Disclaimer: See Prologue…

Chapter One

Her face is a map of the world…

Sam sat, hunched over the rickety motel table, yet another random newspaper spread in front of him, as his unseeing eyes stared at the same spot between newsprint. He sighed, frustrated at their inability to find another job. It was as if, all of a sudden, all supernatural beings had gone on vacation or something.

"Maybe they all went back to hell," Dean's voice broke Sam's day dreaming from across the room, where he sat perched on a stiff bed, leaning against the headboard with the laptop balancing on muscular thighs.

Sam snorted at that, the image in his head hilariously ridiculous in its depiction of God sentencing all worldly evil to an eternity of hell. And the whole ordeal going unnoticed. "Come on, this doesn't just stop happening, Dean," he finally answered, pushing the newspaper to the floor in desertion and sitting back in the arm chair, which teetered precariously under his weight. That's what he and his brother get for slacking off on earning cash.

"I don't know, Sam. I don't have any other explanation for it. We haven't heard from Dad in weeks, and we've been aimlessly wandering the countryside looking for anything and everything that might even come close to requiring our certain area of expertise. There's not much more we can do than just wait."

Sam sighed again. He couldn't recall the name of the Podunk town they were currently residing in, though he knew there were somewhere in Oklahoma. Nor could he remember the last time that they'd even come across anything that looked like it called for either them or their offbeat line of work. He was getting restless. And the fact that they couldn't even contact their father for fear of what may or may not happen to him wasn't making their lives any easier.

Dean's grunt of interest drew his own, and he stood and moved toward the mattress his older brother was currently seated on. "What is it?" he inquires, sitting on the edge near Dean's feet.

"I just ran across an article from the Taholah Times from Taholah, Washington. Seems there's been quite a few fishing ships going down or coming back without any crew on board in Grays Harbor. Other than being fishing boats, the only common denominator between all of them is that they ran within three miles of a little island about thirty miles out called Samhain Isle," Dean explains, his brow furrowed in concentration and eyes never leaving the glowing screen of the laptop.

"I'm going to ignore the irony of the title and all, but yeah…so you think it's our kinda thing?" Sam looks hopefully at his brother, not necessarily wanting to hear a negative answer - though possibly true - but optimistic at the idea of a new gig.

"Might as well check it out. It's not like anything else is calling our names," Dean grins widely at his baby brother, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Get the stuff packed up, Sammy. We're going to Washington."

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"So, what did you find?" Dean asks quietly, leaning over Sam's shoulder to peer at the large book spread out in front of the younger Winchester.

"Samhain Isle was first settled in the early 1800's by mariners. No one really knows the origin of Irish culture there. The title of the island is from the ancient Celtic calendar, and it translates into 'November'. It's generally accepted that when the British were first settling western Canada, they happened to have some Irish seamen along, who then settled in some of northwestern Washington and then out onto Samhain Isle.

The population of the island has never been large; it's never, in its 130 some years reached 1,000 citizens. It's a small island, maybe four miles long and two miles across. Today, the population of the island is maybe 500, 600 people. And they pretty much keep to themselves, employing pilots or seamen to come to the mainland for supplies. They've always been a fairly self-sufficient people."

"So, you're saying that they're primitive. You know, living in caves and small huts and whatnot?" Dean surmises, chewing thoughtfully on the tip of his pen.

"No. Absolutely not. Though they do tend to keep to themselves, they have all the luxuries of today. It's said to be pretty elite out there. Old money kind of stuff. Their citizens have always made a killing in the fish and sea mammal pelt market because it's said to be rich with fish and seal. So, they've got everything you and I would have if we were to stay put," Sam explains, his desire to live a normal life coming to the surface once again.

Dean decides to make better of the situation and only acknowledge it with a short, witty remark, "Maybe you'll have the white picket fence someday, bro, but for now, we've got phantom pirates to hunt down."

"What makes you think they're pirates?" Sam scoffs, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his brother.

"I don't know…'cause pirates are cool?" Dean suggests, shrugging indifferently.

"How do you manage to get by in this world," Sam smirks, shaking his head in disbelief at his brother's antics.

"Well, by my good looks and charm of course," Dean replies grandly, sweeping himself out of the uncomfortable wooden library chair he'd settled in. "Now, if your calculations are correct, Mr. Spock, I think our next destination is Samhain Isle," he states in his best Captain Kirk impression.

"Right, compare me to the alien, when you're the weird one," Sam growls, following his brother out of the small public building.

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Neither of the brothers knew exactly what they were looking for. For all the idea they had, it could have been phantom pirates they were after. Of course, Sam prayed that it was anything but, even if it was only so that he wouldn't have to hear his brother gloat. However, in their line of work, nothing could be ruled out as possibility.

