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It could be argued there are worse ways of meeting the love of your life than measuring their inseam for the fitting of a prosthetic merman tail, but if you asked Castiel about it, he’d probably disagree.
Of course, there were several steps leading up to this that had put him in a bad mood already.
For starters, Gabriel’s insane idea of producing a tv show exploiting all the worst pop culture clichés about merfolk. As Castiel was not a fan of trash tv, the mere premise would have been enough to make him roll his eyes and walk away. As he – and Gabriel, the little shit – actually were merfolk, it was worse. Significantly worse. Gabriel might find it amusing to perpetuate all the worst ideas clueless land-dwellers might have about them, but Castiel very much did not.
Then there was the issue of the people Gabriel had hired. To put Castiel’s brand of technological and cosmetic talent in the same vicinity as soap opera actors was an honest to Triton insult to his profession.
It was undeniable that Dean Winchester was a rising star in the fascinating world of medical inaccuracies and evil twins, but there really was no benefit Castiel could see in casting him as the lead in this travesty. During the course of this career, Castiel had gotten to know a great deal of extremely talented actors – people who actually deserved to call themselves actors – who’d never get the chance to star in one of Gabriel’s inevitable goldmines.
He was handsome, of course, with the usual Hollywood million dollar smile and a pleasing physique, but this meant nothing if he was unable to carry this show and maybe – and this was what Castiel against his better knowledge still prayed for – bring some depth to the cheesy character Gabriel had in mind.
And lastly, Castiel had an issue with their filming location.
It wasn’t the easiest thing, living as a merperson in Los Angeles. There were simply no beaches that guaranteed even a modicum of privacy; absolutely every single one within driving distance was overrun by locals and tourists alike, at all times of the year.
Every single one, except for the piece of cliff-streaked land owned by Castiel’s family.
And this was where Gabriel, genius that he was, had decided they’d shoot the on-location scenes.
Which meant Castiel would have no opportunity to seriously stretch his tails. Possibly ever again, as the place was bound to start crawling with paparazzi and obsessed fans.
So yes. Not the best mood to be in when meeting the love of your life. Who was a soap opera actor, an ignorant land-dweller about to help consolidate every loathed myth about merfolk, and the one that people would be desperately trying to get a photo of.
* * *
Dean knew he was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.
Honestly, there wasn’t much competition. A Kansas boy discovered for his looks when he was still young enough to hone them, a short modelling career that he gladly ended as soon as he got his first acting gig, and since then, steady employment at a prestigious Hollywood studio.
And now, he was even getting out of soap opera madness and into a more expensive production that still sounded plenty tropey, but was definitely a good step towards getting taken seriously as an actor.
And it was a Gabriel Novak show, which was not only bound to get picked up, but run for enough seasons that Dean would not have to worry about eating any time soon.
The only downside to this most recent change in occupation was that for some stretches of the filming, he’d have to wear a prosthetic mermaid tail. Which to viewers might seem like the greatest thing ever, but which Dean knew from several of his more senior colleagues and watching a lot of behind the scenes stuff, would be as close to hell as an actor could get.
But he really was predominantly grateful.
So when he arrived at what was essentially a glorified make-up trailer to get his legs measured for the fitting, he was determined to not let himself be daunted by the prospect of countless hours spent trapped in some uncomfortable monstrosity.
He knocked on the door with his best smile on his face.
Only to have it freeze when it was opened and he was met with the glower of the century.
The man who was wearing it could easily fall into the category of handsome enough to have a starring career of his own, but really the first thing Dean thought was ‘Yeesh…’
“Hi, I’m Dean,” he introduced himself nonetheless, repairing his smile with practiced ease.
The man did not speak. If anything, his face grew even more stormy. It wasn’t necessarily an unattractive look.
“I’m here for the measuring?”
The man stepped back, left the door open and pointed into the very narrow middle of the trailer.
“Stand there,” he commanded in a gruff but well-articulated voice. Dean had apparently moved too slowly for his liking. No introduction, nothing.
What a dick.
Dean’s sincere hopes that someone else would be doing the actual measuring were squashed when the man closed the door behind him and turned on a set of sharp lights. One of them exploded, startling Dean and eliciting a row of rather filthy swears from the man. The combination of the suddenly dramatic lighting and smiting face was-… something.
“Take your pants off,” he directed at Dean, with barely restrained ire.
“How about you buy me a drink first?” said Dean automatically. It fell almost comically flat.
“Why?” the guy asked with an irritated divot between his eyes.
“Nothing,” Dean amended quickly. “Just talking bullshit to break the ice, man.”
“There hasn’t been any ice in California in close to ten years,” said the man, baffled.
“Are you for real?”
“What else would I be?” He shook his head sternly. “I have no time for these kinds of conversations. Take off your pants.”
Dean, who was at the end of his tether rather sooner than anticipated, turned around. It was silly really, as the guy was about to get up close and personal with Dean’s private parts anyway, but he shoved his pants down with his back to the man anyway.
He had received instruction to wear his tightest pair of underwear and since he’d wisely foregone the panties and put on boxer-briefs in the morning, at least he might be spared the indignity of undressing completely in front of the guy.
As it was, he felt kind of ridiculous when he turned back around. And met eyes dark with something that – to his horror – made his dick twitch.
“So,” he said loudly, to distract the gaze that had twitched downward along with it. “Where do you want me?”
Which was potentially the absolute worst way he could have phrased it. To his great humiliation, he felt his face heat.
“Where you are,” said the man, quietly. His voice sounded even more of ground gravel like this. “Put your hands behind your head.”
Dean had gotten himself off before coming here, of course. Not out of the expectation that this would be in any way a sexy situation. Even on-screen sex scenes with hot co-partners and full nudity on both parts were hardly anything to get excited by.
If at all, they made Dean uncomfortable enough that he could neither hook up nor jerk off without thinking of sound booms in his face for a good long while afterwards. His little date with his hand had been a precaution in case this insanely awkward crotch measuring thing would lead to similar associations.
