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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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By the Deep Blue Sea

Chapter 11

By Sea and By Land

From Chapter 10

Marduk had been speared in the thigh once, long ago and he knew how it hurt and how he bled. He had run from the sharks that day, leaving a blood trail behind before he could flee to dry land. Never again would he let that happen and he certainly was not going to let it happen to Ashur.

He threw himself into the boat and slammed into the side. The boat cooperated with him and capsized neatly, tossing both Vance brothers into the ocean. Marduk took one and Ashur took the other. Marduk slammed one Vance brother into the prow of the boat, knocking him unconscious. Ashur did the same to the brother in his hands. The Vance brother never felt it as they drown.

Marduk and Ashur dragged the dead bodies to the deepest part of their territory and stuffed them under shelves in the coral. Marduk pulled the shelves down on the bodies, keeping them from floating away. The Vance brothers became a feast for the small scavengers of the ocean floor.

It would be a long time before anyone even noticed the Vance brothers were missing. Only the old half mad Hunter wondered where his willing audience had gone.

Chapter 11

Gabriel Wing sat in the little bar he had found. It had big windows overlooking the ocean and he had become such a regular he had a favorite seat, center stage. From his comfortable and familiar chair he could sit and glare at the ocean all night as long as he paid for the beer.

He was supposed to be on shift tonight but had called in sick. A couple of half-hearted coughs and a sniff was all the energy he had put into the masquerade. Even the woman on the other end of the phone knew it was bullshit but as long as he played his part, she would play hers. After a "you get better soon" she hung up on him and went on to the next call. Gabriel was free to go back to his chair, his beer and his contemplation of the Pacific Ocean. He was running out his sick leave before handing in his resignation.

Even though he had made up his mind to leave the force he had no idea what he was going to do after that. He had done applications on line to a number of jurisdictions but no one had replied. He wondered if Ryder and Prost might be giving out bad recommendations but why should they bother? They wanted him out of their hair and much as he wanted out of Malibu. He blamed the crash and burn of his career on those damn mermen. "Thanks, assholes,"" he murmured and saluted the rolling ocean with a raised beer.

His obsession with the Malibu sands at night and Hicks and Brown picking him up off the Pacific Coast Highway at three in the morning mostly naked had created a whispering campaign in the station that he had slipped over the edge. He knew Captain Prost was just waiting to see him with orders for a psych evaluation.

He knew there were probably a couple of easy busts here in the bar but he couldn't find the energy to care. When he got tired of looking at the ocean sometimes he would study his fellow drinkers and try to figure out what was going on in this place. It didn't look like drugs but there was a definite undercurrent of tension in the place. He had good instincts. There was a stealthy smell to the place like something was hidden underneath the casual conversations and juke box music.

A number of tables would normally hold solitary men who were not looking either for conversation or company. These men all kept a close eye on the front door and occasionally another solitary man would come in and a ripple would spread through the room. They would nod or flick a greeting to the newcomer but no one spoke. Sometimes the newcomer, after asking for a beer would turn and inventory the room checking out the patrons.

Usually the newcomer would finally pick someone and go and sit at their table. The men would talk for a while and then either leave together or the newcomer would move to another table.

Gabriel would smile every time this happened. It almost looked like interviews for a job of some kind. Snorting into the suds floating on top of his beer he thought how funny it would be if these men were all hookers. It would have to be a special club for ugly, old, wrinkled and scarred male hookers. Gabriel was aware that people were weird but he really didn't think they were that weird.

The front door swung open and another newcomer entered the place. He was an older man, a little bit on the chunky side with a red beard sprinkled with grey, a dirty baseball hat and a puffy vest. Like any other newcomer he went to the bar but he bought two beers instead of one, turned and focused on a particular man who was sitting in the shadowed back end of the place and went right to that table. Again, this was not normal. There was no rapid catalogue of the other men in the bar. He went straight for his target.

The two of them didn't hide their voices. Mr. Baseball Cap called out "Hey, Grover!" and the man at the table returned the greeting "Hey, Bobby, you made it. Good to see you, Singer." It was the first time Gabriel could remember hearing anybody's full name spoken in the place.

