Part One

"I've never seen a spell like this before," Sam said, furrowing his brow at the small piece of paper in his hand. Dean took a pull from his beer as they both leaned against the hood of the Impala and blinked back the mid-morning sun. "I mean, just look at this list of ingredients: witch's bone, vampire fang, mermaid hair, blood of a werewolf…"

Dean raised an eyebrow and grinned. "By the pricking of my thumbs…"

"That won't be necessary."

Dean nearly dropped his beer as he glared at the angel that had just materialized beside them. "You have got to stop doing that, man!"

Castiel sighed in his general direction before addressing them both. "I did as you requested. I have located two of the ingredients. They're not terribly far, except…" he paused for a moment, and Dean took note that Cas was looking slightly drained, "we will need to drive."

Sam folded up the spell, looking concerned. "Cas, you need to stop using your powers. All this teleporting around…it's going to really weaken you."

But Cas shook his head, stubborn as always. Dean nearly cracked a smile. "If there's anything I can do to help, then I'll do it. We all know how important this spell is."

"Well then." Dean set down his now empty bottle and crossed his arms over his chest. "What's next? Vampires, werewolves…hunting down those sons of bitches is easy." He jerked his thumb towards the ingredients list. "But where the hell are we going to find a freaking mermaid?"

Cas thought for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowed in focus before opening his mouth to speak, but someone from behind them got there first. "Sorry to interrupt, mates," the speaker was tall, clad in black leather and currently leaning casually against the signpost near the Impala. His lips quirked up in a smirk. "But it sounds like you could use a ship."

Part Two

All three stopped and blinked at the stranger. "Who are you?" Sam asked warily while Cas continued to give him a suspicious stare and Dean did not fail to notice the gleaming silver hook protruding from the man's wrist.

"The name's Killian Jones," the man drawled, his voice lilting over the hint of an Irish brogue. "Though most people have taken to calling me by my…more obvious moniker." He lifted his arm and waved at them with his metal hook.

"Hook?" Dean countered incredulously. "You want us to call you Hook? Really?"

The man's eyes, a startlingly familiar shade of blue, rested on Dean for longer than was probably necessary. "If you like, mate."

There was a throat clearing which Dean recognized immediately as Sam's. But when he turned to look, it was Cas who was looking at Dean with a strange expression on his face. The youngest Winchester spoke up. "So, you said something about a ship?"

"Aye. A damn good one, at that." Hook detached himself from the signpost and all but swaggered over. "She's called the Jolly Roger—fastest ship in the Seven Seas, mate. She'll get you where you want her to go."

And suddenly it was Cas who stepped forward and even from behind, Dean could almost feel the exact expression on Cas' face as he stared down the newcomer. After all, Cas had unleashed the same heavenly glare at Dean more times than he could remember. "What do you know about it?" Cas asked, though Dean thought that perhaps demanded might be a more appropriate word.

But Hook wasn't fazed. "I overheard a bit of your conversation," he said cheerfully. "No worries, mate, I was just passing through. None of it made that much sense anyway. But I am able to help." His eyes flickered mischievously. "For a price."

Sam looked like he might be ready to negotiate, but Dean was having none of it. Paying up front is just asking for a betrayal. "You take us to the mermaids, and then you'll get paid, not a minute before. Got it?"

Hook peered at Dean over Cas' shoulder. "Roger that," he smirked. Then he took several steps backwards and gestured towards the harbor several miles north. "Now let me show you my ship."

They drove to the dock where several ships were tied up, and Dean couldn't help but notice how relieved Cas seemed to be that he no longer had to ride in the backseat with Hook. The other man, however, looked completely and totally amused.

"All aboard the Jolly Roger," said Hook, spreading his arms to the side in a dramatic presentation of the ship in question. Dean had next to no knowledge of boats in general, but he didn't really see what the big freaking whoop was.

"Alright here's the plan," Dean turned back to his brother and angel. "Me and this wise guy here are gonna gank us a mermaid. You two work on the other ingredients."

Sam nodded seriously, but Cas' brow was pinched. "Dean—" he began, and Dean wanted to stop him right there.

"You're running out of juice, Cas," Dean explained, an image from years ago flooding back into his mind—Cas, all but drained, blood trickling from his mouth as his body collapsed. Dean refused to let that happen again. "Can't have you using up the rest of your mojo for this. And Sam can keep you safe."

Cas looked ready to argue, but glanced past Dean at where Hook was surely lounging on the ship's boarding ramp. "It's important that you're safe too, Dean," he said.

