  He at one point had it all, lived the high life, no worries or care except what his next meal shall be, but he just had to go off and discover some nasty details in the grand scheme of Atlantis’ foundations and instead of just shrugging off what he had learned - he went to right the wrong.  Which honestly shocked him, he hadn’t suspected such a noble cause capable of coming from the likes of him, but Dean, despite the water he carried about himself, he cared for the plight deeply.

But, figured the one guy he thought he could trust with what he learned, figured the one guy he thought could fix this obviously no good business, would cast him out for it.  He really should have seen it coming, when he looked back on it.  The Royal’s liked where they were at, the General, no less.  And Dean, like the biggest idiot of them all, went straight to the bloody source of it all, to fix the issue.

Said issue being the banishment of certain fishfolk, the hunting - the slaying of innocent sea life who hadn’t chosen what tier they were to be born.  Dean couldn’t - he couldn’t, let such a thing carry on.  They were civilized now, with inventions and kingdoms and towns, and the green mer had foolishly assumed his name would carry enough weight to fight the propaganda that had been so lovingly and carefully crafted, to be spewed down the mouths of generations before and the generations after.  Dean should have been smarter.

And thanks to his stupidity he found himself virtually banished to the Open Waters, his name plastered everywhere and anywhere too close to the Capital.  They turned him fugitive, and Dean wouldn’t be too surprised if Daddy Dearest had been doing little to nothing to aid his cause.  The man’s probably feeding into all the things the General spewed about how his precious, dear boy was simply lost in grand delusions and would return home safely, under the watchful, and ever caring eyes, of the Royal Army - lest he loses his life in a tragic, shark related accident, of course.

More, vastly unneeded supposed proof, to Dean’s delusions of equality amongst all fishfolk.  Proof of which Dean’s father and societal peers hadn’t required to assume Dean’s words and ideals of making true peace between all species, clear, deluded, rubbish, in their minds.  Simply the ramblings of a confused young mer, who hadn’t a real ounce of knowledge on what he’s talking about.

Dean shook his head roughly, again, and dispersed the thoughts to the very back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to think on them again for some time.  Yes, he’s in a shitty situation, and yes, his odds of survival are pretty damn dim, and yes , his last ditch effort to fix the fucked up policies of Atlantis was currently dying thanks to poison - but he couldn’t be a guppy about it all.  He shan’t allow himself the pleasure of moping about in pity for himself - he’ll do that later.  Maybe reserve the woe-is-me festivities for before sleep.  Smart idea, that.

But all he needs to do right now - is focus on getting the damned plants and piss off right back to the stupid octopifolk.

It didn’t take too long for the inn to be cleared out, most merfolk quite willingly ditching out with their belongings clutched close upon hearing the words ‘royals’ and ‘great white’.  Dean figures they weren’t really a fan favourite here, and even with their suspicion of the authenticity of his very much real, and very much stolen, badge, they still listened without question.

Still, in the emptied inn, he gives an accomplished grin.  Feels good to get his way, really, and he stretches his arms wide and lets out a satisfied breath.  He knows he’s good at getting what he wants, even if the feeling is slightly dampened by the glooming shark glued to his side currently.  No worries, however, this moment is his and the shark will get over the shell shock - Dean did get him a quiet place to rest, afterall.  

“Alrighty then, Sam, you can just,” he trails off, yanking his arm out of Sam’s grip, “Go on over to the corner and, hum, brood or whatever it is you like doing.  And I’ll focus on the important bits.”  With that he motions to the quiet room around them, to the paper and writing tool so eloquently placed on the bar counter and began running a mental checklist of what it is they would need.  Clothes, for one thing, he isn’t really suited to those colder waters - his father hailed from Atlantis, and that lovely city, is in a much warmer climate.

Except, will he really need some for Sam?  The deeper you go into the Declared Waters, the more, well, civilized the mer become.  Out here, in this town, you were the more odd mer out for wearing clothes, unless you were planning an expedition into the Open Waters.  That being the main why as to Dean leaving all his loving outfits tucked away in his older bag, which he promptly lost his first tip finning out into the more dangerous oceans.  Oh how he’ll miss all that gorgeous embroidery.  He shook his head, off subject, off subject.  Back to Sam; the shark lived out in the colder regions so he figured Sam wouldn’t be needing any clothes for colder exploration, but, it will be good for his attempts to help blend the shark into the modern societies.

So, clothes is a go.  Warm ones for him, and something fancy, to highlight the not sharky bits of the predator and try to make him appear more - more mer.  Food, Sam won’t be too hard to find for, seeing as they had a few fish vendors in town, and the imagery of the stoic - and still fuming silently perhaps, shark, trying an actual meal for the first time made Dean snicker.  Perhaps that’ll wipe the odd blank look off the shark’s face.  Dean knows food always cheered him up anyways.  Maybe some writing sets of his own, for whenever the scenario called for it, and basic tools.  He would have considered putting down a small weapon for himself, but Dean - well, he isn’t the most, skilled, per say, in that department.

His tongue peeks out one side of his mouth, and he sighs through his nose as he wrote a thick cross over small dagger.  Instead, he rips the sketch page out and begins writing a far more elegant list, humming a tune as he plots his points and easily flows the letters.  Basic exploring kit, really, is what he needed, but he also likes that more noble and - cushy, flare, and made sure to add the finer tastes of life tossed in.  Veriport was far off from other towns but they have their fair share of comfortable living ‘essentials’, many of which Dean will very much enjoy having on the sure to be exasperating trip to Atlantis.