He noticed that other people had heard the name and a few of them stood and went over to greet his guy, Bobby Singer. In just a couple of minutes there were at least six guys at Singer's table, carrying their beers. They were laughing and slapping Singer's back. It looked like old home week. Evidently this Singer guy was a popular old coot.

Gabriel went back to his disgruntled staring at the ocean. He was so sunk in his funk that he didn't even notice when Singer and the guy he called Grover left their table and headed for him

"Hey," Singer said. "Are you Detective Wing?"

Gabriel startled and almost spilled his drink. "Yes, yes, I'm Wing. How can I help you?" he answered.

"I'm Bobby Singer from South Dakota and this is my friend Grover Adams." The two men pulled out chairs and sat down at Gabriel's table, blocking his view of the ocean. "We hear tell you had a run in with a couple of Meres."

"Somebody post a note on the bulletin board Crazy cop at table 5?" Gabriel sputtered.

"Take it easy, Detective," Singer said. "You don't have to worry about us. We know enough to keep a secret. From what's already gotten out though we figured you might want to tell your story to people who would believe you."

Gabriel looked around at the room. "What is this place? And while you're answering that one, what are Meres? Why would you think I'd talk to you about anything?"

Bobby removed his hat and scratched his head. "Let's just say that most of the guys in this room wouldn't even blink if you told them you'd had a run in with a merman. A lot of them would try to top your story. Let's just say that I'm ready to believe you. You look like an outstanding guy. A good cop who had something happen to him that he doesn't understand. I've heard enough of the rumors around here to come all the way from South Dakota to talk to you and other witnesses."

Gabriel lowered his beer carefully to the table top. "You know of other people who seen these guys?"

"Yeah," Singer went on. " There's you, of course, and maybe your partner House. There's a stock broker by the name of Neil Redmond and a couple of Patrol officers called Hicks and Brown; lots of witnesses. In addition it's said that a ship went down a while ago and the people on board are blaming these Meres. That's half a dozen witnesses right there. More than we usually have for a case like this."

Gabriel stared at the man. "For a case? What kind of case? You guys aren't cops, that's for sure. How do you know this stuff?"

Bobby leaned forward. "Look Detective, you don't have any reason to talk to us except we're willing to listen to you and believe. We're here to find these Meres and try just to take my word for it. We do this kind of stuff all the time. No one will know. No one is going to talk to the papers or to anyone else for that matter. We do what we do and we shut up about it. What'd you say? You want to talk to us about what you saw?"

To hell with it, Gabriel thought. What do I have to lose? I've already lost my job and there's nothing out there for me. Why not?

"Mr. Singer," Gabriel said slowly. "I'm willing to tell you everything I saw if you will agree to take me with you to hunt these things. One of them tried to drown me. I'd like to settle the score."

"Detective Wing," Bobby answered, "if you go out intending to kill one of these creatures I won't take you with us. This is a fact gathering mission. Meres are members of an ocean society that was thought to have died out centuries ago. If you have come across a fragment of the society I want to know about it. I'd like to talk to these Meres."

Gabriel leaned back and took a sip of his beer. "Why? Why would you want to try and talk to these things? They're dangerous, vicious thieves. I was chasing them after they robbed their sixth beach house and one of them had a good go at trying to kill me. They need to be stopped not negotiated with."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Singer replied. "The Meres have been whispered about for four thousand years. The secrets they might know are unimaginable. Do you want to take us through your story or do we just walk away and leave you here?"

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Ashur and Marduk floated off shore, watching a place on the shore that they had found fascinating. It had softly glowing windows and they could see people walking in and out all night. There were many vehicles parked outside, which Ashur found to be more interesting than the people inside. The Syrian wanted to touch those cars. He wanted to know how they worked. What made them move?

Marduk knew that the place was something called a bar. It was a gathering place for the humans. Over the centuries Marduk had spent more time on land than Ashur had and he knew about alcohol. He had even tried it once but it made him snort and it had blown back out his nose. It tasted awful and burned his throat. Humans seemed to like it for some reason.

There was a drink called beer that Marduk thought he might be able to keep from spitting up. It tasted awful, like rotting shell fish but he could take it. Ashur wanted to try it too so they had come tonight with their human clothes in a bag. The brothers thought they would like to try to go in the bar and listen to the people talk. If Marduk was going to become Sam and live on land with Ashur as Dean they needed to practice being around these humans.