He should be grateful he wasn’t actually on edge. But it had clearly, very much not been necessary. In fact, the image of this scary hot guy going to his knees in front of Dean would probably make it into the top ten of his spank bank.
That said, there was no way he could allow himself to actually get hard right now. So he closed his eyes and tried his best to think of disgusting things. Especially when he felt the professional touch of knuckles and measuring tape on his bare legs.
“You have pronounced bow-legs,” the man’s subdued voice interrupted his memory of the frankly alarming scene he’d witnessed in which Gabriel Novak had hit on Dean’s brother without mincing his words.
There was clear distain in the guy’s voice as he said, “That is hardly ideal for one tail.”
Dean didn’t really know what to say to that. He chanced a look down.
Big mistake.
Rookie mistake.
It was a very good angle for this guy. Accented his wind-blown hair and blue, blue eyes slowly sliding over Dean’s thighs like an almost physical caress.
Fuck.
“Well it doesn’t have to look like an actual mermaid tail, right?” he started babbling and squeezed his eyes shut. Get rid of that image. Get rid of that image. “As there is no such thing? Weird creepy underwater things that don’t have dicks-“ oh god don’t talk about dicks - “and eat raw fish? They’d probably be boring as fuck, just swimming all day where it’s deep enough that they can’t even see anything. Bumping into shit left and right, haha.”
“Dean,” that gritty voice interrupted him. “Stop. Talking.”
The guy looked positively furious now. Unfortunately, this did not help Dean’s erection situation. At all.
For a moment, mortifying silence.
The guy was staring straight at Dean’s rapidly filling dick, one eyebrow raised in clear and entirely unamused disbelief.
“Listen, I’m sorry, man,” Dean started to say just as the man stood up and let out the worst kind of long-suffering sigh.
“Okay, this is not going to work. There is a bathroom two trailers down. Take care of this.”
Dean, red-faced and without a word, pulled his pants back up.
* * *
Dean, despite this, did not get fired on the spot.
He even got through the rest of the highly uncomfortable process of getting fitted. Wordlessly and deeply ashamed, but hey. If he was lucky, he might never have to see that guy again.
Judging by the way he slammed the door in Dean’s face just as Dean turned to apologize again, it was likely a mutual longing.
Dean hadn’t even learned the guy’s name.
* * *
When Gabriel asked him how it went, he was very tempted to deliver a scathing rant. He was equally tempted to simply never talk to his brother again.
Instead, he chose the high tide and gritted out, “It went fine.”
After all, Dean had seemed extremely embarrassed by it in hindsight. And it could happen to anyone. Castiel himself had-… Well, he hadn’t been under scrutiny.
“Dean seems-…” and then he couldn’t find a single nice thing to say about him that wasn’t indicative of Castiel’s own very unwanted… interest.
And Gabriel, being his insufferable self, zoomed in on this without mercy.
“He’s sooo your type.”
Castiel scoffed over the irregular tide mixing up his insides and went for a swim. A nice, long swim.
* * *
When a couple of tense days later, he still hadn’t gotten fired and instead got invited to a couple of read-through sessions for the script, Dean marginally relaxed.
Honestly, things like that could ruin a guy’s career.
But the read-throughs went well and there was no mention of the tail.
Even though Gabriel did look at him as though he knew something Dean definitely did not want him to know.
On the bright side, Dean finally got to know his co-star.
There were no in-depth conversations, but it was enough to surmise they should get on fine. More than fine, if Dean were to play it that way, but he was on thin enough ice already and very uninterested in enduring five seasons of post-sex awkwardness. It was a truth universally acknowledged that Anna was gorgeous, though, and with her red hair and big eyes closely resembled the Little Mermaid herself.
Which was funny in its own right, as she was playing the normal girl who happened to stumble upon merman-out-of-water Dean.
The script itself was standard Gabriel Novak genius – hilarious, fast-paced, witty and unexpected – and at times left just enough room for genuine emotion to intrigue. Dean would have a blast working on this.
If the tail fit.
* * *
The first scene they shot was not exactly spectacular, but it was definitely not suited to ease Dean into setting the right tone for his character. Maintaining wide-eyed innocence and deeply ingrained loss at the same time was not the easiest thing while purposely comedically struggling with how to use a toaster.
The rehearsals took up longer than Dean was used to from his soap opera days, and Gabriel Novak was turning out to be on the snide side of directing, but once they started shooting, Dean was confident he’d be able to get the scene perfect in another take or two.
And that was when, despite the four cameras and the majority of the crew watching not having mattered much to him up until now, he began to feel observed.
Subtly, still in the scene, he turned just enough to catch a glimpse of a man standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
Oh no.
Dean flushed, hard.
“Dean-o,” called Gabriel from his director’s chair where he was eating candy, and Dean’s focus returned just enough to take a big gulp of acrid black smoke, “Hey, Dean-o! You’re supposed to play at burning the toast, not actually set fire to the set.”
Already, Dean (26, coughing) was being pulled back from the smoking mess and a couple of guys from the crew took care of the mangled toaster. How had this even deteriorated so quickly?
Gabriel, seemingly arriving at the same thought, said, “Brother dearest, would you mind terribly not distracting our talent while handling sensitive equipment?”
“I was only standing there,” said the guy. He sounded as though he’d been the one to inhale the smoke. And Dean, who could definitely and with a sinking heart identify him now that he had rubbed his sooty tears away, realized exactly who had taken his measurements that fateful day of humiliation.
Castiel Novak in person.
One of the single most prestigious up-and-coming prosthetics guys in Hollywood. A bit douchily, he refused to use or even acknowledge his last name, even though everyone seemed to know he was related to Gabriel Novak in some way or other. No pictures of him around anywhere. He abhorred publicity. Which was a shame, since some photos might have actually prepared Dean for meeting him.
“It is not my fault your fire-safety standards are lacking, or that you’ve hired an actor who gets distracted so easily,” continued Castiel, as obviously unforgiving of Dean’s blunder as he had been last time.