As Dean scrawls down the list promised to the Guard Captain, Sam himself was slowly coming back to the world.  He looks to his hands, noting that they were trembling.  That’s nice.  He scrapes one shaking hand through his hair, hissing as he rakes through tangles and finding small solace in the sharp pain.  His eyes felt like they were black, and he hadn’t a proper looking glass to really check and tell.  He passes a wary gaze around the room, and he found that he hadn’t actually been in a room - ever.  There was always a first for everything, he assumes, and with a shuddering breath releasing the last of his anxiety - or more of blocking it out, really, and began to investigate the items in the room.

He keeps an eye about him, even though the room is, as promised, emptied.  There is only Dean in the corner, humming softly a tune that make Sam’s ears twitch because he’d rather the mer just shut up entirely considering Sam was thoroughly livid with him for the whole ordeal.  Everything is interestingly decorated, strange objects he assumes were chair and tables, and many more oddities on the tables holding several strange liquids and tiny rocks and he eyes them all curiously.  They make for a good distraction, from his thoughts on Dean.

The mer, despite Sam telling him quite adamantly that taking him here was a bad idea, did so anyways.  Only to have Sam’s fervid point proven rather quickly and although Sam carries little guilt to anything he does - most of which is by nature, he believes that gets him a pass -, the mother’s look bothered him.  To Sam, something was sacred about a parent and their child, and that is why he vehemently avoided them whenever he came across the occasional mer.  Maybe it’s because he hasn’t a memory of his own family, and he would rather not ruin that for some random, unsuspecting child.  Back to his point - Sam is quickly realizing Dean is very, very, arrogant.  The little shit assumes his word absolute law, and it makes him grind his teeth in irritation.  He wants to teach Dean a lesson, wipe the grin off his face but any verbal debate Dean would win, mostly thanks to his higher skills in that of language.   

That annoys Sam, the knowledge he lacks the knowledge to properly serve Dean his just reward.  All Sam knew how to do, really, is terrify others - on purpose or not, and though that usually got the message across that Sam isn’t to be messed with, he knows somehow that wouldn’t dent Dean’s confidence in how to maneuver Sam in the world of ‘ci-vi-li-za-tion’.  The word itself makes his upper lip curl, and he turns too roughly due to that momentary flush of anger, knocking over items of one table with his too-large tail and perforating the water with all sorts of colours.  

The loud sound attracts Dean’s attention, who has long since finished up his task and handed his list away to some fidgeting guard, and was now spending it writing nonsensical things.  He looks to Sam with a sigh.  Sam, of course, returns it with a very polite glare.  

“What?”  Dean asks, eyebrow quirking and Sam didn’t remotely believe Dean even deserves to speak with him currently, and so the shark just keeps up his glare, hoping the sullen stare will speak the odes of rage he is feeling.  The mer simply looks back at him, unimpressed, assuming the shark has already recovered from the social shock seeing as he’s back to being a dick.

Their little staring match was interrupted by a throat being cleared, Dean turning to look at the Guard Captain accompanied by two wary soldiers, both holding large bags packed with various goods.  Sam, for his part, keeps his glare steadfast at the side of Dean’s head, envisioning all the ways he could render it to a bloody pulp for what has transpired and Dean felt the glare as he looks at the mers now in the middle of the room, but he is doing a damn good job of ignoring it.

“Ah, my dear Guard captain!”  Dean announces a little too loudly, and the Captain gives him a cold stare back, not unlike Sam’s or the two visibly shaken guards in the room currently.  Well, Dean is just oh so very popular today, now wasn't he?

“Everything you asked for,” she supplies, gesturing for the guards to set the bags on the table.  “This one,” she gestures to the smaller - but still formidably sized -, bag.  “Has all of the food your requested, the other has the travel supplies.”  

“And the requested clothes?”  Dean asks, nearing the bags to investigate and opening the one claimed to hold their food.  He grabs a small container of kelp bits and immediately rips into it, snacking open mouthed despite the company he’s currently sharing or the severity of all their apparent shameless distaste for his existence.  Who cares, he’s hungry.

She pauses at his tasteless manners, before signaling to the larger guard.  “For your clothes, I’de rather you not go back into town and gathered you a decent selection to pick from.”  And then a rather large pile of clothes was set on a cleared table, Dean eyeing it curiously.

“You can choose whatever you’d like.  We’ll be back in an hour to escort you out of town.”  She finishes up with, wanting this nasty business to be done and over with already so she could say goodbye to the strangers and never deal with them again.  Except at her words Dean’s face pinched, and her stomach drops as she prepares her ears to listen to more of his whale shit.

“An hour?”  Dean says, forgetting about Sam’s glare or his food to put his full attention on the Guard Captain.  “Why, that’s simply not enough time.  I’m sure me and my guard will need a little more time than that to rest up and prepare.”

“You said sundown-”  The Guard Captain tries for, but Dean wags a food speckled finger.

“Nuh-uh, you said supplies by sundown.  I’m thinking a night here seeing as it’s already so late would do us some good.  Really rest us up for the trip.”

“And what of the patrons of this inn?  Are they to simply sleep outside?”  She asks, furious, and Dean shrugs.

