Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tell your tears to the sea, at the turn of the tide,

Old love shall return, sure as hot tears are cried,

The sea’s often cruel, but perhaps she’ll be kind,

So barter your tears for what you left behind.

Seven tears are what’s needed so seven tears you will give,

One mourns for the dead and one mourns those that live,

One for loss, one for gain, one for future and one for past,

And one final tear to make your love last.

The world around them turns to smoke and ash, and Martin can feel Jon’s blood soaking into his skin. Fiery pieces of rubble batter them from all directions, and he tries to shelter Jon the best he can. “Shit. Hang on, Jon. Just hang on. Hang on,” he babbles through sobs.

If there were ever a time for profound thoughts or brilliant ideas, it would be now, but he just can’t. He can’t think.

Jon takes the faintest trembling breath in his arms, and he clings to that tiny but precious movement. As long as Jon’s still alive, it isn’t over.

There is a single moment of quiet.

Then, the world splits apart with a deafening roar, and he shuts his eyes against a blindingly bright light.

That light is replaced with absolute darkness, and he falls hard into frigid water. He kicks helplessly, struggling to both hold Jon and get to the surface. When he finally manages a gasp of breath, another wave instantly knocks into him, pushing him under again. He tries to keep Jon’s head above the water in a panic, but another wave comes, then another, smacking him even harder than the rubble from moments before. He cannot even tell which way is up or down, and he’s trying to fight, but Jon has gone completely still and limp in his arms and he’s trying to rouse him and then there’s another wave and…

And then it is day, and he is alone, clinging to a piece of driftwood. Coughs shake his entire body as he tries to expel the soot and saltwater from his lungs. “Jon, Jon!” he screams.

He calls out until his voice gives out, but in his heart, he knows. Jon must be dead.

The bright cheerfulness of the sun seems to mock him, as does the gentle lulling of the waves. Thinking feels like pushing through a skull full of wet sand, and there is no sign of land in any direction. But that hardly matters. The hunger, thirst, pain, none of it compares to the magnitude of what he’s lost.

About a day in, he hopes that he will get lucky. He hopes that the next time he closes his eyes, he will simply drift off, never to open them again. Everything inside him is dead, and he wishes the sea would have the decency to just finish the job.

The sea is many things. She is often cruel and capricious, but the one thing she is not is decent. So, although she hears this wish, she refuses to grant it. She is far too intrigued by the two occupants thrown into her from no source she could see. Instead, her seawinds shift immeasurably, nudging him towards a safe haven while she keeps her waters calm. Then, she turns her attention to someone who needs her compassion even more right now.

After uncountable cold and miserable days of floating in and out of consciousness, Martin finds himself thrust upon a rocky shoreline. There’s a man standing over him, shaking him and calling out in words Martin does not understand. He tries to gather the strength to answer, but his parched throat refuses to obey. There’s now a small crowd trying to make him focus, force him to stay awake, but why should he? Why shouldn’t he sleep?

His world hazes over for a good long while. At times, vague impressions of feverish chills and gentle cloths dabbing at his forehead make it through the fog, but he cannot make sense of anything. He dreams of the apocalypse, of billions suffering, of a knife fitting perfectly into his clenched fist, and he is glad, for in those dreams he gets to see Jon again. But the dreams cannot last.

He wakes, and he doesn’t know how long it has been or where he is. The mattress he is lying on is the worst he has ever encountered, and he has plenty of experience sleeping in dodgy places. Why is it so lumpy?

The world smells weird too. Where is he? If anything, it calls to mind his few weeks hiding out in the Scottish highlands. Maybe this was all a dream, and when he opens his eyes he will be back there. At some point, he and Jon had discussed baking together. Maybe today they could…but that can’t be. Here, the air tastes of salt, and the birds chirping in the background sound ever so slightly off, as if they are all tuned to a different key.

No, he knows it wasn’t a dream. And much as he may wish it, he cannot avoid opening his eyes forever.

An old woman is sitting at his bedside. He wishes she’d go away. He doesn’t want to talk.

“Oh, good. You had us all worried there. I thought we might lose you,” she says, as if to scold him.

“Who…” he rasps out…”who are you?”

“Everyone here just calls me Granny Nessa, even if I’m none of their grandmothers. You’ll call me the same.”

“M...martin,” he grits out before falling back asleep. Granny Nessa does not seem to mind. She and various others sit by his side in the following days, feeding him a weak purple broth and cleaning him when he is unable to do it himself. Whoever these people are, they seem dedicated to making sure he survives. They are kind too, chatting in his direction and not getting offended when his heart will not allow him to reply.

