Title: Tainted Love

Author: Silverkitsune

Part: 1/1

Characters: Dean, Sam

Rating: PG

Spoilers: None

Summary: "This time I'm not just going to hide it, I'm going to burn it." A play on my favorite Irish (well Irish/Scottish) folk tale in honor of St. Patrick's Day.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. That right belongs to the CW and Eric Kripke. However, everyone else who shows up belongs to me.

Authors note: Many thanks to my beta readers Michelle and Christie. They're good, decent, green beer drinking people.

There was ash covering Dean's jeans, and the sun was rising. The light spilled through the broken glass doors of the beach home they had just exorcised, and while his fingers went to his clothing, brushing the bits of black to the floor, his eyes went to Sam. Through one of the cracked glass panels Dean could see his younger brother, his gate relaxed and smooth, heading for the sandy beach below. Shouldering the now empty shotgun, the elder Winchester stepped carefully around the piles of shattered glass and followed his brother.

Sam stood near the shore line, his eyes on the waves as they slid across the sand before returning to the sea. Hearing his older brother's approach he turned and smiled. The rosy morning light seemed to wrap around Sam's shoulders like a coat, and the younger hunter rubbed the grit and dirt from a hunt well done out of his eyes, and shook the soot from his ash stained hair.

The joggers and dog walkers that usually populated the beach had yet to appear, and Dean reveled in the silence, happy to have Sam standing next to him, and the finished hunt behind him. He breathed in the smell of salt, and wrinkled his nose at the rotten seaweed that tempered the edges of the first smell.

"You wanna collect seashells?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "Are you kidding?"

"Build a sandcastle?"

"Sammy."

"I'll let you dig the moat."

"How about I throw you into the water instead?"

Sam rolled his eyes and headed for a spot further down the shore.

Flopping onto the beach, Dean laid the shotgun next to him, and went about removing his boots and then his socks. Unlike Sam, Dean was happy to wiggle his toes in the cool sand, and leave the chilly sea unexplored. Tilting his head in disbelief, he watched as Sam began picking through the shells that spotted the shore, casting some into the water and pocketing others.

"You are king of the nerds, Sammy," he called out. "All other nerds bow before you."

The ocean rushed up to surround his brother's ankles, and Sam flipped Dean the bird.

Leaning back on his elbows, Dean allowed his body to relax, the knots in his muscles loosening as he listened to the slow moving waves.

He heard the footsteps first. A soft quick pounding against the sand that made Dean sit up, and searched for their source.

"Sam," he called, suddenly nervous.

Straightening, the youngest Winchester's sharp eyes took in the long stretch of beach, the rustling waters and the occasional gull. Sam shrugged, and was promptly bowled over by a pale freckle faced girl with long black hair.

Dean's attempt to get to his feet was thwarted when a smaller and blonder girl's foot connected solidly with his stomach as she ran across him. Flat on his back Dean saw the blonde girl, who couldn't have been more than 16, lunge for the darker haired one, or rather for the long gray cloth that was draped over her shoulders.

The dark haired girl's shriek drowned out the soothing waves as Dean stood.

"No! You can't have it! Don't rip it! Let go! Oh, please don't rip it!"

The freckle faced girl looked near tears as she held tightly to part of the cloth. The blonde had a firm grip on the other half.

"It's mine, Abby!" The dark haired girl wailed. "I want to go home."

"No," Abby shot back shaking her head, blond hair flailing. "Dubheasa, I won't let you!"

"I belong in the ocean." The dark haired girl, Dubheasa, gave the cloth a tentative pull.

"You belong with me!"

Dean slowly wrapped his hand around the shotgun, careful not to attract the attention of the two shouting teenagers. It may have been empty, but it was still large and heavy enough to do damage if he needed to swing it. He got to his feet, nodding to Sam. His brother was sloshing through the water, inching towards the girls. Both his hands were up, one hand open with the palm facing forward, the other still clutched around a seashell.

"Um, ladies?"

Sam, his back to the ocean, didn't see when the surface of the water began to ripple and pucker. Unlike his brother he didn't notice the girl, naked except for the grey cloth that hung around her shoulders, emerge from the Atlantic's depths.

Neither the newly named Abby nor the freckle faced Dubheasa took notice of anything besides the cloth stretched between them.

"It's mine now," Abby shouted, her nails digging into the shimmering fabric. "And this time I'm not just going to hide it, I'm going to burn it."

If Dean had to guess the race of the naked girl (and what a girl!) climbing out of the water, he would have said Native American. If he had to guess the expression across her face he would have said fury.

Sam was still attempting to get either of the shouting girls to calm down, and the naked girl (who Dean was doing his best to not look at while attempting to maybe look a little) was storming up the beach with murder in her eyes.

"Sam!" Dean shouted in warning as he sprinted towards the group. His brother spotted the new arrival just as her fist connected with the Abby's nose.

"Menana?" Dubheasa cried happily at the sight of the girl.

"Shit!" Abby fell to the sand in a heap, blood leaking from her nostrils. The cloth had come with her, ripped from the horrified looking Dubheasa's hands, sailing out of the blonde's grip and landing in front of Sam.

Sam snatched it up, and the three girls froze. The rolling waves continued to wash across Sam's feet, and Dean stopped only after he'd gotten next to Sam. The dry sand under his feet was uneven, and it made standing uncomfortable, but he was close enough to grab his brother if things went south and that was all that mattered.

The object in Sam's hands wasn't cloth, like Dean had thought. It was thick, tough looking, and at the same time beautiful. Silver in color it seemed to glistened, the sunlight skipping across it like a well polished stone. Risking a quick touch, Dean's fingers ran down a slick surface, and he shared a look with Sam as what his little brother held clicked into place.

"It's a seal pelt," Sam said.

"Give it back." It was the new girl, Menana speaking, her arm wrapped protectively around Dubheasa's waist. A not so subtle threat was wrapped around her voice. Dean had to admire the steel and self assurance the girl carried. Most of the naked people he knew could never have pulled it off.

"You don't want it," Dubheasa joined in, her round face pale and frantic. "Please, you don't want it."

The still bleeding teenager at his feet, the seal skin in Sam's hands and the pinched terrified look on Dubeasa's face painted a pretty clear picture about what had gone down. Dean saw his brother hesitated.

"I'll make you a deal," Sam said carefully. The pelt moved in his arms, and the color rippled and twisted. "You have to promise not to hurt her." He nodded to the stricken looking Abby. "She did a stupid thing, but she's a teenager, and teenagers do stupid things. My brother and I, we have no reason to hurt you. I give this to you, and you don't give us a reason to. Deal?"

"Deal," Dubheasa said quickly.

Sam handed her the pelt, and for one horrible moment Dean thought the girl would burst into tears, or hug one of them.

"We should go," Menana said, gently nudging Dubheasa towards the ocean. She nodded to Sam, and then to Dean. When her eyes landed on Abby, who had remained silent through the exchange her eyes narrowed and she spat at the girl's feet.

"Get your own girlfriend," she snapped.

Watching two girls (one naked, the other shedding her clothes and heading towards naked) walk into the sunrise would have crafted a picture Dean would have kept close to his heart for the rest of his life, but Sam cleared his throat and politely asked for Dean's attention with a smack to the back of the head.

"We better get her home," Sam said, stepping out of the water and kneeling next to Abby. The younger man handed the sea shell he had been holding to the crying teenager, and then grabbed one of her arms. Dean got a firm hold on the other and together they lifted the girl to her feet.

"Sam's right, kiddo," Dean said. "Time to go home."

Author's note part two: Happy St. Patrick's Day