Chapter Text
It was a normal morning, just like it had been a normal morning every day for the past three and a half weeks. Sam and Dean drove to their garage, older brother heading straight to the shop while younger brother opened the front office.
Sam liked it, honestly. He handled the finances and the customers (which were either his favorite part or his least favorite part, depending), and he helped Dean and Charlie work on the cars when it was a slow day.
It had already passed 10:00 AM, with three hours of pretty much nothing behind him, when Sam decided he would head out to the shop and see if Dean needed a hand with the 1968 Volkswagen Beetle that had come in yesterday evening. He doubted it; his brother wouldn't let anyone else touch the really vintage cars.
He clicked off the desktop monitor (he'd been looking at putting up a website so people could buy spare parts; he'd talk to Dean about that later) when the crunch of gravel signified someone's arrival- and then a grating whine signified the death of their car.
Before he had even stood up from the desk chair, a car door slammed shut and the office door slammed open. The man that stood in the doorway was shorter than Sam (but then, everyone was shorter than Sam) but still tall, looking rather unkempt with his messy hair and trenchcoat.
Sam smiled, standing up to shake the guy's hand- the handshake was returned quickly, frazzled. “I am currently in a predicament,” he said, the phrase not quite matching his frustrated, hurried tone. “My vehicle has ceased to run properly.”
“Okay,” Sam nodded, peeking out of the still-open door to catch a glimpse of said vehicle, which turned out to be a 1970’s Lincoln Continental in gold. Dean was going to have a field day. He turned back to the guy and continued. “Do you have any idea why, or if this happened before you owned it? I'm Sam, by the way.”
“Castiel Shurley.” The guy -Castiel, apparently- nodded his head yes. “I don't know about before it was in my possession, but it's the third time since belonging to me. I believe it's because…” Castiel shut his mouth. “I can't say that I know, I'm afraid.”
“That's completely fine,” Sam reassured him, moving to exit the office with Castiel close behind him. “My brother will take a look at it, and we'll get you an estimate as soon as we can. Are you in a rush anywhere?" He must be; out-of-towners didn't come through Montezuma, Kansas unless they were on their way somewhere else.
Castiel rubbed a hand down his tired face. “Yes. I am heading to a family function in New Hampshire, and I'm already behind schedule. Do you know where I might be able to rent a car?”
Sam hummed, already heading over the shop, where Dean was blasting AC/DC so loud that he and Charlie probably hadn't even heard the Lincoln pull up. “There isn't a place around here, but Dean and I could probably set you up with one of the ones we've just got laying around. Do you want it now or do you want to wait for the repair estimate?”
“I need to be on my way as soon as possible,” Castiel said, before Sam opened the door to the garage.
“Dean!” he shouted over the pounding music, spotting his brother under the VW Beetle. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, which meant she was probably chilling in the little pool out back- he'd have to talk to her about that later (again).
Dean rolled out from under the vehicle on a creeper just as Sam clicked off the shop speaker, leaving the music coming faintly through Dean's phone, wherever it was. Dean eyed Castiel without bothering to sit up. “What?” he asked, scooting back under the car.
Sam rolled his eyes. “It's a ‘76 Lincoln Continental, broken down three times in the past…” He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Castiel.
“Ten months,” the man supplied.
Dean whistled, although he didn't come back out from under the Beetle. “It's probably a hunk of junk, then,” he said.
“Yea, but it's our job to check it out,” Sam replied. “Anyway, he's in a hurry, needs a car.”
There was a pause in the tool noises as Dean stopped to think about that. “Give him the Dodge,” he said, resuming his work. “You need anything else from me, Sammy?”
Before Sam could answer, the door flew open and Charlie strode in with semi-damp clothes and dripping hair, ignoring the slightly disapproving look he gave her. “What's with the Pimpmobile out there?” she asked, eyeing Castiel up and down.
Dean answered. “Carburetor probably needs cleaned and refiltered. All yours.”
As Charlie grinned and moved to her workbench, Sam motioned for Castiel to follow him back to the office.
It didn't take long for him to get the guy's phone number, insurance, and rental downpayment on the Dodge minivan that had been surrendered for no good reason some months ago.
