Dean drew the cigarette from his lips and exhaled smoke lazily. The sun was burning, but he had a cooler full of beers next to him and he was looking forward to roasting whatever he caught in his traps tonight. It was a day for lethargic smoking and thinking of blissful nothing for the first time in weeks.
Until the boat started rocking, and the water began to seethe with white waves.
Dean jumped up, his cigarette dropping from his mouth and hissing out in the puddle of water at his feet. The boat was rocking from the sheer force of the fish. It was probably a shark; he had to be careful.
He drew his rifle with one hand and with the other he whipped his knife from his pocket. He was going to have to cut the bindings if he didn't want to kill the creature. He desperately strained his memory to remember whether sharks were something he was allowed to kill. Weren't they on the endangered list Sammy had been shoving in his face before he waved him off that morning…?
"Goddamn it." He hissed as he began to saw at the rope. "…son of a bitch." His heart pounded as the small dingy continued to careen with the strength of the enormous fish and he nearly lost his footing.
But even when he loosed a side of the net, the fish did not stop it's writhing.
"IQ of a pumpkin. Jesus, just take the road out!" Dean shouted at it, bracing himself against the side of the boat as the rocking, somehow, increased in magnitude.
Then it stopped.
"What the hell…" Dean muttered to himself, trying to peer into the water without the risk of tumbling headlong if the boat were to lurch with a renewal of the creature's struggles.
What the HELL. The shadow of the fish was long and dark, not at all that of a shark- not like anything he'd ever seen. In fact, the top half looked… almost… is that a fucking hand?
Dean squinted through the glare of the sun on the crest of the ocean's calm waves and was suddenly seized with panic. The white flesh, the curve of the body- there was, unmistakably, a person stuck in his net, and they had stopped struggling for no reason Dean wanted to think about.
Dean dropped his rifle and quickly began to pull the net up into the boat. The man was heavier than anything he'd ever tried to pull in, but adrenaline assisted him.
Dark, close-cropped hair emerged first, then a bare chest with arms hanging limply by each side. Dean squeezed his eyes shut with the effort as he dragged the man the final foot over the edge of the small boat.
He fell back as the man's weight toppled onto him, crashing to the floor with his arms in a death grip around the stranger's bare chest. Part of the net wrapped around the man's neck, cutting off his airway. Dean quickly and carefully wedged his knife in between the skin of his neck and the rope and gave a deft tug. The rope snapped, but after a beat Dean saw that the man was still not breathing. He tried his best to remember CPR- pinch the nose, tilt the head back, don't get air in the stomach-
He pressed his lips to the lips of the cold body and blew, watching his stomach. Beyond that, though, a shimmering the same color of the ocean's waves caught his eye. Dean could have sworn he saw a tail just as he had first seen in the dark shadow of the water, but then he blinked and there was nothing but bare feet, legs, and- oh. He would have to find him some pants if he managed to save his life.
Just as he was about to press his lips to the stranger's again, the man started to cough. He rolled over, spewing water from his mouth, and opened his eyes. The sound was so harsh and ragged that Dean was sure the rope had squeezed him hard enough to damage his voice.
He waited awkwardly until it was clear that the stranger had emptied his lungs of water before he went searching for the extra blanket he kept in his emergency supplies. He draped it over the man's shoulders as he helped him to sit up on the hard, wood floor of the dingy.
"Hey. You ok?" Dean asked after a beat. The man was still coughing and clutching his throat. He took deep, rasping breaths. His panicked, deep blue eyes caught on Dean's, though, and Dean froze with the intensity of that stare. He held his gaze for a moment longer before a new round of coughing doubled him over.
Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. He'd never seen eyes like that before, the same color of the depths of the ocean. He'd never been fucking caught by someone's stare before, either.
"Hey." Dean tried again, placing a reassuring hand on the stranger's shivering shoulder. Then those hauntingly beautiful eyes were back on him, pressed with somber fear. Dean swallowed hard before he found his voice again. "What the hell were you doing under my boat?"
After a nervous pause, the man tried to speak, but a terrible rasping overtook his words and he doubled over in fits of coughing again.
Dean didn't have anything other than beer, but anything was probably better than nothing when he'd choked down saltwater. He quickly popped the bottle open and handed it to the stranger. He swallowed it down immediately and made a face of complete disgust before downing another gulp.
He coughed some more.
"Look, we're not that far from shore. I don't have much on here…" Dean silently cursed Sammy for being right, once again, that he should bring more supplies out to sea with him, "but I live nearby and I have clothes there, and water."