“Tell me then, oh wise prosthetics guy, why are you here ogling my sexy lead when you should be at your terrible trailer tinkering on that tremendous tail?”
Castiel did not dignify the alliteration with an acknowledgement.
“It’s finished.”
Dean stood up straighter.
“Finished?” Gabriel exclaimed, with a raise of a skeptical eyebrow. “How often have the two of you even met?”
“Just the once,” said Dean, ears burning. He couldn’t quite look at Castiel.
They both turned to look at him. Sheepishly, he added, “Sorry about ruining the take. And the toaster, I guess.”
“Forget about the toaster,” said Gabriel, and his eyes had a very dangerous glint to them. Dean would still rather look at him than at Castiel.
“I want to know,” continued Gabriel, “why the single most important prop in this whole miserable production was made without the constant back and forth of sexual tension I have been promised. I have been looking forward to hearing stammered excuses about angry sex next to wire mesh and bad explanations for glitter in odd places ever since you told me how the measuring went.”
“Gabriel,” growled Castiel, in warning. Dean, who felt as though he would rather the nicely polished tiles of the set swallow him whole, saw him turn just the tiniest bit red.
Gabriel continued undeterred. Clearly, he was some sort of ungodly creature that fed of people’s embarrassment. “Or has that already happened? My, you sure move fast! Well, can’t be helped now, off you go to the trailer while we redress the set. I’ll knock four times before entering. Like this.” At the height of obnoxiousness, Gabriel demonstrated the knock and threw both of them a more than salacious grin.
Dean might not actually enjoy working here all that much. At least Gabriel wouldn’t direct every episode.
“Have fun, boys! And Castiel? Wear a condom.”
To his credit, Castiel only rolled his eyes. It was definitely more than Dean was capable of at the moment.
* * *
The walk to the trailer was uncomfortable to say the least, but at least it was brief. It was the same damn trailer, too, but at least Castiel didn’t seem any more inclined to comment further on past awkwardness than Dean.
And then Dean actually saw the tail.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. Something crude and uncomfortable-looking, maybe. Something that would only be made pretty in make-up. But the tail was a thing of beauty. Even just lying there removed from any use, it was gorgeous.
“Can I touch it?” he asked, for now forgetting about any awkwardness, and Castiel said, “Of course, it’s yours,” and that didn’t sound aggressive either. Baby steps.
The color-scheme was unsurprising, but extremely well-executed. The finely applied scales were green, different hues of it on different parts and changing just a little bit where the light hit it.
The feel of it was smooth with the grain and only minimally stubbly against. Dean was very careful in stroking over it this way, but they seemed well-anchored in the fabric beneath.
“Holy shit, Cas,” he said, unthinkingly, “that’s so awesome.”
He looked up at the man and saw him without ire for the first time. It was-… also a good look.
“Yes.” Blue eyes all soft, and lovingly on the masterpiece he had created. “Thank you. I’m quite proud of it.”
Dean looked back at the mermaid tail quickly.
* * *
When Gabriel showed up, he really did knock four times and entered with his hand pressed over his eyes. Castiel scoffed and pulled his brother’s hand down himself.
“How unsurprising. You modelled it after his eyes,” was the first thing Gabriel said.
“Of course I did, Gabriel, that’s how tails work.”
Gabriel turned his sharp eyes to his brother. Dean, still kneeling on the floor between them, felt a little uncomfortable.
“Do they now? I think we’ve had a conversation on this. But I’m not complaining, it’s a good look.”
“Yeah,” said Dean, and probably overdid his enthusiasm about it a little. “Real good.”
“What,” said Castiel, who of course narrowed in on every little bit of bad acting with deadly accuracy, “pray tell is your issue with it?”
Dean breathed out.
He should probably just keep his mouth shut.
But-… “Look, it’s great. It’ll look great on the posters and in the shots and green is obviously a good color on me, it’s just-… everyone always puts me in green. They even had me be the only one in green scrubs when all the rest were wearing blue. It’s just kind of-… predictable.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“I don’t know.” He did know. The idea had taken shape while he was desperately trying to focus on anything but Castiel’s hands on him. He probably would not have dared mention it without Gabriel present, though. “Maybe-… look have either of you seen my baby?”
“That monstrosity of a car you drive everywhere?” Gabriel frowned. “What is it, a ‘69 Chevy Impala?”
“’67, yeah,” said Dean, only a little offended at having baby called a monstrosity.
“Of course that environmental sin is yours,” muttered Castiel with an eyeroll.
Dean really, really, really did not like him.
“How about you model my damn tail after that environmental sin then?” he snapped.
“No one has a black tail!” exclaimed Castiel, “You would look like an oil spill!”
Dean looked back down at the tail to keep making his point, but then once more got caught up on the incredible detail. Castiel must have put in hours to have the scales look like this.
Opening his mouth, he was about to at least say it did look good like this, when the exact color scheme settled in his mind. Cas hadn’t just given him a green tail, he’d painted it in every single exact hue Dean’s eyes could possibly produce.
“I love it,” Gabriel interrupted. “Black’ll look freaking bad-ass. Make it happen, Cassie. Paint it black, dump some glitter on it and you have my seal of approval.”
“I will not,” said Castiel, outraged, at the same time as Dean exclaimed, “Glitter?”
“It’s too realistic, Cas. We’re doing a cheesy, tropey show. Cheese it up.”
“Gabriel.” He sounded almost… beseeching.
But all his big brother did was shake his head with a click of his tongue. “You knew what you were getting into.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to swim quietly into the open jaws of a shark,” muttered Castiel.
“I feel for you, little bro, I do,” said Gabriel, whose mannerisms did not indicate this was at all the truth. “But I say oil-spill black and glitter and I’m the boss. Set’s all cleaned up, btw, Dean-o. Unless you two need another moment.”
Dean hurried the fuck out of that trailer.
* * *
Castiel was a professional. Castiel could make it work.