“Some time outside will do them good, I’m sure.”  Call him heartless, but he himself has spent a week out in the Poseidon-forbidden waters, sleeping on beds of kelp and filthy sand - and you don't hear him complaining.  Much, that is.  “Look at Sam here, he’s spent his life in the great outdoors of the Open Waters, and now he’s a Royal Guard!”  He passes an eye to the two guards still silently posted behind the Captain.  “I’d say that’s one hell of an upgrade.”

“You can’t just waltz into our town and expect us to - to bow down to your every whim.”

“Not my every whim, I mean, if my every whim was being commanded, well, I really wouldn’t be too liked.”  Dean trails off with a shrug, before returning more cemented eyes to the Captain’s.  “Look, I was just looking for an in n’ out sort of trip into your town, but the rather bigoted parents and children here made that a tad harder to do.”  He says, a hint of almost anger there, but it’s gone in a flash and Sam almost shocks at hearing it - it is the first he’s seen any negativity come from the mer.

“The shark made to attack a child.”  To the Guard Captain, that is a pretty damn reasonable thing to be upset about.  She says just as much.

“Semantics.”  Dean deadpans, and the Captain feels sort of like making to attack Dean, just to see if he’d call semantics on that.  “One night of us here won’t kill you,” pausing to think, he threw her a life line, “We’ll stay in an upper room, where as long as no one is actively seeking us out, we won’t bother - or maim, or upset, any of the lovely little merfolk of your town.”  Dean figures he is being extremely giving here, going by the circumstances.  All things considering, if the town simply ignored their presence, Sam wouldn’t have done anything but silently plot his demise, they would gathered everything they needed, and left.  Though that would have left Dean nearly coinless, it would have been quick and easy.

Needless to say?  Dean blames the merfolk of Veriport for this one.

The Guard Captain seems to think over his words, and though she heavily disagreed with his view, it seemed the better option to leaving all the merfolk who practically lived here out on the streets for their time being here.  “Just one night?”  She asks, wearily, and Dean grins obnoxiously with a nod.

“Just - one - night.”  Dean sing songs, the tune scratching at her ears the wrong way and she turned back to her men, nodding to them and they share a glance before heading outside.

“At sunrise tomorrow you’re gone, and if I ever see you again remotely near my town, know this,” she says, eyes dead serious as she moves closer to the green mer, “Atlantis’ wrath will not stop me from teaching you my semantics.”  And that, she means, teeth bared as she towers over the just-now-discovering-he’s-much-smaller-than-her Dean.  Atlantis could send a squadron of heavily trained soldiers after her, and she would give two whale shits as long as she is able to teach this brat a lesson.

Dean visibly swallows, struggling the urge to avert his eyes from the hellfire in hers, and notes the rather vicious snarl on her face.  “Points, taken.”  He says, dialing down the cheekiness he would’ve liked to inflect there, and grabs one of the bags off the table.  “Just give us a few moments to get everything upstairs, and, ah, it’ll be like we were never here.”  That said, the Guard Captain graciously gifts him one last deathly glare before leaving.

-

“You know, you could’ve helped me move this stuff upstairs.”  Dean quips a few hours after he had long since dropped the last of the clothes on the floor of the room they now occupied to themselves for the time being.  It’s decent enough, not at all up to Dean’s rather expensive tastes, but it’s a sight for sore eyes for someone very much not used to sleeping outside.  He likes soft beds thank you very much.  “Still, I single handedly managed to get everything up here, so I think I’m gonna give myself a pat on the back.”

Sam didn’t reply.  Sam in fact, didn’t say anything at all since they’ve been up here.

Dean turns to him with curious eyes, holding up a large shirt and guessing it should fit Sam.  Now, he would go over to see if it did fit the shark, but said shark was currently drilling a hole through his head, had been the entire time Dean was sorting through their newfound goods and well - Dean is really starting to get sick of everyone glaring at him.

“What?”  Dean snaps, annoyed.  Sam only sees the comfortable room they were in, sees how easy it was for Dean to demand such things from the townsfolk, sees how easy a life Dean must have led.

“You are a spoiled brat.”  Sam bites out, finally.

Dean just rolls his eyes.  Like he hasn’t heard that one before.  “Yeah?  You got me.”  He feigns hurt, holding the shirt close.  “But - you’re an antisocial dick who can’t handle a little time in the real world.”

That stung, almost.  “Why couldn’t I stay back?”  Sam asks, voice rough.

Dean seems to think on the question, fingers fluttering over the cloth of the shirt and he shrugs his shoulders.  “Well, if I’m being perfectly honest, I wanted to see how you’d fare.”  His tone is casual - light, despite the tense waters, and Sam clenches his fist.  “But if I’m being perfectly perfectly honest, I - uh, actually don’t have much coin left.”  He admits, and Sam doesn’t know what he means by that.

“What?”  Sam questions, teeth bared with a furrowed brow and Dean finally looks into his eyes with a sheepish grin.

“So I may or may not have been hoping a little scene would have happened, that way I can just get everything we need for free.  And really, it all worked out-” Dean is ever so rudely cut off by Sam lunging forward, because fuck no, Dean did not just admit to vaguely planning those events.  Or at least hoping they’d happen.  He makes a grab for the sneaky fuck of a mer, Dean knowing to duck out of the way and Sam crashes into the room’s table, cracking the thin stone and sending items of all kinds flying.

“Sam!”  Dean chides from his now corner vantage point, the chair from his previous spot held up in defense as the shark got up from the ruined table, turning vicious eyes the trickster mer’s way.  “Look, I’m sorry, but this way we don’t have to scrape by as we get to Atlantis.”

