Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Come to me in my dreams, and then, by day I shall be well again!

For so the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times, a messenger from radiant climes,

and smile on thy new world and be- as kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth, come now and let me dream it truth,

and part my hair and kiss my brow, and say, my love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then, by day I shall be well again!

For so the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day.

                                                ~~ Matthew Arnold

Brock Rumlow was his mother’s son, and his grandmother’s boy and the breath and blood and bone of the Ocean Deep. He had the sea old magic which swayed him to protect and to nurture, to provide and guard and guide along with the sea-borne intuition to know evil and pursuit of power when it stared him in the face. He was Selkie and as such he could not be easily swayed or deceived, so when Hydra came calling with their grandiose promises and their bald faced lies, he went to Nick Fury and laid out what he had learned. When he was asked to go undercover and seek out Hydra’s plans and report back, he agreed, when he was given the task of taking on a commander position within Hydra’s ranks, he did so.

He crossed and double crossed, he bled and fought and led- and sometimes watched as those he led died needlessly- in the name of an organization that made him want to scream and thrash and shoot something. An organization whose ideals made him want to don his pelt and swim away and never return to the human realm. An organization that he was poised uniquely to take down from the inside. His magic kept him safe, he managed to ferret out those people in Hydra’s ranks who were not loyal to Hydra’s ideals, he managed to protect them and steer them in a better direction. Where he could he freed those who Hydra had enslaved and where he could not he passed the relevant information on to the appropriate peoples.

He spent his own blood sweat and tears and magic playing a long game as a triple agent, looking over his shoulder, knowing that his co-workers would inevitably hate him and may shoot him on sight when this whole mess was over. He cracked information files, greased the right palms, mingled and made friends with individuals he would rather punch in the face or send to a siren. Ferreted out the secrets Magical and mundane alike that allowed for such a system to thrive right under the noses of trained world-class espionage agents. Reported his findings to Fury and grew wearier and wearier as time dragged on.

What Fury could not know is that he reported to another source also, he sent information to the Magical peoples, to the alliances and the clans and the councils through the Selkie networks and the Kin-towns and the hidden places. He spoke to the Monasteries and the lore keepers and the leaders and he kept them prepared. When everything came boiling to the surface like poison and smoke there were Peoples of the sea and the earth and the air to hold it together. It was his magic and the intervention of his Kin that kept him breathing when the uprising happened and covers were blown and Hydra boiled out of the cracks and shadows like a nest of fire ants and good agents died and a war broke out and a building tried to fall on him.

He woke to heat and blinding pain gasping for air and feeling the stabbing shift of broken ribs. He woke to a painfully strong screaming shriek of storm-tossed gales in his ears. He woke and struggled against weight that was no longer pinning him to the burning earth gasping for air, fighting for something he could not even name in fear and confusion. Every movement made him whine and moan in agony and every moment felt a thousand years long. He could hear nothing but the roar in his ears, feel nothing but fire and sharp and pain. Brock was in a limbo between the blessed muffled quiet darkness he kept slipping in and out of and the burning painful light and roaring where he was choking and gasping and coughing, straining to sit up, fighting his body and hearing nothing but the shrieking and screaming of winds, the pounding of waves on a violent coast.

At long last the shrieking resolved into the steady beeping of medical equipment, the thudding pound into calmly spoken words he could barely hear over the roar of his own breath. The burning pain and violent aching and dull thumping bruised feelings in his body did not fade, but, slowly, eventually, he could focus. It was a male voice, strong and steady and even. Firm and loud, but not shouting, not hurried, pitched just enough for Brock to hear it over the numerous shouting protests of his own body and the wailing cries of storm winds in his ears.

“Easy Selkie-son. Easy. Listen not to her storm calls and stay ashore with me, you are alive, all is safe, you are going to heal. Stay here upon the shores where I am, it is painful, I know. It is not easy, but I cannot follow you where you wish to go, I cannot get you back if you swim into the Sea’s embrace. You are safe, you will be well. You have done more good for the world than you could possibly know right now. Stay ashore Selkie-son and you will heal. Your clan is coming to you fast as we can bring them and no humans are the wiser. Easy, if you can hear me, open your eyes and look at me.”