Castiel found a loop-hole.
If Gabriel wanted glitter on Castiel’s masterpiece of molding and painting, he could put it on himself. What Castiel did was add highlights to the black. Orange, mostly. So subtly it really did have the iridescence of an oil spill once Castiel was finished.
He absolutely did not spend extra hours doing this because he wanted Dean to like it.
* * *
(Dean did.)
* * *
The first time Dean actually put the tail on was for some promotional pictures.
It was… An undertaking.
And all the horror stories had not quite prepared him for needing a hot prosthetics guy’s help for tucking in his private parts.
“Is this a joke?” barked Castiel, who naturally was not a gentleman about it this time either.
“Man,” said Dean, rock-hard and with a full-body blush and desperately wishing he had taken any job but this, “I really wish it was.”
* * *
It took too long to get the tail on perfectly, particularly with Dean’s extremely inconvenient condition.
The additional humiliation of needing to be ferried out of the trailer and to the set on a rolling board hardly even registered in comparison to the hours spent cursing his own genitals and being judged by the very same blue eyes whose fault it was that they were misbehaving.
In the end, the pictures were taken and as Dean always felt more like himself when he was not himself at all, he did feel better afterwards.
Gabriel personally escorted him back to the trailer, making fun of the interns who had to push Dean’s rolling board rather than Dean for once. Castiel had sulked in the trailer rather than having watched the shoot, which was just as well for Dean.
“I was not finished,” he barked as soon as they brought Dean back into the trailer.
“We can add in the usual body make-up later in photoshop,” said Gabriel with an eye-roll. “It’s your own fault for not wanting help. You could have been done in half the time.”
Castiel only clenched his jaw at this, and Dean looked-… somewhere else.
“Body make-up?” he asked as soon as Gabriel’s obnoxious whistling was out of earshot.
Castiel looked positively murderous. Dean’s erection, which had thankfully gone down with the help of Dean actually having to do his job and Gabriel’s annoying presence, tried a valiant comeback.
“I’ll need to add some details between the seam of the tail and your lower torso manually each time,” Castiel eventually deigned to say. “There will also be ear prosthetics, because apparently, mermen need a different type of ear underwater.”
Once more, he did not seem convinced by the show’s myth logic.
“Oh,” said Dean, nodding in a bit of a panic. “Will- will you be applying them personally as well?”
“Of course,” said Castiel, and turned his eyes to Dean’s crotch. Probably to look at the tail, but it definitely didn’t help.
“No one else comes near that tail,” he continued, face hard and uncompromising.
Then he amended, “Well, you, I suppose. Possibly a co-star at some point. Gabriel, because I can’t stop him. The camera crew, but they’re not allowed to touch. Keep it away from the tech guy, Gabriel has hired a fumbley giant on nothing but sexual preference.”
At least there was one kind of anger that actually made Dean’s dick flaccid. “That fumbley giant,” he said, “is my brother.”
All Castiel said, after a pause, was, “Oh.” He looked put out. He didn’t apologize.
The humiliating task of assisted wiggling back out of the tail went wordlessly and awkwardly.
“You should see hair and make-up before you get back on set,” Castiel said in parting.
“What a nice guy,” said Dean, under his breath, to no one.
* * *
It was a demanding job. Gabriel – and the other directors he’d worked with at this point to similar degrees as well – was not one to shy away from reshooting a scene over and over until it was exactly what he wanted. Dean was too exhausted to even jerk off most nights.
They had shot exactly one scene with his tail on so far, and it had gone well on the acting front.
People on set had definitely responded to the extraordinary color and fine work put into the prothesis, and while it was difficult to keep his balance while wearing it anywhere near land, it worked surprisingly well in water. Dean wasn’t a method actor by any right, but actually being able to properly simulate how a merman would move was extremely helpful.
Even Castiel had not frowned quite as terribly while watching his performance during those two days of shore shots.
No sign of paparazzi yet either, which was a relief. He’d rather have found his sea legs – so to speak – with the tail before they started zooming in. (As the show was using a sort of Aquaman-ish premise of mermaids needing to keep wet regularly or they’d die – which Castiel hated, surprise, surprise – there would be plenty opportunity to catch Dean frolicking on this beach and flashing his tail around later.)
So things were going well enough, and though his days were long, he really had no reason to complain.
…
…well, he wouldn’t if Castiel could possibly stand to talk to him while gluing him into the prosthetics.
It was really awkward enough. Even if they hadn’t started out with Dean popping the world’s most inappropriate boner in Castiel’s face, it would probably not be the most pleasant part of either of their jobs.
Hours bent over Dean’s legs, trying to get the tail to stick, the still absolutely mortifying task of tucking Dean’s privates securely into it once the prosthetic passed his hips, and then the additional two hours of work just adding the necessary scales both made of rubber and drawn on around Dean’s midsection.
Dean knew for a fact that Gabriel had asked for a Little-Mermaid-esque belt type thing around his waist, but Castiel seemed to have either won that argument or ignored the executive decision and gotten away with it. Why he would want the excruciating extra work, Dean didn’t get. Pride in his profession maybe.
It certainly looked great, so Dean mostly just tried not to let soft touches of wet rubber, different sizes of brushes and calloused fingertips unsettle him too much.
“That looks great, Cas,” Dean must have said at that very first day of actually getting the tail ready for shooting, meaning all of it but indicating the wiggly band that was supposed to be a tattoo around Dean’s upper arm.
Unsurprisingly, this had been the wrong thing to point out.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Castiel started ranting, as if he’d been waiting for an opportunity to vent. “The version of merfolk Gabriel wants to do apparently never leaves water. How exactly would they even get a tattoo? There is no using ink this way under water. And it doesn’t even mean anything! I suppose I should be grateful Gabriel isn’t explicitly imitating Native American body art, but a squiggly line? What for?”
Dean felt it better not to initiate conversation after that. And Castiel certainly was not great at starting small-talk.
(Even the weather only seemed to perplex him.