“No,” Sam throws out, turning to face Dean and stalk closer, “This way you don’t have to scrape by, I am fine, with the basics.  You, on the other hand,” Sam’s face was turning red with anger, and he began to struggle for the proper words to express thoroughly how brattish, and unbelievably childish he found Dean, and alas, in his honestly short vocabulary, he found none.  He isn’t even sure Dean’s likely extensive one, would have a good word for it.  

He flies forward again, teeth and claws bared and Dean almost yelps as he ditches the chair to fling himself to the bed.  Sam narrowly dodges the chair carelessly tossed his way, the thing thudding against the wall and he turns black eyes the mer’s way.  He edges closer, shoulders drawn back and tense and Dean swallows.

“We have a deal, Sam.”  Dean warns.

“You know what, Dean?”  Sam asks, tone suddenly light and the mer looks nervous at the change.  “Somehow, I don’t think our deal covers you - forcing me, into positions you knew, quite well, I’d break under.”  Sam says, hands flexing as he prepares himself to rip into Dean.  Oh, he isn’t often thrilled by the idea of having to fight, or maim anything too sentient, but Dean openly admitted to purposely putting Sam into that position all for the sake of saving coin - for some twisted sort of experiment, to add salt to injury.  He’s livid, he wants to hear Dean beg, and Sam’s tail flexes with energy, ready to spring him forward just when the world decided that - no, Sam doesn’t get to have his sweet revenge, as screams of panic and fear erupt not from Dean, but below them.  In the main room of the inn.

Dean’s eyes widen, and his ears perk as he momentarily forgets Sam’s rather imposing presence to make a dive for the window that overlooked most of the town.  Through the muffled voices from downstairs he was absolutely sure he heard something that was - not good, something very, terribly, bad for him, and he peeks out the window cautiously.  

Poseidon curse his luck.  He mutters some few choice words under his breath, his eyes catching the very shiny, and very much deadly and authoritative douche baggy figures of the Royal Guard.  His - favourite merfolk.  He gulps, teeth gritting because, why of course leading the charge, is his bestest buddy in the whole wide ocean.  Someone Dean could have gones eons without ever seeing again and stay quite pleased with life, and he yanks at his ears, flinging back from the window and pacing about the room.

“Okay, calm, stay calm.  This is - fine.  Just.  Just fine.”  Was some of the many things Dean was spewing, and though Sam was still very livid with him, the mer’s new fervent terror pulled too hard on his curiosity to stay that pissed.

The shark quirks his head, and wonders what was going on.  He knew very well something not good is happening, judging by the frightened noises coming from the-too-nearby down stairs.  And if he was to admit, he’s getting a little anxious over them - but Dean, from what he’s seen, turned out to be quite good at keeping a level head.  The mer’s panic only worsened after looking outside and he moved to check it out, curious as to what would send Dean in such a state when the mer flew at him, grabbing at his shoulders and Sam gave him a harsh glare.  He tries to shrug off Dean’s hands but the mer holds fast, leading Sam’s fingers to dig into the material of the windowsill, and only then does Dean cautiously peel his hands from the shark.

“Don’t!  Don’t - don’t look out there.”  Dean sputters out, hands playing at eachother fast and nervous and Sam completely forgot about his anger at Dean in light of the situation.  The shark was now more curious than anything, and focusing on that let him not focus too much on wanting to panic with every unknowing patron of the inn down below.  

“What’s outside?”  Sam asks, one hand resting on the curtains and ready to draw them open at any given moment.  Dean’s eyes flutter here and flutter there, from the window, to Sam’s hands, then to the shark’s eyes and back again.  It made Sam dizzy to follow.

“Some one who.  Well.  Doesn’t like me very much.”  It was the painful truth, the armoured mer outside leading the troops would absolutely love to see Dean strung up by his entrails.  You know, the organs Dean prefers keep their long term residency status on the up and up.  He didn’t think that was too much an outlandishly crazy thing to want.  Or prefer at all costs.

“Some merfolk disliking you?  Shocker.”  Was all Sam can reply to that and Dean puffs his cheeks, hands clenching together so tight his knuckles turn white before he turns to grab at one of the bags.  He has neither the time nor the care to deal with the shark’s sourpuss attitude and begins shoving as many clothes as he can into the more roomy food bag.  

“Look, this guy doesn’t just hate me.  He’s got one helluva personal vendetta against me, my family, and just about everything to do with my personal beliefs.”  He rambles as he closes the clasps on the sufficiently stuffed to the brim bag.  “He’s like, number one fan of the fuck-Dean’s-life-up club,” and then, after a pause, “You two would get along great, if not for his funny little habit of hating anything shark related.”  Dean gives another pause as he picks up the significantly heavier tools bag, tossing it at Sam who lets it thunk to the floor aside him.  Dean stares at it with slight defeat as he finishes his thought.  “Looking back, might be the reason why we didn’t along all that great.”

“He hates sharks?”  Sam asks, watching Dean give a slight growl of annoyance and pick up the tools bag again to shove it straight into Sam’s chest, with the shark looking at him all shocked like, with his too-black and too-offended eyes.  “Excuse you?”  He lashes out and Dean didn’t seem the slightest bit affected by it, when mere moments ago he was terrified of Sam - then again, Sam imagines he looked somewhat more terrifying then.