"Dude, this guy is nothing to worry about. We just need someone to drive the boat." Dean watched as the fire simmered in Cas' eyes and ebbed into a soft but firm affection.

At least, that's what it looked like.

"As you wish," said Cas, his hand flexing at his side and for a moment, Dean thought that Cas would reach out and…what?

But he simply gave Dean a curt nod and strode back down the dock, with Sam striding along directly behind.

"Coming or what, mate?"

Dean turned from where he was watching them walk back to the car and followed Hook up the ramp and onto the ship's deck.

"So," Hook said, taking long strides over to a bunch of ropes that Dean guessed connected to the sails, "ever sailed before?"

Dean made sure his pistol was still tucked comfortably into the back waistband of his jeans before following. "Nah, but I've been keeping up with Vikings," he joked. "Close enough, right?"

Hook looked perplexed. "Vikings? In these parts? How did you manage to run in with them?"

"No, it's—" Dean tried, wondering if Hook was just playing dumb. "It's a show. You know, on TV? Monks, Vikings, sexy threesomes? Ringing a bell?"

But Hook remained uncomprehending and Dean was met with a strong sense of déjà vu. He let out a sharp chuckle under his breath. "Guess you don't get that reference. Never mind."

And then Hook proceeded to do a lot of fancy things involving the pulling of ropes and levers and Dean felt a sudden lurch that told him that the boat was finally pulling out of the dock. "Hoist the sails," Hook ordered from the other end of the deck, placing himself behind the giant wooden wheel.

Dean blinked at the row of identical looking pulley systems. "Which one?"

"Hoist them on the port side!"

"…so, which one?"

The groan of exasperation could be heard from across deck and over the gentle splashing of waves. "The left side."

"Why didn't you just say so," Dean grumbled, grabbing hold of the left pulley system and tugging hard and unleashing an enormous billow of white sails above his head.

Hook continued shouting instructions, which Dean struggled to even understand (why can't the guy just speak freaking English?!), but finally they were off, the harbor and entire shoreline fading into the distance.

Part Three

Hook steered them towards what was certainly the middle of the ocean, and during those first couple of hours of navigation, Dean sat himself down on one of the barrels tied to the deck and prepared for inevitable boredom.

When he had disassembled and reassembled his pistol more times than he would care to count (his record time being ten seconds), Dean noticed that the ship had all but stopped, and was comfortably drifting on the peaceful water.

"So tell me, mate," Hook's voice came from behind him and Dean looked up to see him leaning against the ship's railing. "What's the deal with that friend of yours? You know, the little one with the long jacket."

"Who, Cas?" Dean flicked the safety back on and gently sat his gun down. "I don't know what you mean."

Hook chuckled. "I mean, do you look at all your friends that way? Or just the ones with pretty blue eyes?"

Dean's head shot back up, frowning at the expectant look on Hook's face. He got to his feet and began walking past Hook to the other end of the ship. "We're not having this conversation. I know what you're trying to do, and we are not having this conversation."

He could tell that Hook was following behind him. "I mean no offense, mate, and I'm certainly not judging. I mean, he's a catch."

Dean leaned over the edge, peering down at the water lapping at the side of the boat. "Look, man -Cas and me...it's complicated. A lot of crap over many years, and just…" he trailed off, not even sure how to finish the thought.

"Hey, I understand." Dean didn't even have to look up to know that Hook was right beside him, his back pressed against the railing and staring at Dean. "It's not easy to admit our feelings, even to ourselves. In fact, that's probably the hardest part."

"Admi-" Dean nearly did a double take. "That is...not what this is about. There is no...feelings...or anything." The words were coming out in more of a haste than Dean was hoping for, but Hook was putting him on edge and more than ever, Dean was hyper aware that those eyes felt far too familiar for his comfort level.

And Hook lent him a small grin. "It's alright to admit when you find someone attractive, Winchester. Hell, I do it all the time. For instance," the arm closest to Dean moved and suddenly he was met with the cool steel of that silver hook brushing against the back of his hand, "I have to say that you are a dashing bloke yourself."

Dean had seen that look before, on every woman he had tried to seduce, and once, memorably, on the face of a young man in a bar who knew exactly what to say to Dean to manipulate him.

"Um," he began, his cheeks beginning to heat up against his will as he tried to remember how to politely turn someone down - it was a skill that was rarely utilized for him. "That's, er, that's very flattering, but um…"

"Let me guess," Hook said, moving his hook away only to replace it with the warmth of his real hand, fingers tickling along Dean's jacket sleeve, "you've never been with a man before?"