Brock could not ignore the soft request, and so struggled to lift his lids and look. Even that movement hurt, it felt like steel wool scraping over his eyes, but he managed it and stared up into the face of an elderly man with a serene smile and kind eyes.

“There you are. Awake and alive Selkie-son. You have forged your place and made your name in the alliances Brock Rumlow, and all our people rejoice. It means little to you now, I know, but your world will not always be fire and pain. Our kind shall bless you, you will be well and whole again, and when you are healed enough, we shall bring you to the embrace of the sea and she shall do you well. For now, rest, know you are safe. You shall not be alone. Your clan is coming to you.” The softness of his steady voice was as comforting as the sough of gentle waves on the sandy shores of his home beaches and he slipped back into unconsciousness feeling just a tiny bit more relaxed.

When he swam up from unconsciousness again, the smell of his mother’s perfume was in the room, the sound of many people breathing made a symphony in his sensitive ears, the press of many safe bodies greeted him. His clan was with him. He opened his eyes again, this time it was slightly less painful, but his whole body still hurt very badly. He risked turning his head toward the scent that said home and warmth and love to him. As he began to turn her gentle hand landed at his hairline, softer than a butterfly’s touch, like the barest kiss of seafoam in the wind. He still felt it as though it were a hot leaden weight, but he did not want her to remove her hand.

“Take it gently, Sigillo tesero, you are still very injured. Our dragon friends have been very kind to you, but there is only so much they can do at once without arousing human suspicions. Dr. Cho has been working to get you transferred out to the infirmary at the monastery, but it is taking some time. You are safe darling boy, our whole clan is here, we will not let anything happen to you. All you need to concentrate on right now is rest and healing. You can worry about all the rest of it when you are well and strong again.”

He slipped out into the blessed darkness with the murmured reassurances from his family, the sound of each voice at once unique and indistinct, they carried him out like the swell of the tide, and he sighed. Just before the twilight took him, he had time to feel surprise at how much easier his breathing had been.

The next time he opened his eyes it was to the gentle morning light and the cry of seagulls on the ocean waters. He could hear the tolling of the monastery bell, smell the sea and the incense and the sharp sweet fragrance of the growing Silphium. There were soft sheets of sea-fibers under him, there was a basin of clean sea water on the table beside him, and the shuffling of sandaled feet heralded the start of the day on the Selkie Isles. He still hurt all over as though every bone and muscle and quite a few of his organs were deeply bruised, but he no longer felt as if opening his eyes to consciousness was an agony only to be endured. Brock felt quite sure that if he wished to sit up, he was going to be capable of doing so, even if that movement was going to cause him tremendous pain.

As he lay there contemplating his situation, the ease of his breathing and the throb and complaint of all his muscles along with his desire to move warring with the knowledge it would be difficult and very, very uncomfortable- the door opened and in walked one of the monks of the abbey. The white and green sash holding in his robes marked him as one of the healers and he smiled to see Brock awake.

“One moment my son, for I see you are restless on dry land.” He said softly, and then leaned back out into the hallway to call softly to someone yet unseen. “He is awake, and the Sea calls him.”

In walked several of his cousins, and his uncle Adrian, all smiling and very happy to see him. In short order they had Brock gently maneuvered out of bed with a minimum of pain and bundled out of the Abbey to the private ocean cove reserved for the ill and injured of the monastery’s infirmary. They lowered him with utmost care into the gentle embrace of the ocean surf on his sheet-turned stretcher and then they immediately began to disrobe and walk into the sea. The monk sat with Brock, making sure he was comfortable and secure in the ebb and sway of the water, uncaring that his habit was getting soaked through.

Brock realized very quickly that he was in his fully nude human form his only covering a pair of sheets, he soon forgot because the slide and caress of the ocean felt so good on his skin it was nearly indescribably blissful. A human doctor would have been screaming about salt and sunlight and infection. They would be right, if Brock had been human this treatment may well have set him on a path to dehydration, re-burning, and infections. But Brock was not human, he had been healed twice in the Cradle of Life by The Dragons, watched over by a healer of the four winds, and he was blood and bone and breath of the Ocean Deeps. The Sea called to him and embraced him as her own, as his body rested in the waves, he could feel his skin loosening and relaxing, feel his breathing easing and deepening, feel the pain seeping out of him as all the soreness and rigidity in his muscles was pulled out of him with each wave. The stabbing pressure of his own body weight lying on the bed was eased and erased as the sea took his weight and held him buoyant in his sheet.  