The bar might be a good place to start.

They swam through the surf and ran low over the sands, carrying their bag. Behind some rocks they dried their hair and bodies and dressed in the things called T-shirts and Jeans. For shoes they had these soft things called sneakers. As they rarely walked anywhere except in their cave their feet were not at all comfortable in hard shoes or boots. The sneakers seemed best.

Finally dressed they wandered up the beach and into the parking lot. Dean walked from car to car running his hands over curves he found especially enticing. Sam simply shook his head. His brother loved the strangest things. There was a bright red sign in the window that reflected on the shiny cars, creating sparkles and flashes that amused Dean. Sam found the name of this place was The Sea Lounge spelled out in those bright red letters. Once Dean was by his side Sam pulled open the door and they walked into this most human place. There was a music box against the wall and the boys had seen one of those before. Sam dug in his pants pocket and supplied Dean with quarters to make the music play. The shorter Mere went to the gaudy box and stood next to a young man who was leaning on the machine scanning the selections.

"Hello," Dean said softly. "I have money." He showed the young man the quarters Sam had given him. "Do you want to pick some music?"

The young man glanced at Dean the picked some quarters out of his hand. He showed Dean what buttons to push. Harsh music came out with a beat that made Dean want to dance. The machine wailed out "Born, born to be wild" and Dean threw his hands up and laughed. Sam noticed that, as usual, his brother was attracting attention and went over to pull Dean to the bar. With their backs to the room, which was now a lot livelier with the music playing, they sat down and ordered the beers.

The bartender looked them over and decided not to ask for I.D. even though the blonde guy seemed to be short a few cards in the deck. The bartender had noticed the action at the juke box and had seen Jeff Jenks be kind to the guy. He pulled a couple of cold beers out and popped the caps.

With their cold drinks in their hands Sam and Dean swung around on the funny chairs and looked over the other people in the room.

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Gabriel was still at his table with Grover Adams and Bobby Singer. They were debating back and forth about which viewpoint was more valid. Wing still wanted to stop the robberies and felt that since one of the Meres had tried to drown him, they were too dangerous to be allowed to run loose.

Bobby argued that Wing was not taking into account the cultural differences. His argument was that they could have killed Wing but instead had dragged him to the breakwater and let him recover. The Meres in what little lore was known always had been robbers. They raided the shore for those things they felt belonged to the ocean. It was an old tradition that Meres were natural raiders and treasure needed to be guarded when they were around.

"It's just part of their natures," Bobby said. "You can't hold it against them. And it's not that they don't know any better. They just don't care. They live by a different code. Human laws are like a foreign language. I'm not saying they couldn't learn but they will never feel it in their bones."

"It's a lot like trying to keep raccoons out of your garbage cans. It's in their nature and the more you try to fight them off the higher the stakes get in the game." Bobby got odd glances over that comparison. "I once took to keeping the garbage cans in the garage and the little buggers tore the wire netting off the vents to get at the cans. I had to pick up garbage every morning. I finally gave in and bought a steel shed with a padlock on the door. Maybe I'm carrying this comparison and little too far. I just get pissed every time I remember those varmints."

Gabriel laughed and raised his beer. He was beginning to like this Singer guy. He looked out over the dark ocean but his eyes were attracted to the reflections in the window of people in the bar. His hand froze and he stared at the faces of two men.

"Mr. Singer,' he whispered. "Don't turn around and look yet but they're here."

"Who's here, Wing?" Bobby asked.

"The Meres. They're at the bar drinking beer." Gabriel answered.

"What do you mean?' Singer snorted. "If there were two guys with tails instead of legs here the place would be in a uproar."

"Didn't I tell you?" Gabriel whispered again. "On land they have legs. I'm telling you, they are right there at the bar. One's blonde and the other is a great big guy with floppy brown hair."

"Are you telling me they can pull a Little Mermaid trick? They grow legs on land? This I gotta see." Bobby swiveled in his chair and looked at the two young men.

Unfortunately for Bobby's intentions Sam had caught sight of Gabriel at the same time that Gabriel had seen Sam. Sam knew Gabriel Wing as the man who had shot him and who he had threatened to drown. Sam grabbed his brother's arm and hissed "Run!"