“I don’t understand why we are talking about this. Gabriel wouldn’t have chosen this day to shoot on the beach if sunshine wasn’t guaranteed.”)
The only good side effect of this continuing failure in communication was that it allowed Dean to focus on things other than the fact that unfortunately, Castiel continued being an attractive motherfucker, even if he was unpleasant.
(Dean had even had to stop complaining to Sam about him, because he had looked at Dean far too knowing.)
For the parts that his active participation wasn’t required, he listened to music. The slightly more subdued kind, on headphones, because Castiel had not only said “What is that algae-awful noise,” but also admonished him for sort of dancing along.
Sometimes, he even managed to doze a little.
In any case, he was usually good about keeping his dick in check until they got to the nasty business of tucking Dean’s hips into the upper end of the tail. That was when he usually started either ranting out loud or in his head, to… moderate avail.
Maybe he should stop talking about merfolk mythology, because it was just as likely to piss Cas off as it was to get a small smile out of him.
In any case, it really didn’t make his erection go down.
(Dean kind of lived for that small smile.)
He’d even done the unthinkable and googled ‘pills that keep you flaccid’, but apparently, he was the only one with that particular problem over the age of seventeen. At best, he found a couple of good deals on Viagra, which was absolutely not what he currently needed.
* * *
(“So, Cas. Why prosthetics?”
“The term originates from the Ancient Greek adjective ‘prosthetikos’, meaning ‘disposed to add’.”
“What?”
“I suppose it was Latinized and adopted only in the early nineteenth century, though.”
“No, that’s not-… That’s not what I-… Forget it.”
“Hold still now.”)
* * *
Dean Winchester was potentially not quite as horrible an actor as Castiel had assumed. He was very good at humorous scenes and thrived at making an astounding number of crew-members and co-stars swoon whenever his character was shown in a romantic context, but it did not mean his portrayal of the stranded merman was shallow.
Dean Winchester had also pretty much immediately won the hearts of even those not sexually interested in him. He was – so Castiel had heard – incredibly easy to hang out with, generous with his not too outrageous wage and a fun guy all around.
He also drove a loud car keen on producing exhaust fumes, flirted with everyone he met, and kept up a steady narration of the worst kind of insults to Castiel’s species identity to keep himself from getting too hard to fit into Castiel’s painfully crafted merman tail.
And Castiel did not know how to talk to him without seeming like the most horrible assbutt on water or on land.
(A riveting example:
“I did not actually tell Gabriel. About your condition.”
“My what?”
“Your-… that.”
“Oh that’s-… Uhm-… Can we maybe, uhm, collectively ignore this happens at all?”
“A collective usually implies more than two people.”
“…”
“…”
“Can the two of us ignore it, then?”
“If you could just stop denting the tail, Dean.”
“I’m not doing this on purpose!”)
* * *
At the end of the day, Castiel just wanted to unwind. A desire made near unattainable by the fact that of course the paparazzi had discovered their spot and were now camped out all around it.
If Castiel had a talent for sneaking around, he would probably risk going into the ocean anyway, but too much was riding on their continued lack of discovery. And modern cameras were, unfortunately, quite adapted even to the worst lighted circumstances.
So rather than take his frustration out amid the crashing of waves, he had to settle for Gabriel’s indoor pool.
Truly, he should not complain. Their vast success allowed a privilege unknown to most of the merfolk population. He didn’t know more than two other clans who could afford to maintain a saline pool at the perfect temperature and with enough algae components to feel homey.
But the space – while by pool standards fairly gracious – was hardly satisfying. Castiel had taken a few laps, but the sheer strength of his tails had him braking more than actually swimming, and was now listlessly sitting at the side of it and considered simply kicking at the water until his brother’s stupid home was soaked all the way through.
It was a struggle, not to simply unleash his anger this way. After all, this was all Gabriel’s fault.
Castiel was very bad at sneaking, but usually, he was a better guard than this.
“Whoa,” said a voice behind him, “what the hell are those?”
* * *
Of all people. Of all the people to see him like this, it had to be Dean Winchester.
For a good long while, Castiel could do absolutely nothing but sit there, frozen in horror.
“Holy shit, man!”
Generations of his clan had gone without being discovered, their secret only revealed to those they explicitly trusted with it. To people so beloved they could no longer stand concealing such a large part of who they were. To people they wanted to take baths with or go on swims with. To people they wanted to introduce to their culture because they were becoming part of the clan.
It had been a terrible fucking idea, working in Hollywood.
Dean had come to crouch at the side of the pool, looking into the water with fascination.
At least he wasn’t freaking out. At least he wasn’t running outside calling the press right at this moment. Perhaps this could be salvaged.
“Can I touch?” he said with an awed smile that would have made Castiel’s poor heart beat faster if this were possible. It was the perfect opportunity to establish a friendlier demeanor between them. Or so he would realize half a second too late.
“No!” barked Castiel, horrified.
“Oh. Sure, man, okay,” Dean said, backing off a little, but not exactly averting his eyes. “I mean, they’re yours. I know how you get about people touching your stuff. Sorry. Just-… they look amazing. Why are there two?”
“What?”
“Two tails?” Dean sounded incredibly casual considering he was asking a question fundamental to merfolk identity. “What is that for?”
“To actually be able to swim well?” huffed Castiel, “Do you think the mobility afforded by a single tail as you so ridiculously wear is enough for a human being to actually be able to maneuver well in the ocean?”
Dean looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“You sure are putting a lot of thought into this. More than Gabe, I guess.”
Castiel breathed out and imagined possibly stranding his stupid brother out at see during a thunderstorm. “Gabriel,” he said, “relishes in the perpetuation of stereotypes.”
“Will he actually allow you to use those?”
“I don’t understand.”
“The tails. Who are they for on the show?”
And finally, Castiel understood.
Dean had never comprehended he was seeing Castiel for who he was. He had always thought they were prosthetics.
Now if only Castiel were a better liar.
“No one,” he said. “Just a side character I came up with. It’s stupid, really.”