The Monk who stood in the cove up to his waist in his wet habit made sure that Brock’s face never went in the water, made sure he was supported and secure in his makeshift sea cradle, at once deep enough in the water to float, but not so far out as to be disoriented or swept about. A human would tire very quickly, but this Monk was Selkie also, and so could hold Brock here and safe in the embrace of the sea for as long as it would do him good. His cousins splashed and played and called and laughed and joked around him in the cove. They gave him updates on his family and the villages and life on the island and the world at large, they sang him sea shanties and old Selkie tunes, they praised his work and his warding of the unknown world and told him the story of how they had had to spirit him out of the human hospital with the aid of the Dragons- the old healer he had woken to in the aftermath of his injuries and the doctor Helen Cho- because Nick Fury and Phillip Coulson had wanted to take him somewhere unknown and his clan couldn’t let that happen.

They told him of the magical peoples the networks had managed to save from Hydra, they told him how important his work had been and which clans were working to ferret out the last of that horrid organization. They splashed sea water and healing herbs on him, sang prayers and hymns so old the human world did not remember their existence and rocked him in the tide with the Monk. They blessed him and breathed with him and rejoiced in his survival.

Time did not mean much to Brock right now. Eventually, the Monk looked at his clan and said a quiet word, and they came up out of the cove, dressed, and carried him back to his room in the infirmary. There they gently and carefully patted him damp, folded towels to put on his pillow, and carried him to bed. The monk covered him with a sea-linen blanket and Brock fell asleep feeling better than he had since before he was injured.   

When he next woke it was to the swelling shock of being able to take a full, deep breath, and he laughed for the feeling of freedom it gave him.

He progressed very quickly after that, and soon he was able to leave the walls of the Monastery for his family’s home. Able to finish his healing in the embrace of his family. He knew as he had known the Hydra recruiter was evil when he looked her in the face, that he was on borrowed time, but he was enjoying his freedom and relaxation with his family while he had it. Strengthening his ties with his family and his clan.

When Fury found him in the market and asked him to take up the old Alias of Crossbones to hunt down SHIELD’s equipment and weaponry and steal it back, he knew with certainty he would say yes. His magic called him to protect, he could not say no.

He breathed in the brine air with a silent thank you to the Ocean whose magic gave him life as he turned to the tidal pull of his next mission.  

Chapter Text

Sing me the songs of the Sea

 do not wonder why it is I weep.

Shout the battle cries of the Ocean Deeps

 do not ask why I am stirred to anger when I hear the roaring call.

I am the breath of the salt kissed winds and the sway of the moon sung tides and the sweep of the open waters. I am of the Sea and from the Sea and to the Sea I shall return.  

When I alight upon the sand staring out along the horizon as the waves and I whisper and sigh together in the early morning light ask me not why there are tears shining on my cheeks to match the glittering diamond tiaras of the foamy crests that kiss the shore.

I am the breath of the salt kissed winds and the sway of the moon sung tides and the sweep of the open waters. I am of the Sea and from the Sea and to the Sea I shall return.  

If you bind the Ocean’s calling, or snare the bounty of  the Seas, if you hold the heart within tides and do not let them free- the joy and freedom that enraptured and the beauty that allured, the sweet face that you have captured and the swelling songs you heard will still be in your possession will still shine for all to see, but there will be a deeper shadow like an echo from the Deep. There will rest a sorrow walking land will not dispel and a somber note of mourning in a rising tidal swell.

I am the breath of the salt kissed winds and the sway of the moon sung tides and the sweep of the open waters. I am of the Sea and from the Sea and to the Sea I shall return.  

