wincestion - Tumblr blog

wincestion · 8 years

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[posting this off a lovely friends computer] so my dad who’s helping me write this just informed me that - hahaha present tense is the thing of the past - eVEN THO HE’S THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO WRITE PRESENT TENSE but jokes on him too bc we both wrote our stories in present and so both of us are going through editing hell of making it all past tense - aka, burn in hell father

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“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.

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