Chapter Text
It is a mistake.
A stupid, foolish, reckless, mistake.
For all his talk of being the levelheaded one, the only one keeping everyone alive, he really is quite an idiotic fool.
He should have seen the clouds rolling in, should have felt the storm on the horizon, should have sensed the turmoil gathering in the waves, their power steadily building, but he’d been distracted by exploring an old shipwreck, he hadn’t realized how far out he’d gotten from their isle, how late it had become, he didn’t realize how harsh and fast the weather turned till he surfaces, and is immediately swamped by a giant wave.
It sends him tumbling head over tail, swirling through the ocean, disorienting him in a wave of bubbles and currents, and he can’t tell which way is which, and he breaches the surface once again, though he can’t see anything, a lightning flash blinding him, disorienting him further, as he gets pulled below once more.
He’s getting torn and tumbled by the current, it’s pulling him farther out to sea, he can tell, as the water gets colder, the current stronger, the waves taller and choppier, and even with his gills, he can’t get a proper breath, he’s being propelled like a tornado, spun and smacked around, bruised purple and blue, as he’s slammed into reefs, scraped by jagged coral, he can only ride this out, and hope he can find his way home, but there’s no room for thought, as he struggles to keep himself from losing consciousness, finding that’s quickly a losing battle.
…
He wakes to pain.
He nearly screams, would have, if his throat wasn’t so dry, his mouth completely parched, the agony radiating through his tail. He manages to force open his eyes, though they feel puffy and salt stung, sore and bleary. He pulls himself up to sitting, noticing the rocks rolling off of him as he does, hissing out a harsh breath, eyes widening as he looks at himself.
A rocky beach. A cliff above him. He’s in the shallows, partway up the sharp shale stone he can feel cutting into him, scratches and cuts oozing across his torso. But his tail…
It’s trapped. It’s pinned, under a large rock, a small boulder, really, crushing it at the base of where his fins meet his tail. He must have crashed against this cliff, tossed by the waves, and a rockfall must have occurred. That is why the back of his skull pounds, and his fingers come away red, that’s why his world spins with naseua as he weakly tries to shove at the rock, getting nowhere, fast. If he can find something to use as a lever… but there’s nothing. Nothing but rock and sea water and the sun, starting to pound against his skin, starting to make his headache worse.
They’re going to be so worried.
Stars above and Gods below, they’re going to be losing their minds. He hadn’t told them where he was going, that he was even going anywhere, Patton and Roman had been out on a picnic, Virgil and Janus had still been curled up together, warm and sleepy, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb their peaceful quiet, not when it had taken so long for them to be able to have those perfect, beautiful moments.
‘will they even notice?’
He shakes that thought away, breath catching. It’s his concussion, no doubt, making him illogical. Just because they are all busy with their partners does not negate his own importance to the group, to the four of them. He knows they love him, knows they care, and he knows they will never find him here, wherever here is.
He can’t even feel the pull of the island. He’s farther out than he thought, if he can’t even tell which direction it’s in anymore, worrying, since his range on the spell masking it is wider than anyone else’s, since he set it in place. If he had a bonded partner of his own there, he could find his way back by following the magic connecting them, they could find their way to him to get him out, but he doesn’t.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. He can’t get out from under this rock, and there’s nothing within reach, no food, no fresh water, at best a couple hour’s respite from the sun, and he’s already injured and weak.
He slumps back into the shale, giving up on trying to free his tail, even the slightest attempt to twitch his fins sending agony shooting up his spine, not to mention all the scales he’s lost, his tail almost looks worse than Janus’s did, when he first washed up, torn and bloodied, he can’t even tell where it’s all coming from. He aches, every part of him aches, and he lets his eyes slip closed, giving in to the desire to sleep.
He knows he shouldn’t. Knows he should be fighting and clawing and screaming, should be doing something, but there’s no point. He doesn’t have the time worn optimism of Patton, he doesn’t have the never ending belief of Roman, he doesn’t have the pure strength of Virgil, he doesn’t have the rushing hope of Janus.
He has his own, depressingly logical, thoughts, which tell him the probabilities and the facts, the truth of the situation, which in this case, is so simply painful.
There’s no way out.