~~ An excerpt from an untitled “Sough” from a series of scrolls titled Calliope’s Lament held in the Selkie Monasteries’ records   

A few thousand feet above sea level in the dark and the cold and the biting winds Brock Rumlow stood in thigh deep snow looking out over a ridge down onto the rooftop of a HYDRA military base. He was currently executing a triple mission for SHIELD and HYDRA and the alliances. Free the lungta held in the base for the alliance, let the top scientist at this base enough time to get free of the firing zone for HYDRA, and get most or all of the intelligence from this base as well as as many of the second tier scientists as possible for SHIELD. 

Ignore the enraged howling he could hear just under the passive perception of his physical ears, the roiling rage of an unbridled storm. The braying of wind and the crashing of sea against stone. Ignore the frightened magic-rich call of the lungta below and the answering scream of the wind and the cold and the snow and the bite of razor-toothed frost. Ignore the burn of cold and ice in chest, ignore the effort of muscle and bone, ignore the gnawing hunger for vengeance curling in his gut. Ignore the freezing chill of lung and eye the trudge and stomp of labored step. Nothing mattered but the mission. Nothing mattered but his team and his goal. Even more heavy on his heart and mind- that there were three missions to maintain simultaneously and perfectly, and he must not fail. Brock shook his head under the premise of clearing the snow from the bridge of his goggles, but he was really shaking his thoughts back into order and alignment. He was Selkie. He was uniquely poised to do this. He must not fail. To fail would be to let the Peoples of the Land the Air and the Earth down, to fail would be certain death and worse than certain death. He would not fail.

Frasier tapped his shoulder twice, calling his attention to the team arrayed behind him- he turned and met his second in command at the halfway point between the ridge and the tree line at a boulder that sheltered them from the wind slightly. A few sharp hand signals sent half the team melting into the tree line and the other half around to the point that they had identified on satellite during their last meeting. With a deep breath Brock gave a nod to Frasier and turned back to his previous position. 

There was no more time to waste. No plans survived contact with the opposition. If he failed, Brock would not be the only one to pay the consequences. 

Another Deep Breath.

And Another.

Keeping his eyes peeled over the ridge he waited for the rotation of the guards to reach the ideal position before he issued the command that would unleash fury upon this HYDRA outpost. Every moment slowed until the flakes of the snow seemed to drift and then hover in the air, until he could no longer hear his heart beating. Everything was intensely focused.

"Go.: 

Chapter Text

"Go"

The word echoed across the comms, and a flurry of action began, well organized and in synch with one another his team began the complex dance required for infiltration of an enemy position. Brock waited until there would be nobody to question his decisions, then he jumped into a hollow underneath the snow pack guided by the unknowable sense of the threads of magic around him and slipped- quite impractically and impossibly- like an eel under the snow. If he were human the move would have been almost certain death- as it was, as soon as his head disappeared below the freezing powder, his heels fell through to a firm packed causeway glowing faintly blue and purple sound and safe and he began sliding down the hill. He glided like an otter or a seal along the layer of powder down the ridge, gaining speed and energy, the threads of magic tugging him this way and that, gusts of wind buffeting his form, pushing and prodding him as though he was a sail down a predetermined track hardly noticeable in the movement of snow ice and wind through the trees and came to rest at the base of the outcropping in nearly a textbook position. 

"Thank you" he murmured quietly, so low his words would be lost to the winds even to his comm and he could have sworn the air became warmer for a fraction of a moment as he moved off toward his target. The Lungta knew he was coming. They were indeed imprisoned here and the Council of Air was going to be pleased to have these lost ones back. His objective was three fold and for three different purposes. He had to time each one as succinctly and gently as possible or he would be found out. If Brock were found out he would be killed. There was going to be no other option. Even with success the likelihood that one of these people he now led or called comrade would be the one to put a bullet or twelve in him was high. The exhaustion of this knowledge rankled him to no end. He would not give up. He would endure.

His feet moved without his thoughts to guide them, his other senses pulling him unerringly toward a goal greater than his very life. Rescuing those of the magical peoples that Hydra had enslaved here, getting them to safety, and ensuring SHIELD had no knowledge of what and who they actually were. The Council was counting on him. These people were counting on him. He was delicately strung in a balance of threads. Hydra wanted him to ensure that nothing of value made it into enemy hands and that the head scientist of the project escaped the facility, SHIELD wanted to capture as much information as possible about the facility and Hydra's plans at large, the council wanted the secrecy of the magical world maintained and their people free. Nothing in those goals said this facility had to be left standing when the night was over. Brock would prefer it was a smoking ruin that risked being buried by an avalanche by the time his mission was over and he was back on the quinjet. If he timed everything perfectly, it just might end up so.

