When you live on Carthage Island your life is dictated by the sea. You are forced to obey the tide, or else be thrown against the rocks. You are at the mercy of a thing that is greater than you, a thing that does not care if you live or die. The sea is a fickle thing, one moment it can be as calm for as far as the eye can see, and the next you can be tossed about the waves as children might toss about a ball.

Dean Winchester loved the sea, he worked as a fisherman, a dangerous occupation. Fishermen were rare on the island, since very few men wished to risk their lives along the shores in hope of a good catch. They would rather risk their land by farming it.

Dean was one of the better fishermen on the island; he almost never landed without some sort of catch. He would keep the best of it for himself and his brother and trade the rest in the village for the things he couldn't get or make himself.

Dean was lying on his back, his eyes closed against the sun that beat down on his skin. His boat rocked as waves beat against it. Dean had helped his father build this boat many years ago; he had still been young enough that his father hadn't felt the need to tell him how his mother had died. Still young enough for his father to act like a father to him, instead of a superior officer.

He loved lying in the sun while waiting for the fish to bite. Feeling it warm his skin as he dozed on his back. Dean had freckles all over because of all the time he spent in the sun, the years he had spent getting burned by the sun were long gone, he now had a golden tan that never quite went away. His brother Sam had drilled it in his head to at least put sunscreen on. Dean hated the feeling of the oily coating on his skin, but Sam had this sixth sense about it, so every hour or so Dean would grumble his way through another coat of the stuff.

Dean felt the pole twitch against his ankle. He had set a few fishing lines up today, it wasn't the right time of year for nets just yet. He sat up, momentarily blinded by the bright sun. His fishing pole was beginning to bend under the weight of its catch. Dean smiled to himself, and here he was thinking it was high time to bring it in and go home.

He grabbed it and began reeling it in; feeling the fish fight him as he slowly pulled it to its death. That usually meant it was going to be a good dinner for him and Sam. The line got pulled viciously, dragging Dean forward. Dean fell against the edge of the boat, the wood digging into his chest. He kept his grip on the fishing pole; it had been drilled into him as a child to always keep a hold on the fishing pole. Keeping your grip and letting go could mean the difference between a full stomach and an empty one.

The line went slack, the fish had gotten away.

"God dammit," Dean growled. He reeled the line in slowly, no need to rush anymore. He heard a bark behind him. He turned to see a seal with its head above the water. Dean cursed, he hated seals. They would eat his bait and anything that happened to be on the line. It dipped its dark head below the water for a moment before surfacing again.

It let out a series of barks then, and Dean would swear later on that it was laughing at him.

"Fuck you too," Dean glared at the animal. It let out another bark, louder than the rest. Dean turned back to the job of putting away his fishing poles, putting them gently along the floor of his boat so that the lines wouldn't tangle. He glanced over the side, the seal was still there. Its head was cocked to the side as he watched him go about his work, its blue eyes followed Dean's every movement. Dean had never seen a seal with blue eyes before, it blinked slowly at Dean. Dean shook himself and got back to work.

It was starting to weird Dean out just a little. Did it want what little Dean had caught that day? Why didn't it just swim away like a normal animal? It just stayed there, swimming lazily along the side of his boat. It didn't leave until Dean stuck the oars over the side and began rowing back to shore. Only then did it dip beneath the waves and swim away.

Dean forgot about the seal as he rowed back to shore, there wasn't enough wind to put his sail up, and using it this close to shore was dangerous on the best of days. You had to go slowly when approaching the island, rocks above and below the water surrounded the few bays on the island. You had to be on the lookout for anything that might capsize you boat.

Dean knew this particular bay the best, he had rowed through it with his Dad as a child, and he had kept using it once his Dad was gone. Push an oar deep into the water, push off a rock, and let the water do the work for you. He knew the way like he knew the back of his hand; he knew it almost as well as he knew Sam, and he knew the kid pretty damn well.

The bay was small, not used by the other islanders because it was so hard to get in and out of. It had a beach of small pebbles instead of sand, making it slightly painful to walk on. Dean hopped out of his small boat when the water was waist high; he pulled the boat in the rest of the way. He pulled it onto the beach, leaving it well above water level. Dean wasn't planning on losing his boat to high tide. Once his boat was secured Dean started the walk back to his house, with the few fish he had managed to catch.

The island of Carthage had cliffs, lots of them. You couldn't reach the sea without climbing down one. Dean and Sam lived in a cabin above the bay where Dean set off almost every day to fish. A path crisscrossed along the wall of the cliff, it was wide enough for two people to walk side by side, it was worn down by the many feet that had climbed it over the years.

Dean had made the climb many times, first with both his parents, than with his Dad, now he made it alone. Sam had never fished with Dean, he got horribly sea sick the one time he had gotten in a boat.

The cabin where they lived was an hour's walk away from the village, just the way Dean liked it. His grandfather had built the cabin when Dean's father was a kid; they had just moved to the island and didn't want to be a part of the village.

It was a nicely sized cabin, two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room where everything was done, from reading to fixing appliances. Dean and Sam had shared one room for most of their childhood; they only stopped when Dean started crashing on the couch in the living room after he had spent the day fishing. Too tired to make it all the way into the room he shared with Sam.