“Look, yes, he hates sharks, sort of a dolphinfolk side effect, and will you please carry the damn bag so we can abscond the fuck outta here before douchey Mcdoucherson the First finds us here and puts a delicate, fine tuned, bloody end to our little adventure before it even starts?”  Dean seeths out, looking odd to Sam with such a serious tone and the shark holds the bag with numb fingers, never having held anything like it before and Dean rather rudely shows him the best way to carry it before daring another look out the window.  “Thank you,”  Dean says as he slings it.

“Oh, I only did it because you asked me so nicely.”  Sam says, laced with sarcasm.

“No, you’re only going to be following my every word until we’re clear of this mess is because if you don’t,” Dean says, gesturing all the guards now seemingly entering their inn, “Mister Angry With Life can and will end your life very miserably until all you will ever be remembered as is that one rabid shark that stumbled into Veriport, with that dead mer that stupidly brought him there thinking it was a grand idea, here’s their tails nailed to my wall.”  Dean says spitfire fast, and makes Sam a little more conscious to what Dean just said.

“Oh.”  Was the excellent and eloquent reply Sam gave.

“Yes, ‘oh’ is right, now break open this window so we can get the fuck out of here already.”  Dean says, pointing to the window opposite the one facing the guards, and Sam follows it without question.  Elbowing the glass, it easily shatters under the shark’s force.  Dean shoves by to cover the remaining shards stubbornly clinging to the windowsill with the curtain before darting through, motioning for Sam to follow him and the shark hesitates only a few precious seconds before pushing through.  HIs larger body gets caught on some shards and he hisses lowly when his skin and tail nick themselves on the unforgiving pieces, but coming out not too scathed next to the frazzled Dean.

“Just my stupid fucking luck that this Poseidon-damned inn is in the smack-fucking-middle of town with Hates Everyone And Dean The Most running around.”  It seems the green mer likes employing colourful language when stressed, but the idea of leaving town and going back out into the open waters already has Sam feeling far better, and strangely lucky.  

The stress of being in town dispensing at the sense memory of open waters, the elation dampens somewhat by the idea of some psychotic Royal Army or whatever this guy was possibly hunting them down, but most of Sam’s life was spent running from mers with the same idea in mind.  He’s almost positive he can handle whatever the soldier has to bring - if he was in familiar territory.  That being the Open Waters.  Where Sam was sort of forced to handle whatever the world had to bring for the longest time.  Or maybe Sam is being over confident, because judging by the loud sounds around them, there seemed to be a lot of Royal Guards.  All after Dean, apparently, and that rubs the shark the wrong way.  What has this mer done?

“Alright, we hafta’ sneak, I don’t know if you can be sneaky, but we have to be pretty fucking sneaky.”

“I hunt for a living.”  Sam says.

“Shut up and follow me.”

With wide eyes at the mer’s uncharacteristic outburst, Sam follows.

-

“Why oh why do you have to be so fucking big?”  Dean whispers harshly, both him and Sam squashed against a wall while the mer peeks out from the shadowed alley they were currently hiding it.  The streets were crawling with the Royal Army, all far more diligent than Veriport’s guards and Dean sort of feels like beating his head in right now.  He’s stranded in the middle of a town, with a too hard to conceal shark, and said town is full of heathen soldiers who are hellbent on getting their hands on Dean - and Dean, is very much, so very much, over it.

“I don’t know, let’s ask my shark parents, why their shark son, is so big - I’m sure the answer will solve this mystery.”  Sam retorts to Dean’s statement, not really at his happiest right now as he struggles to keep his body cramped in the tight space.

Dean shoots a wrathful look his way, “Fuck you.”  

“No thanks.”  Sam replies, almost autopilot as the mer chose to ignore the bait to inch out, signalling to Sam the way is clear before shooting to the next most likely cramped and dark alleyway.  Sam follows, eyes warily scanning his surroundings as he enters the tight space.  Squishing by Dean the shark settles near the front.

“Look, Mister Grade A Asshole, this guy ain’t fucking around, and I, am not, fucking around.”  The mer sounds quite serious, and Sam rolls his eyes minutely before shuffling aside for Dean to lead them closer out of town.  Dean seems grateful for only a second, eyes hardening again and Sam can see the dark thoughts torturing the mer.  He just doesn’t care much to soothe it, waiting for Dean to get over the newfound stagefright and move on with the improvised plan.  “Alright - so, the town isn’t that big, thank Poseidon, but it’s still going to be a bitch with all the Imperialistic Douchebags running around.”

“You’ve made that point very clear.”  Dean has, really, and Sam will like it very much if the mer finally just states if he has a plan or not.

Dean makes a strange growly sound in reply to Sam, fingers pulling at each other nervously as his mind runs a mile a minute.  As long as they keep to the shadows, they’ll be fine.  They’ll get out of town and Dean-Enemy-Number-One will have never known they were actually here, and whoever ratted them out will get one hellish punishment and Dean will swim happily elsewhere - albeit trailed by a cranky shark, it will be alive happy swimming.  Which, such a preferred outcome.  “So, we just - have to make sure no one sees us.”

“You like repeating that.”  Sam says, trying to shoulder by Dean to take front and the mer held fast, his mouth pursing and Sam blinks down at him.  “You obviously don’t have a plan.”

“Well who says I’m not thinking of a plan, right now?”  Dean hisses up at him in turn, and Sam finds that hard to believe.

“Are you?”  Sam shoots back, and Dean pauses, a nervous glint in his eyes.

“Uhm.”  The mer breathes, pulling at his fingers and shooting wary looks around them.  “Not - not currently.  No.”  He admits, shamefully.  He’s just a little preoccupied with the unmitigated terror of having the Royal Army so close to his current location, - not - fun.