"In Position."

"In Position."

"In Position."

came from the varying voices of his team through the comms. "ready"

Getting into the facility was stupidly easy when you were a triple agent and knew the watch pattern for the next four days. Getting down to free the Lungta before the rest of his operatives infiltrated the building was a bit trickier. Realizing half of the Lungta were drugged out of their minds or too wounded to even sit up straight was a horrid inconvenience. Brock shrugged it off and kept moving. For his personal goals he would actually prefer SHIELD have most of the data from this lab to analyze. The head scientist made Brock's teeth itch and his head hurt. He hated the slimy little man. When Brock breached the labs, the wormy creature was standing over a terrified child with rich black hair and a wild look in her round face. Brock had no problem taking him out and making it look like he hadn't. He shrugged to himself mentally.

The junior scientist on the project- Klein- was on a coffee break and hearing the commotion from above and below no doubt already alerted to the infiltration. Brock had left the pathway to the back door of the Lab complex on this floor open and clear, it would be that way- if he had timed things correctly- for the next two minutes, long enough for Klein and his guard to get the hardcopies of the research and themselves out of the building. They only needed two minutes because Brock had made sure they could get clear in 90 seconds if they had to, and he had made sure to trip the alarm that went to this sector of the building. Hail Hydra and all that boiling garbage.

If he let Klein live to get back to Hydra with the hard copies of the files, they couldn't be too terribly upset. Hydra was very casual with the lives of their operatives, and they did not bother to hide that from anyone. Everyone at Hydra was expendable unless you were a very select group of people, then you were replaceable with difficulty, but still replaceable. Pierce wouldn't be too mad as long as someone got out who could continue the work. Brock knew that Klein was a much weaker scientist with a lot more skepticism about the magical workings of the world, far easier to sway and control, easier to take out further down the line, less fanatical than the wormy little puke of a man he'd be leaving to burn in this building.

"Breach!"

"Breach!"

"Breach!"

"Breach." Brock spoke into his comm.

Brock worked quickly to get the Lungta who were standing and alert out of the cages, busting locks and working quickly with those who had enough wits about them to know the way around their prison to get as many ready to flee as possible. Every single magical being in the room were bound with collars that needed Unusual means to open. There were some mundane human prisoners here too, obviously Kin, for the flash of magicks was not unknown to them and they were not fearful or panicked at the sight of Elemental Wrath. When freed they rose and took up Keys coated in an oily substance that was not oil and stank of fetid magic, hatred and wrong darkness and began to free their loved ones and friends. Brock curled his lip at the sight. As the human prisoners helped to unlock the collars and free the rest of the Lungta who were too drugged out to move on their own, Brock re-assessed the situation and began to form a plan. "Prisoners on Lab level 2" Brock bit into his comm. He looked around at his gathered group and gave them a nod. He muted his comm for a moment. 

"Which of you wants to stay and play panicked hostage whose people got taken to who knows where and are probably dead? At least one of you, preferably two. Not the littlest and not you," He pointed to a willowy young woman skinny and frail except for the tiniest, barest hint of a blossoming curve to her midsection that to the untrained eye could be labeled as the beginnings of malnutrition. Brock knew better, Brock was Selkie. She smiled with a soft knowing and held her hands out to him palm up as she bowed her head. Two young men stepped forward, one still bleeding from a wound in his right shoulder, one whose neck was blistered and burned from the collar that had just been removed. Brock nodded. "The rest of you, are you strong enough to move out of here carrying all these who aren't?" They nodded and moved quickly. Brock re-activated his comms. The eldest woman, shaking and battered and bruised, moved with determined purpose across the room pulled out an absolutely enormous white and silver pelt from a previously locked storage cabinet with great reverence and laid it out on the floor. Brock's eyes went wide. She nodded and sadly smiled. The rest of the clan laid their wounded and weak upon the pelt and shooed Brock away. He collected and tucked all of the discarded collars into a medical waste bag and shoved it at one of the Kin males who was part of the departing group. He took it with much distaste, but a nod of scared understanding. Nothing of deep Magickal value or knowledge could be left to the mundane hands. 