“Hey, I’d love to hear more about them.”
“There really isn’t much to say.” Not much that would not sound made up on the spot, anyway.
Dean nodded, his thoughts clearly on something else already. He was still looking at Castiel’s tails as though looking for seams.
“How did you get into these all on your own anyway? I’m astounded you manage to get this thing on me without help, but I really wouldn’t want to have to do it on my own.”
Couldn’t he just be some stupid land-dweller who had no idea about tails (even fake ones) and who did not think that far?
“If you don’t mind, can you leave me alone now?” Castiel said, hopefully sounding more irritated than desperate. “I need to keep-… testing their ability to withstand water.”
At least Dean wasn’t particularly good at recognizing a lie told even by the worst of liars.
“I was actually here for Gabriel.” He shrugged and got up. “Do you know where he is?”
Castiel had no idea where he was and at the moment no desire to see him. But he did need to get Dean to leave until his curiosity got the best of his better judgement. (Which wasn’t all that great to begin with.)
It was a stroke of genius that Castiel came up with, “I believe he went out with your brother earlier.”
It may well be true. Gabriel had been making… clear advances. And Sam had appeared rather indulgent of Gabriel’s bullshit. But perhaps this was simply his kind personality.
Anyways, it did the trick.
“That slimy son of a-…” Dean cursed, “I need to call Sam.”
He had actually almost walked out the door when he came back to say, “You know what? Those are actually exactly the shade of your eyes.”
“Yes,” said Castiel, exasperated, “That is how tails work.”
“Anyone ever tell you how gorgeous they are?”
And Castiel was treated to a genuine WinchesterTM wink.
“Leave, Dean,” hissed Castiel, flushing. “Now.”
* * *
There are moments in life that will later prove to have contained the single most important things to ever have happened to you. For Dean, one of these moments was when the rolling board broke not one but two of its wheels on his way to the water tank.
It wouldn’t have been a big thing, if it hadn’t been an exceptionally hot day and Dean was – despite the quite emotionally exhausting scene he’d have to play today – looking forward to getting into the relatively cool water. Instead, he got stuck in the middle of the road, while Kevin and Andy bickered about whose fault it was that the rolling board was broken.
“Guys?” Dean interrupted after watching this for two minutes, and then again, after they didn’t even seem to have heard him, “Hey, guys! Can you maybe duke it out some other time and get me to the water? I’m pretty sure there’s a whole film crew just waiting for me.”
“Why don’t you have your screwdriver with you? We could have just fixed it where we are!” said Kevin, and ran off for tools before Andy had a chance to say he did very much bring his screwdriver, but its head wouldn’t work on those wheels. “I’mma go look if we have another rolling board somewhere,” said Andy with a bit of a pout, and also took off.
Which left Dean, who in his tail, no matter how beautiful, always felt like Jabba the Hut when not in the water, and Cas, who was looking at him as if considering something.
“So, uhm,” said Dean, “this is awkward.”
“Hardly,” said Castiel, and seemed to make up his mind about something.
And came closer. And closer. Not even slowly, but in a few long strides that had him suddenly bend down to Dean. Who, in his confusion at this sudden turn of events, had the brief and brilliant thought that Castiel wanted to kiss him.
However, all thoughts about whether or not that was a good idea were aborted pretty much immediately, when instead, broad hands grasped his midsection and he found himself over Castiel’s shoulder.
“Uhm,” repeated Dean, dumbfounded. “What are you-…“
“Be quiet, Dean,” grumbled Castiel, who was in the process of lifting him, “and hold on.”
Not knowing what else to do, Dean did. Truthfully, he would not have thought that Castiel was capable of actually getting back up carrying not only Dean’s but also the not inconsiderable weight of the prosthetics. But clearly, he had underestimated just how strong the guy was.
Which brought to mind several scenarios he did not actually want to consider with his dick pressed somewhere along Cas’ shoulder. Unfortunately, there was also the visual aid of thick thighs and a very good ass, for which Dean had front row seats in his position.
Impossibly, Castiel actually started walking towards the set.
“You’re smearing the make-up, you know,” Dean said, because if not for their first meeting, this would have been the single most ridiculous moment of his life.
“I am not,” said Castiel, though he sounded as though it just occurred to him that Dean might be right.
“We could have just waited,” said Dean, as they rounded the corner towards the set. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that their arrival was starting to get noticed. His ass must be phenomenally on display from this angle, but that probably wasn’t what was getting wolf-whistles.
“There is a tight schedule today, Dean,” Castiel explained, though from how grumpy he sounded, it also seemed to have gotten through to him that this might not have been the smartest course of action.
“Fuck the tight schedule, this is humiliating,” Dean muttered, and kept himself as secure as possible over Cas’ shoulder for the rest of the walk.
There were cameras pointed at them now, both the big ones and cell phones of several crew members, with Gabriel standing there, pointing and looking pleased. Well, if nothing else, it would make for a good scene for the gag reel. Dean, as ever more comfortable when able to perform, put on his soap-opera-award-winning smile and hatched a plan of revenge.
* * *
The longer Castiel walked, the less great the idea of just picking up the lead actor and carrying him to the set appeared to him. Why he’d even done it at all was still a mystery, only that he’d wanted to see if he could. He’d been pretty confident that he could. And though Dean undoubtedly was getting heavy enough that Castiel would still feel the workout tomorrow, it also was true that he absolutely would manage to get the man into the water by himself.
It was probably the heat that had gotten to him. The vague thought that all that sun would make Dean sweat away the carefully applied make-up, no matter how water-resistant. That Dean had looked a little lost lying there on the malfunctioning rolling board, trapped in a silicone mass that was bound to heat up.
That he’d looked particularly beautiful.
Unfortunately, it would appear Castiel was not entirely unaffected by pretty soap opera faces and nicely built Hollywood physique, pale golden skin, and freckles.