Dean's hand twitched, and he pulled it back. But only slightly. "What? I've - no, I've never...I'm not, I mean, I'm not a…" he faltered helplessly.

Hook shrugged with one shoulder. "Maybe, maybe not. But there's only one way to find out, right, mate?" And Hook's hand was touching his cheek, callused fingers trailing gently over Dean's day-old stubble and moving to the edge of his lips.

Dean's breath hitched and he tried not to panic. There's no reason to freak out, he told himself, this is just what Hook wants. Don't give him the satisfaction. He controlled his face into an expression of apathy. "It doesn't bother me," he said, his voice low and gruff.

Hook raised a dark eyebrow. "It doesn't? Well then…" his fingers left Dean's skin and moved to ghost over the collar of his shirt and inch down Dean's stuttering chest. "What about this?"

There was a strange tingling where Hook's hand had touched, and the warm pressure against Dean's chest was suddenly distracting. He gritted his teeth, determined not to think about it. "It's fine."

This stopped the trail of Hook's hand, but he simply curled his fingers around the folds of the jacket. "Glad to hear it, mate."

And before Dean knew what was happening, before he even had a chance to think of a protest, Hook inclined his head forward and gently pressed their lips together.

And Dean froze.

His first coherent thought was that it was strange. Women's lips were always so plush and soft, tasting vaguely of strawberry or some crap like that. Hook, for all that he was pressing softly against Dean, had none of that delicacy, and if anything, Dean could taste hints of rum.

But...it wasn't altogether unpleasant. Hook's lips were still and patient against his, clearly waiting for Dean to respond. And this was not a big deal, was it? Because Dean had done his fair share of kissing, and he knew how it was done. So he tilted his head, realigning their lips as he pressed back, but keeping his hands firmly at his sides.

And Hook was done being patient.

His hand shot back up to curl around Dean's neck, urging Dean with a kiss that was far less chaste this time, a mouth that knew all too well what it was doing. And Dean was responding, feeling Hook's hot breath in his mouth as his lips parted, heart pounding in his chest as he felt the soft but insistent graze of a tongue brushing past his lips.

Dean felt a sharp tug, and he realized belatedly that Hook had used his other appendage to link through Dean's belt loop and pull them flush against each other, and Dean couldn't bite back the gasp when they made contact. It was entirely unexpected, to feel another man hard against his own building arousal, and Dean faltered for a moment. But Hook rolled his hips in a terribly interesting way, and Dean decided to hell with it. His dormant hands now shot up to grab onto Hook's waist, keeping them latched together.

He was overwarm, his body feeling flushed all over, and Dean didn't want to think about what this all meant. All he knew was the warmth of a body pressed against his, and the sudden and unexpected pleasure that shot through him as Hook's teeth gently bit down on his lower lip and tugged.

A noise like a choked moan tore its way out of Dean's throat against his will and Hook hummed appreciatively against his mouth and Dean hardly noticed when Hook turned them to the side, pressing Dean's back against the ship's railing.

"You wear too many layers, mate," Hook's voice rumbled against Dean's mouth, his hand resting heavily on Dean's collarbone before pushing the jacket from his shoulders in one firm swoop.

"Says the guy wearing all leather," Dean's voice was hoarse and shaky as he countered by pulling the heavy weight of Hook's jacket and throwing it to the deck. Hook smirked again, bright white teeth flashing past kiss-swollen lips, and the sight sent shivers all down Dean's body. As if possessed by something out of his control, he lunged forward, pulling Hook's mouth back to his with enough force to bruise, his fingers working through the clasps of Hook's vest at the same time that he felt the cool metal of a hook sliding through the fabric of his shirt, promptly slicing it in half.

Dean shrugged the obstructing fabric from his chest at the same time that Hook did, and then there was the heat of their skin meeting, their chests pressed flat together in a way much different than what Dean was used to. He was used to the plush cushion of a set of breasts pressed against him -but this was much too muscular to be anything other than indisputably masculine, and Dean was suddenly struck by the unfamiliar feel of chest hair brushing against him.

But he couldn't think too long on that, because when he broke away for air, Hook immediately moved his mouth to Dean's neck, stubble gently scratching even as his lips pressed open-mouth kisses all along his collarbone. Dean wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands - he clung to Hook's slick shoulders before giving up and winding his fingers in his messy dark hair.