The ferry to Samhain only ran three times a day, and it was a long ride. Dean had almost had to leave the Impala on the mainland, but after bribing the attendant, he'd succeeded in squeezing his muscle car on the vessel, and now they had nothing more to do than wait.

"So, you said that the island was originally settled by Irish, right?" Dean asks, obviously only talking shop because he's bored out of his mind. Sam nods in the affirmative, eliciting a grunt from Dean. "Do they have any folklore about the sea?"

"Well, yeah. Ireland was big on the whole seafaring life. There're tons of legends about fin folk, and mer-people. But I don't think Ariel and Flounder had anything to do with this," Sam states, sarcasm coating his last phrase.

Looking out over the water toward a small section of land located, quite literally, in the middle of the ocean, Dean's attention is suddenly drawn to a colony of seals sunning themselves on high, jutting rocks. He watches for a while, knowing that a thought is in the back of his mind, but he can't quite reach it.

"What about seals?" he finally inquires, hazel eyes still fixed on the intelligent sea mammals.

"You think that a colony of seals are killing fishermen and kidnapping them from their boats?" Sam scoffs, following Dean's gaze to the colony.

Dean cuffs his little brother on the back of the head, giving him a look reminiscent of their father when Dean came home with an 'F' in Algebra. "No, idiot. I was referring to the legends. Isn't there an old Irish legend about seal people?"

Sam stops for a moment, obviously sweeping the holds of his mind for anything remotely like what his brother is suggesting. After a few moments, he reaches the laptop out of the bag at his feet, setting it on the picnic style table in front of him.

The elder Winchester waits as patiently as possible, only tapping his fingers against the wood of their bench a couple of times before Sam finds something.

"Yeah, there are myths about selkie-folk. Seals that have magical skins and can turn into humans. Of course, the recordings of how often they could turn into humans are not at all alike. Some say only at certain times of year, and maybe only once a year. Others say every night. It varies."

"And what are they known to be like?" Dean leans over to look at the screen, pushing Sam aside lightly.

"It says that they're generally thought to be peace loving creatures. However, when their families or colonies are compromised, they have been known to lash out at fishermen and such. But there are very few accounts of that ever happening," Sam explains, looking out at the now distant colony of sea creatures. "You don't seriously think we're dealing with angry selkies, do you?"

"It's not out of the question, Sammy. I mean, we've dealt with weirder, right?" Dean shrugs.

"I guess so, but, according to everything I've ever heard of them, they're peaceful," Sam reiterates.

"You said it yourself, they're peaceful until compromised. If some of their kind has become endangered by the fishing industry around here, or if some crooks are suddenly hunting for seal pelt, that just might be enough to piss them off. Come on, Sam, you'd be pretty fucked up if someone was hunting me and Dad for our skins, wouldn't you?"

"Well…I…Yeah, I would. But why now?"

"Maybe it's only become serious now. Maybe they're sick of being hunted and treated like shit. I don't know why now…all I know is that we have to fix it."

☼☼☼

"So, how do you begin a search for evidence of mythical creatures?"

"Dean, what makes you think I would know the answer to that."

"Well, don't they have courses on capturing unicorns and fairy tale beings in college?" Dean teases, eyeing his brother out of the corner of his eye.

"No, Dean…I can't say that I've ever heard of a college offering those courses," Sam groans, merely humoring his brother.

The books hadn't lied. Samhain Isle was absolutely tiny. Dean was nearly scared to death that the Impala would put them at risk of sinking the entire land mass into the ocean, to be lost forever. And he was definitely more worried about the loss of the car than the island and its inhabitants.

"Did the article say anything about witnesses?" Sam finally inquires, his eyes breezing over the small town that lay around them. Though these people were said to be 'old money', they definitely lived middle class lives.

"Yeah…none. But it did say that the only fishing company to not be hit by tragedy was the company from here. So, I was thinking that maybe, we could start questioning people there. See if they've seen or heard anything strange around here lately," Dean replies casually.

Though the company headquarters was on the opposite side of the island from the ferry dock, it didn't take long to get there. Four miles went quickly when you were having fun.

Dean strode easily, and a bit cockily into the small building, looking only briefly at the painted logo on the door. The young man behind the counter smiled at the brothers genially, his ice blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight that came in off the open warehouse door toward the ocean.

"Hi there. Can I help you gentlemen?" He couldn't have been more than 21 years old, just short of Sam's own age.

"We're from the Washington State Police," Dean answers politely. "Here to ask about the, uh…disappearances that have been going on."