…
“Well, well, well, what is this delicious little morsel?” He barely hears the words being spoken, barely feels the vibration of footsteps, of rocks slipping and sliding down the beach. Something hard and cold pokes him, and he manages a low whine, though his tongue feels thick and slow, unable to summon the strength nor the will to speak. “Hanging in there. Impressive, given how long you must’ve been drying up on this beach. Such a pity, you seem indisposed at the moment. I hear your songs are quite lovely.” The man’s voice is harsh and cold at that last sentence, and any hope in him vanishes with it. He’s lost someone, to sirens. Only natural, if he’s a sailor, that someone he knows has been drowned. “Ought to kill you now, I suppose, lest you get free and go sing to some other poor sap.” He supposes the words are meant to be threatening, and at some level, they are, but he’s so tired, he’s so tired and he just wants this to be over.
So instead, he forces open his eyes, though he can barely see anything with them, crusted over with salt, his breath a gasping wheeze in his chest, as he stares up at the blurry form of the man above him.
“Ah, you are awake, little fishy. I wondered if you were still in there. So, what’ll you do now, I wonder?” He thinks he knows exactly what the sailor expects him to try to do, expects him to sing, to enchant him into freeing him then drown him, because that’s what sirens do, after all, use then discard humans as if they’re toys, at least, those are all the stories the humans tell.
(they don’t tell the stories of siren’s rescuing humans from pirates, and falling so in love they give away half of their heart, they don’t tell stories of twin broken hearts, oceans and years apart, finally finding each other once more, they don’t tell the stories of happiness, of safety, of love, the kind he knows them capable of, because where’s the fun in vanquishing the villains of the sea, if they aren’t purely villainaous?)
But he won’t. He never will, not if someone hasn’t done anything to deserve it. They may call him high and mighty for making that decision, choosing who lives or dies, but it wasn’t lightly done, only to the worst of the worst did he allow his family to sing, only if they came too close for comfort. Trading vessels, schooners, ferries, fishermen, they left them all alone. It was only the pirates and slavers and abusers they harmed, and only if they threatened their peace.
So he doesn’t sing. He blinks once, long and slow and wearily up at the sailor, towering above him, before he sighs, closing his eyes, tilting back his head and exposing his neck. If the human wants to end this so badly, so be it. He can have his victory. He wheezes slightly as he feels a boot on his throat, lightly pressing down, though with his weakened state, even that feels like too much preasure. He feels his airway get cut off, spots and stars exploding across his vision as his body struggles for air. His hands find their way to his neck, to the boot pressed there, though he doesn’t try to shove it off, just rests his hands atop it, almost pleadingly, eyes meeting the sailor's, giving the human permission to continue.
He finds himself coughing violently as the boot suddenly retracts, curling in on himself with the force of it, his head swimming at the pounding, pounding pain, dancing on the edge of unconsciousness once again. He can hear the human cursing, pacing, and he manages to open his eyes once more, getting a slightly better look.
A dark button down shirt, arms exposed to reveal curling tattoos of a kraken’s tentacles writhing their way from his shoulders down to the tips of his fingers. A green sash is tied along his shirt, a matching black captain’s hat with a green plume sticking out of it atop his head. His black boots make an oddly soothing noise, as they crunch across the stone, lulling him into a half aware state, simply watching the human go back and forth, back and forth, glancing at him every once in awhile, something more and more unreadable growing in his eyes with every sharp look.
He finally has drifted off, when he feels it. A pure, agonizing shock runs through his body, stealing his air, and he tries to flail, tries to get away from the source, but his limbs barely respond, and he nearly screams at the sickening hurt that comes from trying to move his tail, his vision dancing with spots, tears washing down his cheeks as he tries to claw his way across the beach, he doesn’t know what’s going on, just that he has to, has to, get away from the source of whatever is harming him, but he just succeeds in flipping himself over, hands clenching the rocks until they cut into his palms, head pressed against the shore as he tries to breathe, tries to steady himself into full awareness, the world spinning at a breakneck speed.
“please…” He whispers, he doesn’t know who he’s asking, doesn’t know what being he’s asking, but he’s pleading with any deity out there, that if this is the end of him, that the others stay safe, stay smart, protect each other, lean on each other. He’s praying that Patton keeps his smile, Roman keeps his burning passion, Virgil keeps his solid strength, Janus keeps his steady hand, he wishes he could see them, wishes he could say goodbye, explain, they’ll never know, and that hurts more than the pain wracking his tail, than the pounding in his head, than the rips and tears across his skin, their endless, hurt, hopeful, wondering, hurts. Because they will never stop wondering, and he wishes if he is gone, that they’ll just forget and not dwell on him, not when they’ve all finally found happiness.
“you are a strange one, aren’t you, little fish?” The voice buzzes into one ear and out the other. He’s too busy fighting off the waves of blackness that are trying to seep into his mind, trying to drown out his thoughts, and he doesn’t want to go, not without saying goodbye, but once again, the tide pulls him under.