By now, they were both breathing hard, but Dean was all but gasping as Hook's mouth traveled slowly downward, his lips and tongue trailing lower and lower...Dean's eyes slammed shut and he didn't even realize that Hook had dropped to his knees until he felt his hot, wet mouth pressed…

A wave of newfound panic washed over Dean like ice water. Wait. Wait.

And he tore away, paying no attention to Hook losing his balance and falling to the deck. Dean felt too much air trying to claw its way out of his chest again, only this time, it felt a lot like hyperventilating.

What was happening? What was he doing? Dean gripped the edge of the railing on the other side of the boat, his skin still flushed and prickly and his jeans painfully tight. This...this wasn't...making out wasn't anything new for Dean, and it didn't even need to be taken seriously. But there was a line here, a line that was about to be crossed, that shouldn't be crossed...a line that Dean hadn't even thought about crossing.

Or had he?

He stared intently down at the deep blue water, so much like the warm and endless blue of Cas' eyes, the stubble that Dean could now imagine the feel of, the sudden and unavoidable image of tugging that stupid tan trenchcoat off those shoulders, broader than the ill-fitting clothes would suggest, using his own lips to wet that pair of dry ones, and...and…

"Oh shit," Dean said out loud.

This shouldn't surprise you, a traitorous voice in his head argued, after all this time, after all that time staring at him and not understanding, not knowing what you want or how to want it. Feeling that angel under your skin, his hooks in you so deep that you've been long gone for years. What did you expect? How did you think this would progress?

The answer was easy. Dean had been hoping, hoping against hope, that if he just ignored it, if he never had to look these feelings in the face, then maybe everything could just continue as normal and he wouldn't have to ruin everything.

"It happened, didn't it?" Hook asked quietly, "Admitting your feelings?"

Dean couldn't answer. He simply shuddered once and said, "Shit" again with feeling.

"You know, this could open a lot of doors for you, mate. Knowing what you're attracted to, that is." There was a long silence before Hook continued, "This could be good for you."

But doesn't this change everything? Everything about who I am, and who I thought I was? Dean wanted to demand, but it sounded weak even in his head. He felt the splinters where his fingernails were digging into the wooden railing and could still feel the phantom touches of Hook's mouth, his hand, his hook…

It would be crossing a line. But what if it was worth it on the other side? Cas' face filled his mind again and though his heart was still slamming in his chest, Dean could breathe again. Wouldn't it be worth it? Wouldn't he be worth it?

Dean took a shaky breath and turned back around. Hook was still slouched against the other end of the ship where he had been pushed aside. his knees spread apart, sweat clinging to his hair, and Dean squared his jaw in resolution.

He crossed the deck in three long strides, landing solidly on his knees in front of Hook, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him firmly to his mouth. Hook shifted, bucking his hips to meet Dean, maybe thinking that it would distract him. But Dean had an idea of what comes next, and if they were going to do this, then he was going to take charge. Sex was sex...how different could it be, really?

He pushed Hook to the side until his bare back hit the deck and Dean straddled his hips, this time being the one to take initiative, unbuckling his pants and tugging them from his hips with purpose.

Hook chuckled. "Have something to prove, do we?"

Dean was intent on ignoring him, but found that difficult when he felt cold metal brush along his bare skin before sliding down and all but yanking his jeans from his hips. The barriers were down and Dean knew that there would be no going back after this. His eyes were resolutely fixed on Hook's face, which was looking incredibly amused. "If we're going to do this," he said, voice husky and chest panting, a smirk on his lips, "you're going to have to be able to look at me, Winchester."

Dean gritted his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose, and finally lowered his gaze. He had seen naked men before, of course he had, but never like this, never spread out under him, hair mussed and looking thoroughly debauched, even though they had hardly done anything yet. But Dean had a basic understanding of how this worked. Even so, he couldn't help but clear his throat before saying, "S-so, I'll...I'll just…" his hands rested lightly on Hook's knees, trying to buy himself some time while he worked up the nerve.

To his surprise, Hook outright laughed. "Of course not, Winchester. What good would this experiment be if you simply do as you've always done? That's not the purpose of this at all."

And using his one good hand, he managed to roll Dean to the side, pinning him on the deck with Hook leaning over him this time.

Dean's eyes widened and his heart plummeted to his stomach. "W-what? I didn't...that's not what I…"

"I know," said Hook, pinning one of Dean's wrists above his head with his hand, and pinning the other between his hook and his wrist. "But an expert doesn't need additional practice executing the same technique as always." He rolled his hips against Dean, causing him to hiss through his teeth. "Time to try something new, mate."