“We’ll call you when we get an estimate, so you can let us know what you want us to do,” he said, handing over the Caravan’s keys. “And on your way back you just swing by here, and we'll get it back to you.”
Castiel nodded, accepting the keys and leaving with a hurried ‘thank you’.
Sam watched the minivan pull out of the gravel parking lot, and rolled his shoulders once it was out of sight. That hadn't been stressful (at least for Sam; it probably had been for the other guy), but he hadn't transformed in a while and he was starting to feel itchy under his skin.
“You didn't do anything weird to the water, did you?” he called across the driveway to Charlie, who was already popping the Lincoln's hood.
“Of course I didn't, cleanfreak," she said, not even turning to look at him.
He rolled his eyes, a tiny smirk playing at his lips as he rounded the shop to the ten foot round pool, just barely four feet deep. Glancing around to make sure no one was around, he stripped off his clothes and eased into the water.
It felt normal, although a little crowded; but that was just Charlie's lingering presence in the water. It wasn't a big deal.
Leaning back against the side of the pool, he tilted his head back and let out a soft sigh as he focused on pressing his legs together, letting them tingle out into their natural form. Once they had transformed completely, he flicked his tail, sending a spray of water up into his face.
Sam didn't mind being a mermaid. It was one of the only connections he had to his mother, and it was sometimes more comfortable than his human form was.
It wasn't like he was hiding it, either. There were other mermaids scattered across the country, and he's actually met some of them.
Flicking his tail again, he slid down until his head was under the water, and flipped over into his stomach. This pool was hardly big enough, and he almost wished he was in the nice, inground one at his and Dean's house.
Or the ocean. They went down to Florida every year, but only once- and Sam craved the natural saltwater of the sea.
There was a hard plunk and Sam surfaced, spluttering as he reached for the rock that had been dropped just next to his head. “What the hell, Dean!” he exclaimed. It was a relatively clean rock, but the principle of it was still disgusting, and he threw it back at his brother.
“You were so busy being a fish you didn't hear me call you,” Dean retorted, dodging the rock and leaning on the edge of the pool. “Forgot the grocery run last night, so I'm going now. You got a list?”
Sam rolled his eyes, maneuvering his body so that he was again sitting up against the side of the pool, his tail flicking gently underneath the water. He was well aware that Dean had forgotten (after assuring Sam that he wouldn't, he might add) to go grocery shopping yesterday. He just hasn't had the chance to scold him yet. Pointing to the pile of his discarded clothes, he said, “Back left pocket.”
Dean nodded and quickly found the list, scanning over it. “You need anything else?” he asked, making dead-on eye contact.
Sam’s eyes flickered away, a small flush appearing on his cheeks even as he tried to push it away. “Nah, I'm good,” he answered, his voice quieter than he meant for it to be.
Dean eyed him for a moment, and Sam could feel his older brother contemplating whether or not to give the ‘you don't have to be ashamed of it, Sammy' talk for the umpteenth time. So, instead of waiting to see, he smirked and tossed a playful, “Jerk.”
“Bitch,” was the reply, accompanied by a cocky grin as Dean turned and walked away. Before he could get far, Sam skillfully flicked his tail, spraying water all over Dean and laughing at the glare he was rewarded with.
After Dean was out of sight, though, Sam sank down until all of his body was submerged except for his nose and above.
In addition to being a mermaid, Sam Winchester could carry children. He had a womb and all that junk down there like a woman did, in addition to his normal, male junk.
It wasn't even weird. There were male carriers all over the place, about one in every five carriers was male. There wasn't really anything, socially, to be ashamed or embarrassed about.
But Sam didn't just have the ‘socially’ bit pressing down on him- he had the weight of so many comments his dad had made before his death. Things that offhandedly called him less-than; sometimes things that directly called him less-than.
It was whatever, though. That had been years ago, and Dean didn't care about it. Was supportive, actually, if sometimes a little overbearing. It didn't really do him anything to dwell on the past.
As if on cue to stop him from what was probably harmful reminiscing, Charlie came around the corner of the garage. “The Pimpmobile is a quick-fix,” she said. “You wanna call that guy, or should I do it?”