Quickly the Lungta formed a compass circle around the pelt, all of their feet touching the edge of the pelt. Each of the magically Capable Lungta were stationed at the points and all the strongest Kin formed the edges of the wheel, they locked together arms to shoulders and as one bowed their heads. A great blast of swirling wind kicked up in the room full of ice and light and the ringing sound of hoofbeats and the braying of horses and when the commotion cleared there was empty space where the Lungta had been. Brock looked around and nodded, he asked the two young men standing next to him a very important question "where are the cameras? I want this place blown to the heavens like Dragonfire before we leave the airspace." The two young men smiled at him. 

The door to the lab burst open as Brock was dismantling the last of the surveillance and a portion of his team flooded in. 

"Clear! Found the Commander and two prisoners!" 

"We need a medic!" 

"Easy Fontaine." Brock barked, and then clicked the mic "report!" 

"Level one secure, two hostiles dead three neutralized."

"Level two secure, no friendlies."

"Level three secure."

"All levels secure?" Brock repeated calmly. 

"Secure." 

"Lets wrap this up and get somewhere warmer."

The Team answered in the affirmative and began spreading to collect as much intelligence as possible from the computers and stations on each floor.

 Juarez entered the lab and clicked his tongue as he saw the state of the two young men standing with Brock. The one whose neck was an oozing blistered mess was beginning to sag against his Kin who with his bleeding shoulder was having a hard time supporting his weight. Brock gripped him carefully under the injured side around the ribs and hefted him, in doing so he took the weight of both neatly and began walking them towards Fontaine. The bleeding one balked. Legs straight and driving into the ground pushing with his might against the tug of Brock's march forward. Brock paused. 

"You may have to wait til we get to the quinjet, Juarez, Fontaine, come help these lads. Move it people MOVE!" 

+++++++

Twenty minutes later the two young men sat shivering on a bench in the quinjet as it rose to altitude. Below the sound of a series of explosions ripped through the night.  All around Brock the team swore, and as the attention drifted from the Lungta seated across from him for the briefest of moments, Brock shared a brief and Very Secret Smirk with the pair of them. A twinkle in his dark eyes. 

That would do for now. 

Juarez was turned back to the two young men the quickest, moved to open his medical pack, and began rifling through it without taking his eyes off of them. They regarded him with the wary mistrust he was due given the circumstances. Brock sighed and spoke to them in the Bodic tongue- a language he was certain that the majority of his team didn't know he spoke. It was necessary now. 

"That man is safe. You are hurt, we have a long flight, please let him see to your wounds." The Lungta looked at him with swimming eyes full of barely contained fear. 

"Show us then." The one with the shoulder injury said. Brock sighed through his nose. 

"As you like" He replied. In English he continued to Juarez,

"Juarez, take a look at this spot will you? They won't let you touch them until they see what you want to do." Juarez nodded and shifted focus. Brock sighed silently again through his nose. It was going to be a long flight home. 

Worth it. Well Worth it. 

Chapter Text

Sing to me the songs of the Sea! Deep and High and Long. Sing to me the sound of waves crashing in the coming Dawn! Her voice is mighty and silver sweet full of ancient lore, Her voice is the cry of soaring birds to greet sailors from the shore. The Sea, Sing of the Sea and I will gladly hear! The Sea, Sing of the Sea and you will draw me near!

Calliope's Lament- Excerpt from the Monasteries on the Selkie Isles

Brock was sitting in the shallowly dug out hole covered in three layers of tarp staring grumpily out into the glare of the unrelenting sun. Everything was burnt, and chapped, and dry. 

He'd been sitting in this hole, unmoving for hours, waiting for a sign of movement over the southwestern horizon that would indicate his target was on the move.

He'd been in the desert long enough to start getting particularly grumpy. Long enough that the cries of the Sea would rock him to sleep at night and wake him from potent dreaming of swimming in the family Grottoes back on the islands.