Dean swallowed hard and pushed down the feeling of panic trying to creep its way back in. Don't be such a freaking coward, he told himself, shivering pleasantly as Hook freed his hands in favor of gently pushing Dean's knees apart the way Dean had done to him just a minute ago.

He didn't realize he was still shaking until Hook captured his lips in a heated but leisurely kiss, the tension slowly leaving him as he focused on the sensations and the feel of Hook's beating heart against his own chest. "Relax," Hook whispered into Dean's mouth, before moving his mouth to tug on his earlobe, causing Dean to bite back another moan as he arched his back and grabbed hold of whatever was nearest, which happened to be a taut piece of rope trailing along the deck.

It was only when he was thoroughly distracted when he felt a cool, slick finger slide inside him.

His eyes shot open where they had fluttered closed, and he struggled to heed Hook's advice to relax. It wasn't terribly painful, just strange and foreign and a bit uncomfortable. At least at first. He regulated his breathing, though it immediately spiked when Hook's mouth descended on him lower than he ever expected, at the same time that he added another finger.

This one ached more than before, and Dean gripped the rope hard enough to leave burns along his palms. But then, something changed. The pain faded into a pulsing pleasure that sent an electric fire through Dean's veins.

He didn't know what he needed, didn't know what to ask. But Hook was a step ahead. He pulled out, which felt like an immediate loss, but in a moment, his fingers were replaced with…

Dean's head hit the deck with a loud crack, but he didn't feel it. His body thrummed, coiled and ready to spring, his mouth falling open in a wordless cry. As if from far away, he heard Hook's voice say, "Are you just going to hold onto that rope the whole time, mate?"

He uncurled his fingers from their vice grip, momentarily unsure of what to do with them now. He reached forward, tentatively running his fingers through the damp hair on Hook's chest, experimentally flicking them across a nipple and feeling a surge of satisfaction when Hook gasped and stuttered in his rhythm.

Feeling bolder now, Dean grabbed hold of Hook's hips, digging his fingers into the indentations there and pulling him forward, urging Hook to pick up the pace. Dean didn't even realize his body could react this way until it was answering every unspoken question that Hook's was asking and then some.

Blood was pounding in his ears and despite biting down on his lip, a ragged moan escaped him as his body shuddered through his release, feeling Hook rock his way through his own until they each collapsed.

After a few long moments of trying to remember how to breathe, Dean heard Hook ask, "Well? Did that help?"

Dean hardly knew. All he knew was that his body was numb, his heart was still pounding, and he hadn't felt this good in a while. And as much as he was prepared for it, the feeling of panic or regret didn't come washing over him in torrents. "That was...certainly something."

Hook snickered. "I'll take that as a compliment." He sat up, something obviously catching his eye. He turned back to Dean. "Better get your clothes back on, mate."

"What? Why?"

"Because," said Hook with a devilish grin, "we found the mermaids."

Part Four

It was nearly dark when the Jolly Roger returned to the harbor just in time for the Impala to come to a graceful stop a little ways off. By the time that Hook had parked the boat good and proper, Dean saw that Sam and Cas were waiting for them.

"So, how'd it go?" Sam asked as Dean walked down the ramp.

"Fine," Dean said before Hook could say anything to the contrary. He could tell that Cas was staring at him, but he couldn't quite meet the angel's eyes.

"Dean, what happened?" Cas asked, his voice thick with concern. "Your shirt's torn - are you hurt?"

Dean's cheeks burned, but he hoped that in the present light it wouldn't be obvious. "The mermaids put up a fight. But we got what we needed." He held out a long, silvery hair to Cas. And he couldn't take it anymore -he looked into his eyes.

He looked the same - he was Cas, he always looked so very Cas - but there was an undercurrent that was racing through Dean's veins now...one that he recognized, and could name, and could chase.

Cas cracked one of his rare but sincere smiles and Dean felt like he was drowning. "Thank you, Dean. Now we have all the ingredients for the spell."

It was Sam who called up to Hook. "Thanks for offering your ship's services. What can we offer you in way of payment?"

Dean didn't need to turn around to know that Hook was smirking. "I'm afraid that won't be necessary. I'm more than happy to render my...services."

This time he did turn around, ready to glare or shoot off some comeback, but he stopped when Hook just nodded solemnly at him. "Good luck, mate."

And Dean knew what he meant.

And as they walked back to the Impala, if anyone thought Dean was walking a bit too close to Cas or staring a bit too long, they never said a word.

But Dean thought maybe, when he looked into Cas' eyes and saw eternity looking back, his angel knew exactly what he meant.