Sam didn't fish with Dean for a living, so instead he carved. He made furniture for the villagers and did repair work for anyone who needed them. There wasn't a woodworker on the island that was as talented as Sam, and that meant that Sam had a pretty good business on his hands. He kept a corner in the living room just for the things he had finished for the most part. Sam and Dean had made a shack for the bigger projects and the things that needed more work.

Dean loved the cabin; it was where he and Sam had been raised. It was home in a way nothing else would be. It was the place setting for most of the memories with his mother, at least the better ones anyway.

Dean put the bucket on the table. Sam looked up from his book, sparing a glance at the bucket he asked. "Small catch today?" Dean nodded, he reached in and grabbed a fish, they needed to be gutted quickly before he could store them away for later. It was never a pleasant task, but with Sam's help it usually went by quickly.

They got to work cutting into the fish in silence. There were only three of them, all pretty good sizes, they would've fetched a good price in the market, but they were running low on their personal supply. They were keeping this for themselves.

"So, I went into the village today," Sam began.

"Did you get any more orders?" Dean cut through the last fish as Sam put away the already gutted fish.

"No, but I saw Lisa." Sam was many things, but subtle was not one of them. He had been trying to talk to Dean about her for the last three months, but he hadn't been able to get a word from him.

"Well of course you did," Dean looked up from his hands. "Did you also drink tea and braid each other's hair?" Sam sighed, a quick gust that told Dean that he thought Dean was acting childish. So what if he was? Dean had earned the right to be childish now and then.

"Will you just talk to me, what's so wrong about Lisa? She's nice, and funny." Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the fridge. They had a generator at the back of the cabin. They stocked up on fuel every time the boat came to Carthage.

"There's nothing wrong with Lisa, I just have no interest in Lisa." Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off. "No, you are not going to play matchmaker with me, Sam. I'm serious, and I don't care if you think I'm going to die alone."

"Dean, it's not about dying alone," Sam pulled the puppy eyes out. Dean avoided his gaze, he was a sucker for those eyes and Sam knew it. "I just want you to be happy."

Dean sighed, he was starting to get a headache. He tossed the knife on the table. "I am happy, Sammy. Why don't you get that?" He walked to the sink and washed his hands.

"You're not happy Dean, you're content. There's a difference," Sam said quietly. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm trying Sam, just, leave it alone." He turned to face Sam, his brother nodded. Dean could tell that he wasn't really going to let it go anytime soon, but he at least had a reprieve for now.

"C'mon, we better cook something fast before it gets too late," Dean said with a pasted on smile.

Blood in the water, it was all around him, where was it coming from? Oh, it was coming from him, he was bleeding in the water. Castiel's flesh was ripped, if he stayed in the water he would die. If he stayed in this form he would die. He needed to get away, he needed to get to land, it was his only hope. Gabriel was gone, lost in the fray. He had lost his brother in the blood that swirled around his head.

Teeth clamped around his body, tearing it in an excruciatingly painful way. The creature had come from the deep, they didn't stray this close to the surface unless they were hungry. This one was starving. The creature was ripped away from Castiel; Gabriel had not been lost after all. He had been trying to save Castiel.

Castiel swam away, his blood leaving a trail for the creature to follow. It was too busy defending itself from Gabriel though. Castiel knew he would be alright, or at least he hoped so. Gabriel was quicker than he looked, able to outswim the creature if he put his mind to it. He would be all right; he had to be all right.

Castiel broke the surface, blowing water from his nose. An island was ahead of him, he could make it if he pushed himself, and he needed to get out of the water now. He was attracting predators to him with every drop of blood. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he swam. His flippers flailed in the water, lacking their usual grace, one of them had been badly damaged by the creature.

Rocks scraped at his sides, Castiel was having trouble swimming straight. He started shifting once he felt pebbles scrape against his stomach. His first skin loosened as the second skin took shape underneath. His flippers lengthened, shucking off the fur as his arms and legs took their place. His seal skin fell off his shoulders, leaving his head free of its weight. For one moment he was just an uninjured human, able to walk away from the monstrosity that had happened to him. Then his skin ripped apart, the injuries carried over from his other form, leaving him breathless and in pain.

Castiel crawled on his hands and knees' getting out of the water, his leg wasn't working right, it hurt to drag it along after him. He collapsed on the beach, pebbles scraping against his flesh, digging their way into his wounds.

He was losing too much blood, switching forms had only been a temporary solution, he was now wounded in both forms, and there didn't seem to be any help coming for him anytime soon. Castiel's breathing hitched. He would never know if Gabriel was okay or not now, he was going to die in his human form, all alone on a deserted beach.

Blackness swept over him slowly, starting at the edge of his vision before it completely took over. The second to last thing Castiel saw before he lost consciousness was a boat on the edge of his periphery, the last thing he saw was a bobbing beam of light and a pair of feet running towards him.

A/N

This popped into my head one day and I haven't been able to shake it ever since. This just goes to show that sometimes I just have a little to much time on my hands.

I'm planning on updating this only once a week, I want to make sure that the chapters are nice and actually really done. So that's my reasoning anyways.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!