“Then move over.”  Sam says, quite simply.  Though he isn’t sure where they are in town, he does have a generally decent quality sense of direction.  Besides, there is nothing he’d like more than to be out of this Poseidon-for-saken town and thus figures he can easily lead them out.  With this in mind Sam moves to swim out of the shadowed alley way, and Dean apparently has a lot to say against it.  Mostly because his very sensitive to the situation ears picked up approaching soldiers who more resemble a sparkling royal death than the nice depictions they like to en masse print and post all over the Declared Waters.

“Wait wait wait!  Sam, do not - I repeat do not go out there!”  Dean sputters, rapid fire and clinging to Sam’s arm in an useless attempt at holding the much stronger shark back.

“And why should I listen to you if it was your mistake which landed us here?”  Sam throws back.

“Because this time I am not wrong, you blighted befuddled fucking shark, just listen to me.”  Dean spits out, and Sam just stares at him, unimpressed at Dean’s attempts and choiceful words and swims out anyways.  The mer is glued to Sam’s side as the shark leaves the safety of the shadows, the departure beautifully timed to coincide with two Royal Guards ordered to scan the streets, who just happened to hear strange noises, and just so happened to decide it isn’t a dogfish - and will you look at that, they found their targets.

“Well, would ya’ look that, I was right.”  Dean mutters quickly, staring at the wide eyes of the two Guards.

“Why didn’t you tell me you heard somemer?”  Sam says back, just as fast and Dean pauses.

“I got lost in the moment?”  He replies, before clinging to Sam with a whole new purpose, hiding behind the thankfully larger shark.

The Guards, watching this debacle, form almost pleased smiles.  They were under the strict orders to find the two suspicious fishfolk reported here in the village.  Well, actually, they were only really called to find one.  The shark was unimportant - to be killed on the spot, actually.  But the mer, is what their General is after.  Hefty price on that one’s head.  Which means, if they are the lucky ones to bring it in - and the tail of the shark, well, they were looking at one nice promotion.

The Heftier Guard elbows the Slighter one, gesturing their prizes and the Slighter one grins brightly, nodding before announcing themselves, and you know, their all powerful leader.

“Well well well, looks like we’re getting promotions.”  The Slighter says ever so jovially, “As I’m sure the mer behind you knows of, Shark, we are on strict orders under the General of Atlantis’ Royal Army, to bring him in.  You, on the other, well,” at this the Slighter shakes his head in mock shame.  “You’re just so unimportant and well, monstrous, we’re to kill you right now.”  The Guards then raise their very much so lethal weapons, an intricate blend of metal and coral to create something both elegant - which, going by the shininess of their armours, seemed to be the Royal’s style -, and deadly.  

“Shouldn’t we call for backup?  The Shark is a great white.”  The Heftier says, thought by the tone it appeared he wasn’t actually suggesting they did so.

“And share this glory?”  The Slighter replies.  The other Guard didn’t even bother replying, just chuckling to the Slighter’s question.

Dean, for his part, barely manages to hold in his cowardly whimper begging to be let out.  Curse his lack of combat skills - he sort of feels like going back in time to yell at his younger self for never putting more focus in how to use a damned dagger at least.  He was a talker, not a fighter, and that is the exact reason why he was currently hiding behind Sam, peeking over the shoulder and grinding his teeth as the two Guards prep their fighting stances.  “Sam, Sam, you’re a shark, right?”  He hisses out, clawing into the meat of Sam’s shoulder and the shark, from whatever land his brain was currently vacationing in away from the situation, came online.

“Yes?”  Sam replies, jerking at the mer’s dull nails scratching his skin and he smacks the hand away.  He isn’t enjoying the situation more than Dean, and he doesn’t approve of the mer’s almost rhetorical questions.  Right now, he’s busy panicking in his own special way.  Sure, he’s fought mers before, killed a few, in the past - but these guys?  They’re trained, and from how casually they stalk towards them, they’re either skilled enough to take Sam down easy, or they’re too confident of their skills.  Sam is really, really hoping for the latter.

“So you can fight.”  Dean says, because Dean’s right.  He has to be.  Sam’s a bloody shark!  Killing, maiming, fighting, etc; that’s just all the glory bits of being a shark or something.  Dean might be horribly wrong, and Sam can actually be a terrible fighter, but right now, he can only give two whale shits.  At best, Sam will win, they can hijack some items off their dead, maimed Royal bodies, and tail out of this town.  At worst, Sam becomes the single most accomplished meat shield while Dean gets the fuck out.  Both work for Dean, but honestly, he will hate having to find another shark to work for him if Sam fails this.

“You want me to fight two heavily armed, armoured, and trained guards, for your ass?”  Sam spits out, and the Guards currently advancing on them even pause to laugh.

“Not a fan of the mer, are you Shark?”  The Slighter asks, and Sam turns to them with angry eyes.  He doesn’t really appreciate being referred to as just ‘Shark’.  He has a name.

“My name’s Sam.”  Sam says, anger red hot in his tone.

“Right.”  The Slighter says, then, completely trampling that, continues, “Listen, Shark, we’ll cut you a deal.  It’ll be a bitch to kill you, I’m gonna be honest, so we offer you this.  Hand the mer over, and, we’ll let you free to eat our women and children, however it is you spend your sharky days.  Hell, maiming travelers, I don’t know.”