"Oh, I see." Upon mention of the tragedies, the young man's mood and face immediately darken, obviously clouded over in either sadness or guilt, neither Sam nor Dean could quite gauge it. "Well, no one around here has seen anything. That you can be sure of."

"How long has this operation been in business?" Sam pipes in, brow furrowed in concentration and feigned professionalism.

"The company has been in the O'Doul family for…gosh…a hundred years, maybe?" he's hesitant, not positive on the intel, and obviously wanting to get it right for the state cops. He looks around, trying his hardest to find someone who could answer the question more clearly. Across the room, near the open warehouse door, a middle aged man has been loading some large crates onto wooden flats. "Hey, Ben! How long has the company belonged to the O'Douls?"

The older man straightens, scratching his head in thought and peering through eye glasses at the three young men. "I'd say around a hundred years, Michael. Why?"

"These gentlemen are from the state police. Looking into the goings on," Michael calls back. "Thanks, Ben." Ben gives a 'no problem' gesture and returns to his work.

"So, O'Doul's is the only company that hasn't lost any ships or fishermen, am I correct in saying that?" Dean presses, hazel eyes fixed intently on Michael.

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't find that a bit odd?" Sam nearly cringes at the suspicious tone in his brother's deep voice.

"Can't say as I do, no," Michael's reply is timid, as though he's under interrogation.

"Well, thank you for your time," Sam interjects before Dean can push any further.

"I don't really feel like I've helped at all, but you're welcome, anyhow," Michael smiles up at him, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"We appreciate it, really," Dean says in an over the top, sarcastic manner.

Sam rolls his eyes, nodding a 'goodbye' to Michael and leading his brother out of the small building. "I get belligerent, but that was just nuts, Dean."

"What? You don't think it's suspicious that the only company to not fall victim to this stuff is this one?"

"So, what? You think that it's all some master plan made up by this small fishing outfit to monopolize the market? Dean, that's crazy…and completely not what we want to hear."

"I don't know about you, but I'm here for the truth…and if it's not our kinda case, it's not our kinda case," he replies with a note of finality, leaning on the top of his beloved car. From where he stands, he can see the beach and the ocean waves lapping against the sand of it. Wandering along the edge of the water, he spots a young woman, who immediately grabs his attention.

Sam, following his brother's attentive gaze, sighs heavily. "Did we or did we not have the discussion about your upstairs brain?"

"Shut up, Sammy. Who says we can't question civilians? If it is some of these fantasy creatures wreaking havoc on the mainland fishing boats, then anybody around here could know something about it."

Sam merely rolls his eyes, which then focus on the fast disappearing form of his older brother as he makes his way down to the beach. There is an uncharacteristic swing in Dean's step, as though he actually may not know what to expect out of this girl. Of course, it's only enough for someone in the role of little brother to notice.

Dean's boots crunch against the fine sand, but he doesn't care that it will remove the element of surprise. He only wants to talk to her.

She is folded in half, retrieving some unknown object from the sand. He steps up behind her, his body confident, angry even. She doesn't even seem to notice his presence. Hands shoved in his jacket pockets, he looks her over, eyes roaming, albeit briefly, over her perfect ass. He clears his suddenly dry throat, loudly cutting through the air.

She turns slowly, her dark eyes meeting his hazel, his warm breath bouncing off her cheeks. She is neither surprised by his presence nor phased by his nearness. Both her self assuredness and self awareness unsettling.

For a minute, Dean can feel his breath leave his body, and he wonders if this is what falling feels like. Of course, he meant in the figurative, romantic sense, which is something he'd never admit aloud. He finds himself lost in dark pools of…everything. This young woman, girl even, bears an old soul…the kind passed down from generation to generation. And she has a beauty that only the earth itself could ever know.

He can practically feel her reading his mind, crawling into his soul through his eyes. But he couldn't even begin to read her, and that disturbed him more than that old soul, or the dark, endless eyes. Maybe disturbed was the most appropriate word…intrigued, infatuated…no woman had ever made him feel this way. Well, no woman aside from one, and she'd died in that tremendous fire 22 years ago.

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A/N: Thought I'd leave you all with no dialogue and simply exposition, and quite a cliffhanger. I got great reviews for the prologue, even if the boys weren't present, so I appreciate those of you who did review, and my reward to you is this chapter…This is the most confident I've ever been in my own writing.

On another note, Taholah, Washington, really does exist, though I doubt that their paper is the Taholah Times…that was just me taking creative liberty. And no, I have never been to Taholah, so I hope that no one is offended by this, as it was only briefly mentioned.