It threw him off his game, made him want to be most unprofessional indeed. Part of him knew he had been unfairly rude to Dean, who had at least tried to establish more friendly conduct between them, but most of him was mad at himself for not being able to keep his mind on his job.
And now this. The very height of unprofessionality. Honestly, it would have been less conspicuous and bad for his career if he’d simply pressed Dean against the wall of the trailer and ravaged him until the hunger in both of them was sated enough to continue doing what they were actually supposed to.
Again, a thought he should probably not elaborate on while having his hands on Dean’s naked, heated skin. He really was smearing the make-up. And now there were cameras.
Still, disaster did not come until Castiel bent to set Dean down at the water’s edge.
It did not come until Dean was safely placed next to the ocean and Castiel turned to leave to get his make-up kit.
It came when Dean gave him a single decided shove into the water.
The last thing he saw before going under was a grin of delight.
* * *
One of the things that had Castiel rolling his eyes hardest at the rules of Gabriel’s tv show was that whenever Dean’s character got even remotely wet, immediately he’d start showing his tail.
It was not like that for actual merfolk. There was a certain degree of control over it all, and particularly the scales took a while to completely coat the skin of their legs, the fins even longer to fully unfurl. Even the gills, Castiel had no problem repressing when there was no need for them – it had saved him when Dean had walked in on him in the pool.
In reality, merfolk did not suddenly look like merfolk when they got wet.
Except when startled.
When their bodies registered danger and alarm and water and need to survive.
Technically, there was no need for it, but Castiel’s head still broke through the water level gasping.
And Dean’s eyes, green and laughing, dropped to his neck. And stilled.
Underneath his pants, Castiel could feel scales layering over his skin, the beginning of fins pressing against his shoes.
Dean’s laughter died in his throat as he stared at Castiel’s gills.
There were cameras pointed at them both. There was a whole crew surrounding them, laughing at him, not yet comprehending. Not seeing what Dean was gaping at. Not understanding, yet. Somewhere behind Dean, Gabriel had gone very pale.
And then Dean turned away in a single sudden movement and yelled “Son of a bitch!” and gripped his tail, wiggling this way and that, away from where Castiel was in the water, in a truly extraordinary rendition of excruciating pain. “Cramp!”
In the following commotion, Castiel dove under and swam away.
* * *
It was not until hours later that Dean finally managed to track Castiel down.
He wasn’t hard to find. It would appear even with still drying sea-water pressing his clothes rather closely to his body, he was determined to do his job.
Wordlessly, he dismissed the two interns, who had procured another rolling board (and were still complaining about having missed out on all the fun.)
Castiel helped Dean into his usual position on the floor. He did not speak.
Dean, who had been bursting with words right up until the second he saw how utterly terrified Cas looked, didn’t either.
It wasn’t until he had finally shed the tail, rinsed off his lower body, and put on some clothes that he said, “Uhm, I looked at the stuff they posted. Photos they took. The two videos. You can’t see anything. Also, Gabe is working on having it all taken down. Said he was going to select the perfect shot to put into the gag reel. Maybe make a montage.”
Castiel visibly relaxed. It wasn’t by much and Dean definitely wouldn’t have seen if he wasn’t looking straight at Castiel. It wasn’t exactly the decent thing to do, watching him so closely when he was so clearly not okay with Dean having found out… what he had found out.
But it would seem Dean had reached his limit of avoidance. He babbled on, “Not sure how to feel about that. I know it sounds hard to believe, but as it turns out, not every angle is my most flattering. And grainy cell-phone pics aren’t up to my normal standards either.”
And then, because Castiel still didn’t talk to him, but at least his hands weren’t shaking quite as badly, Dean let the air rush out of him.
“So. You’re a merman, huh.”
“I’m sure you have questions,” said Castiel finally, with obvious resignation.
His shoulders sagged a little. Dean did not like it.
“Don’t need to ask if you don’t wanna answer. Hey, you’ve been keeping quiet about my inappropriate boners. I’m not exactly gonna rat you out.”
He shrugged.
Castiel gave him a long, inscrutable look, then suddenly broke away to rake a hand through this hair.
He breathed out. “I suppose you may as well ask.”
And Dean had a thousand questions. But he was standing on opposite ends of a room in a trailer in the middle of paranoid Hollywood, and he knew exactly how to conduct a pretty fucking terrible interview.
So instead, he just let his amazement rush right out of him and fill the loaded distance between them.
“How the hell did you end up doing this job?” he exclaimed. “Like, what the hell kind of coincidence is this? A merman working on a show like this, actually building a tail for a dude who knows nothing about being a merman? Is that even the correct way of saying it? Merman? Seadude? Shorebro?”
Perhaps Dean was mistaken, but it seemed like there was a small smile in the corner of Castiel’s mouth now.
“Merman is fine. And no, I would not have taken this job. I almost quit many times before I even met you. But Gabriel was not to be dissuaded from pursuing this insanity and I figured if I were at least involved in the process, I could possibly prevent the worst offenses.”
Nope, Dean was not mistaken. That was a smile. Something lighter around Castiel’s eyes.
He was so elated about this he almost missed the actual answer.
“And I’ve been spewing those damn clichés left and right and with some insults sprinkled on top.”
“We aren’t-…” Castiel hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. He spoke with his usual gravel, but his words were far more careful than Dean was used to.
”There aren’t that many of us. Clans. Not in North America. Clichés have been protecting us from detection for many years. I simply-… do not like misconceptions.”
Dean arranged his thoughts into the first question he had come up with.
“Those were not prosthetics in the pool, right?”
“No,” said Castiel, and sighed. “you caught me stretching my tails.”
“Which appear when they get wet. Along with the gills.” Dean nodded. “Why are there two? Tails?”
Castiel shrugged, but his posture had loosened considerably. He seemed almost careless, now. Open, where before Dean had only encountered hostility or
“Why one?” said Castiel. “It’s a cliché that has never made much sense to me. We’re not deep-sea dwellers. I’ve never met a merperson who didn’t half live on land. How would we function on land with the equivalent of one leg?”