Now Sam would have at least took the deal into consideration, get rid of Dean, go free, except - the fucker ignored his name and suggested Sam likes spending his time eating mothers and kids, in the same sentence, no less.  Just something about that whole thing really rubs Sam the wrong way.  So the shark passes his periphery over Dean, who is now looking up at him with very frightened eyes, and he debates for a second.  Dean pissed him off royally today, more so than Sam’s been in a long time, and he would absolutely love for Dean to get his comeuppance.  However, he’s more partial for that to be done by his own hands.  “If I don’t make it out of this fight, I’m going to eat you.”

Dean looks painfully relieved at the words, and the mer chuckles nervously at the threat.  He was so sure Sam was going to give him up.  “But, uh, you’ll be dead.  Can’t quite eat me then.”

“I - will - eat - you.”  Sam reiterates, quietly and with the sharp bladed edge of a threat, then turns his attention back to the Guards waiting for his answer.

“So what’ll it be, Shark?”  The Slighter asks, and Sam cracks his neck, let’s his mind go blissfully dark, breathing in the panicked scent from Dean.  

“You might want to get behind something, Dean.”  Sam tells him, and the Guards look confused, focusing on Sam and not taking notice of Dean shooting behind a rather conveniently placed rock splattered with coralite.

“Can you say that a little louder?”  The Heftier asks.

“Oh, I was just telling Dean to get back.”  Sam says, casually, and when he blinks his eyes open they’re a solid black, and the Guards - aren’t too sure of their livelihood.  “And if I was you, I’d also get back.  Unless you’re positive you can take down the big, bad, shark.”  The last word he says with scorn, tone becoming guttural as the hunt flutters his senses.  The two Royal Guard’s reek of fear and stress at his words, so acrid he could taste it  - and then, before the Guards have time to even debate, Sam lunges at them with the speed and accuracy of a true blooded killer, fueled by the belittlement from the two shocked Guards and panging reminder that - yes, he’s hungry.  Hunger always is a predominant feeling when he’s in this mode.

“Oh fucking shit.”  The Slighter mutters, and then shamelessly dodges over, thus directing Sam’s snapping jaws the Heftier’s way.  The shark crashed teeth first into the plated armour of the Heftier’s gut, and though the teeth only scratched the surface of the armour, the force of the hit sends the Guard flying back into the wall and smashing their head against the cobbled stone.  With a groan of pain they promptly pass out.  Sam, on his end, didn’t feel any of the pain from the crash, turning to place laser focus on the Slighter and growling, teeth bared and bleeding from a few teeth that cracked from the headbutt.  The sight made the Slighter pause, a nervous gulp before they tried to focus their fear into a more useful tool.  Their friend was uselessly crumpled over by the wall, and the shark was fidgeting, eyes coal black and the whole bloody mouth thing made it hard to focus.  But they were a trained Royal Guard, they’ve fought worse - ish.

The Slighter Guard flew forward, curved sword cutting through the water and Sam narrowly dodged, part of his arm slicing open under the sharp edge and the Guard grinned at the successful hit.  That oughta slow the shark down.  Except - the shark showed no signs he felt the pain, only growing more frenzied at the sight - smell - whatever, and began to lunge at the Guard with more ferocity than before.  The Slighter had almost zero time to dodge, each duck and swipe out of the way draining their stamina and that meant each duck and swipe led them closer and closer to a very brutal, bloody end.  Which, no thank you.  They were putting so much focus into getting the fuck out of the way they forgot entirely to try and swing the sword as they did so.  Apparently trying to survive really overlapped that one reflex, and maybe this was why they always needed a team of at least five soldiers to take down a frenzying shark.

Their luck ran out and Sam clamped his jaws down on the exposed flesh of the guard’s arm, and the Slighter let out a pained yelp, rows of sharp teeth ripping through the delicate layers of their flesh and digging right down to the bone.  It was agonizing, and their free hand clamped over their mouth to try and conceal the food that quickly kicked its way up and out of their stomach when the sickening crunch of their own bones reverberated through the water.  They then swallowed whatever they could, hyperventilating as the shark tore deeper and deeper and seems to be on the verge of successfully ripping part of their arm off to grip their sword with a shaking hand and slash down at the beast.  The shark catches on somehow and jerks back, just in time for the sword's tip to rip down it’s front - cutting the satchel’s strap Sam’s wearing - and what was in the shark's mouth made the Slighter Guard scream.  There, hanging limp, was their left hand, blood oozing into the water and the shark quickly devoured the meat around the bones, the sounds sickening and the Guard couldn’t quite hold down their meal.

They violently retched, their fatal flaw in letting their guard drop but their hand was gone and being eaten in front of them.  The Guard coughed out chunks of their breakfast, shaking and sputtering as their last thought flittered through their mind - Well fuck.  Nothing elegant while the shark flies forward one last time to sink his teeth right into the Slighter’s neck, delighting in the warm flush of blood and ripping in, biting larger and larger chunks until the neck barely clung on and the body had long since become limp.

Sam rips off the body, swallowing the meat greedily and turns to the passed out Guard next.  He’s hungry, so hungry, and - it’s addictive, the flavour, despite the rancid aftertaste of merflesh, and so wastes no time in lunging towards the unsuspecting prey.  He bounces off the metal of the armour, hands clawing at clasps and trying to rip the protective gear off when the mer’s blue eyes startle open.  A scream of terror ripped from the Guard’s throat, waking up to the sight of a bloody mouthed, frenzied shark, currently trying to rip their armour off, well, if that isn’t nightmare fuel then the Guard isn’t sure what is.

The Guard’s hands desperately push at the shark’s snapping jaws, realizing with a panging echo of fuck his sword was left on the ground, too far for him to reach and yelps out in horrible pain when the shark bites down at his fingers, three caught up in the rows of razors whites and watches in horror as they’re ripped from his hand and swallowed, gloves and all.  His stomach suddenly decides it’s a jolly good idea to exit the body pronto, and he beats at the shark’s face desperately.  His actions only prove to further annoy the shark, the beast turning it’s eyes up from the bloodied hand and springing forward to clamp teeth down on one of the Guard’s cheeks.   Fuck, that fucking hurts, and he screams out again, pleading and yanking at the hair of the shark.  He‘s going to die, and he blames the beheaded dead fuck of a Guard on the floor some feet from him for his tragic, brutal death that - doesn’t happen.

Dean’s watched this long enough, and despite the disgusting mess of a blood bath and the incorrigible terror he’s feeling currently, the squealing and screaming thing?  That’s going to attract a whole lot more than two cocky guards.  He shouts Sam’s name, maybe a little risky move there because the shark turns coal eyes to his location, nostrils scenting the air and probably smelling his fear or whatever the fuck shark’s smell - Dean doesn’t care, not right now, most especially, because Sam is nearing him.  Bleeding and covered in other’s blood and Dean can attest to the fact he just might’ve shit himself.  “Sam, Sam, remember our deal?”  Dean stutters out, tense and backing himself into a wall and the Guard that was bleeding out in the corner takes the chance to make a run for it, Sam too preoccupied with Dean to take notice and the Guard thanks Poseidon as he calls out for help.

“Sam, for the love of fucking shit will you snap out of it?”  Dean yells, realizing they have now zero time for this and the shark is now only a few feet shy of the mer, and Dean’s debating which hand he needs less, because that will be the one he uses to block Sam’s attack.  He’s breathing heavy, heart going crazy and he clenches his eyes shut, tries to calm his heart, thinking that should help him not bleed to death quickly - or something.  He isn’t sure, not when there’s death looming over him, but he figures, if he is going to die, he wants it with some semblance of courage.  So Dean opens his eyes, body trembling and faces Sam’s bloody appearance and holds himself as still as he can, biting his lower lip and guessing this is really it.  Goodbye sweet, cruel world, fuck him in particular for trying to use a shark for the greater good.  But then, right when Sam is inches from his face, mouth hanging open and scenting the air or some other shark shit, Sam’s eyes suddenly blink with a newfound consciousness.  “Sam?”  He tries, all the world’s weight held in that teeny question.

“Dean?”  Sam replies, sounding just as confused as the mer and he really is.  Last he recalls he was gearing up to fight the two annoying guards and then - blammo, darkness.

“Oh, thank fucking everything.”  Dean breathes out, “Sam, that was - fucking gross as shit but we gotta go.”  The mer’s voice is oddly pitched, wavering and Sam can see that Dean’s face is tinged green.  Dean spends only a second longer eyeing him with a strange, far off terror before throwing caution to the water and grabbing onto one of Sam’s bloody hands with pursed lips and tugging him in the direction Sam could only guess meant not here.  “And you’re bleeding, that’s double gross, oh fucking fuckity fuck, this is disgusting, but ain’t no way in hell that guy yelling for help isn’t getting heard by those other fucks and you’re fucking terrifying and bleeding everywhere.”  Dean mutters rapid pace, shaking from where he held onto Sam and the shark let the mer pull him, brain still coming back from the dark space it let itself sit in whenever he frenzied.

“Hault!”  A chorus of voices shouts from behind them, and Sam turns his head curiously to eye the figures of more than fifteen Royal Guards, all varying degrees of deadly fish species, and the main guru - Sam’s guessing that by the extra shiny armour, was a dolphinfolk.  Something about the face of the stern, elderly fishfolk made Sam’s head ping with a very distant thought.  It tugs at him, and Sam only spends one second longer before realizing that the pain he’s sort of not feeling all over was from squaring off with one halfway competent soldier, well, he has a guppies chance in a frenzy to make it through what looks to be, far more trained enemies.  

“Fuck.”  Sam hears Dean mutter, and he guesses Dean would be in as much shit as him if they get caught.  With this cemented in his mind, he takes charge.  Not wanting to die just yet, he grabs onto Dean’s slim wrist, begins to swim as fast as his tail can propel him.

“W-wait!  Sam, the bag!  Your bag!”  Dean calls out uselessly, just now noticing their bag of tools lying on the ground, it’s once perfectly useful strap, cut into a perfectly useless not-strap.

“No time.”  Sam comments, and from there, everything is a blur.  Sam focusing solely on getting out of this wretched town and into the freedom and relative safety of the Open Waters.  He’s ducking in and out of alley ways, dodging screaming citizens and this is - fun.  He’s cut and in pain, but it’s overridden by actual joy of being in a chase, the thrill of a backwards hunt.  Like the games he used to play when he was younger, when everyone wanted him good and gone before he got too big and he laughs, vibrant and loud.  And - he knows Dean’s talking to him, can feel the slight vibrations in the water and can smell his stress, taste it almost, and wants to laugh at how he kind of doesn’t care.  He simply wants out of town, and he's sort of shocked at how fun it all is, so he’ll thank Dean later for not losing his shit at the sight of Sam frenzying.