Dean scratched the back of his head, sheepish.
“I guess I just sort of thought-… actually I thought mermaids were bullshit, but if I’d had to explain it, I would have said the tail would split into two legs on land. Like in The Little Mermaid.”
“We do not actually speak to crustaceans and fish. This movie, much like Gabriel’s ridiculous tv-show, has never been anything other than cleverly disguised distraction from what merfolk are actually like.”
Castiel seemed to consider it for a moment, then added, “Though it does have catchy songs.”
Entirely involuntarily, Dean laughed out loud. A little harder, at Castiel’s questioning head-tilt.
“Just picturing this,” chortled Dean. “You, out there in the ocean, on some conveniently placed boulder in the surf, reenacting that ‘Part of your world’ reprise.”
Castiel’s cheek twitched as well. Dean’s laughter died into a lingering softness.
The air between them changed in nature.
“I shouldn’t have pulled you in,” said Dean suddenly, without thinking. “I thought it would be fun, but it could have gone horribly wrong for you.”
It hung between them, in that heavy air, and Castiel took the time to think on it. He was as serious as ever, but without any of the anger that had overrun Dean the first time they met.
“It was thoughtless of you, but obviously not malicious. You could not have known. And it’s my own fault for insisting on carrying you, particularly after having gotten to know your sense of humor.”
Dean shifted his weight. His sense of humor almost exposed a secret kept for who even knew how long.
“You reacted quickly and kindly,” continued Castiel, in all seriousness. “Pulling me in was hardly your finest moment, but your behavior since has been exemplary.”
“Uhm, thanks.”
Castiel went right on, as if he hadn’t heard Dean speak at all. “Overall, I seem to have misjudged you, and you have my apologies for that.”
Dean dared push off the wall.
“So you really didn’t like me, huh?”
He didn’t step forward and Castiel did not move either, but the room between them seemed to shrink nonetheless.
“I thought you were too attractive to have depth.”
Castiel said it with his usual dry tone. It was almost enough to be an insult rather than a compliment, but Dean decided to take it anyway.
“Attractive people can’t have depth?” Dean shook his head. “Oh buddy, do I have news for you. You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. And I’ve met all the Hollywood Chrises. And you’re all depth. You’re so much depth you’re intimidating.”
Castiel did nothing but regard him, head tilted, eyes a little squinty.
It should not have been a good look.
It really, really was.
Dean’s silly little heart, which had been through entirely too much for one day, beat wildly against his chest.
“You know,” Castiel ventured eventually, “Gabriel owes me a favor, I believe. Many a favor, actually.”
“Oh,” said Dean, deflating because obviously Castiel hadn’t even been listening. Had been thinking about his brother instead. “Okay.”
Castiel went on.
“I believe he is more than capable of producing a scandal big enough to keep the paparazzi distracted for a couple of hours.”
Dean, who still had no idea where Castiel was going with this – and now feared it might cost him his show – nodded confusedly.
Castiel rolled his eyes and said, very clearly, “I would like to go for a swim, Dean. A nice long swim in the actual ocean. Gabriel’s pool is saline rather than chloride-filled poison, but it still does not compare. And I believe it could be of interest to you if you were to join me.”
It was indeed of interest to Dean. He was, however, apparently a bit slow in showing this interest, having a bit of an issue with his jaw, which had dropped a little and would now not move back up for him to be able to form words.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” growled Castiel and put his hands on his body to shove Dean against the wall of the trailer. And then, heatedly, left them there, right over Dean’s pecs. “Are you being this obtuse on purpose?”
Dean was not. Truly, he was not. He was even less so when Castiel crashed his mouth against Dean’s in a kiss that would have Dean’s knees buckling underneath him were Castiel not bodily keeping him in place.
There were no complaints about hard-ons in the workplace this time.
This time, they were entirely appropriate.
* * *
What follows is this: Dean gets to know those tails intimately. He learns their shape under his hands, the texture of scales against his own bare skin. He lays kisses over gills and delights in sighs and groans his own raw need. It’s softer than either of them expected, the first time, lapped at by waves of the ocean. It’s a lot less so when they do it in the trailer. It’s downright explosive when they do it on set.
What follows is this: Gluing on the tail stops being an act of awkward restraint and miscommunication on both sides and instead becomes hours of getting to know each other. If there are the occasional blowjobs exchanged during this, it’s only a problem for whoever walks in on them. Which doesn’t really happen to regular crew members after the first time (Kevin swears he is scarred for life), except as an initiation rite for new guys on the set.
What follows is this: For the season finale, Gabriel twists the entire show around by 180 degrees and shows Dean’s character’s backstory of losing everything as an oil company destroys his home and everyone in them. Dean’s performance is Emmy-worthy, but critics take a while to adjust to the change in tone. Most of the audience, however, is hooked, as in the following seasons, it doesn’t lose its humor, but takes environmental damage and what humans do to the ecosystem very serious. It is what Gabriel always intended. Castiel, finally, exhales. And though he can’t give Dean an Emmy, he can give him something else. Multiple times and with great enthusiasm.
What follows is this: The critics catch up. The fandom goes insane when in the second season, it gets revealed Dean’s actual love interest is the sole other survivor of the massacre, his former best friend turned nemesis. His male former best friend turned nemesis. The show loses fewer viewers than it gains. It’s a seven-season triumph that launches Dean and a few of the other cast members right into the Hollywood A-list.
What follows is this: Due to the time-consuming nature of their jobs, Castiel and Dean don’t see each other daily, but officially and for all intents and purposes, they live together. They find a very nice piece of land the paparazzi have not been able to locate. Next to the ocean. With a bit of beach and a large saltwater pool indoors. They’re happy.
It could be argued there are worse ways of meeting the love of your life than measuring their inseam for the fitting of a prosthetic merman tail. But at the end of the shooting day, that’s exactly what happened.
(And it never really stops turning Dean on when Cas looks at him with thunder in his eyes and a growl in his voice.)