After everything, he’s baffled by the generosity, and he isn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

No, that isn’t quite it. He knows exactly how he feels. But that feeling is emptiness. Emptiness and shame. His entire world has narrowed down to one fundamental fact. Jon is gone. Jon is dead.

Jon is dead, and it is his fault. And he can’t scream or cry or rage because he doesn’t deserve to get to do any of those things. Even if he did, he doesn’t have the strength. His weakened body would deny him the privilege.

If only he could let this emptiness grow and swallow him. But this small stone cottage offers no space for it, and that just makes the terrible loneliness worse as people come in and out all day, seeking Nessa’s counsel.

To make matters worse, this place clearly has very different standards surrounding personal space. Healing is one of the many hats Nessa seems to wear, and she sees other patients. Should one of them need to stay, she will simply tell Martin to budge over to make room. The first time he wakes with a warmth beside him that is not Jon, it nearly breaks him.

He wants to scream at the kind strangers who for some reason are insisting on nursing him back to health to fuck off and let him die. But these people have done nothing to deserve that, for all that their friendly smiles feel like knives. They don’t know that they are caring for a murderer. They don’t know they are caring for someone who may have doomed their world, and he cannot bring himself to tell them.

So, he numbly accepts Nessa’s care and asks polite questions about where he is, even though he is not sure the answers matter to him. In turn, he spins a story about a flaming shipwreck that only results in a “Hmph” in response.

It turns out that he is on an island somewhere to the north, although to the north of where he cannot quite say. He keeps trying to put together clues about where or when he might be: the spinning wheel in the corner, the furs covering him. But there are enough clues that this isn’t his world at all (that thing was not a mouse, and it was in fact worth shrieking over, Nessa), that he gives up. He doesn’t really know enough about history, and he’s not sure if trying to draw comparisons with his own world’s history even makes sense. If only…if only Jon were here. He’d know.

One day, once he feels a bit stronger, he asks, “Why? Why are you helping me?”

“Do people not follow the rules of hospitality, wherever you come from?” Granny Nessa asks. Martin finds himself answering that no, they really don’t. He hates how sceptical he is that her good will could truly be that simple.

“But…I don’t have any way to repay or thank you,” Martin says.

All Granny Nessa says is, “You were given to us by the sea, Martin Blackwood. She must have a reason. She always does. You’ll figure it out, in time.”

It’s only later that Martin realises he never gave her his full name.

Martin dreams again, and it is different from the fear-soaked fever ‘mares of before.

He is floating, deep underneath the water, and he is embraced by an unfamiliar peace. Great expanses surround him in all directions, and only the faintest hint of light reveals which way is up. Yet there is no fear, no worries about needing to breathe, and the water feels as warm as a bath to him, even though he can tell it isn’t. The current shifts the barest fraction of a centimetre, and he gleans some deep meaning from this, although he cannot explain what it is.

He longs to move, to explore. With mild curiosity, he cartwheels around in the sea. It’s absurdly easy, so he repeats it more quickly, again and again. His soul leaps in delight at the ease of the motion. When was the last time movement meant joy?

But underneath it all, there is this terrible sadness. Existence feels more pleasant than it has in years. But something, no, someone is missing, someone who should be here beneath the waves with him. And that loneliness makes him ache behind his eyes and deep within his chest. That loneliness, which is familiar to him as his own name…

Martin wakes to find tears soaking his pillow.

Once, soon after he manages to start walking again, he sees Nessa lugging in two huge wooden buckets at once. He pushes himself up, saying, “Hey. You shouldn’t…let me get that.” She raises her eyebrows at him but does not stop him.

It’s as if his arms are made of paper. He stumbles to the ground after two steps, spilling the water all over the floor and him. Worse, he finds he cannot push himself back up.

“And why shouldn’t I have gotten that again?” Nessa asks. Martin knows there is no safe answer to that question, so he just tries to push himself up again, trembling in exertion.

She offers a hand, and he brushes it aside.

“Don’t be a fool,” she says. He glares at her, but lets her help him back into the bed. Everything hurts.

“You are getting some of your spirit back,” she says. “I’m taking that as a good sign.”

He shifts slightly, and shooting pains race across his body.

“How much longer do you think it will be?” he asks.

Nessa pretends not to understand.

He tries again. “Until I’m better. I’m sure you must be sick of my company,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nonsense,” she says. “You’re fine company. You’re as grumpy as I am. It's refreshing.”

Then, she turns and looks at him more seriously. “Martin, you need to stay with someone, at least through the winter. You can barely start a fire without a whatever-you-called-it, and I didn’t spend all this time fixing you up for you to freeze to death. As for the other…” she pauses, then softens her voice.

“You’ll improve from where you are, but if you mean completely better, the answer may be never. I reckon healers must be able to do more around your parts, judging from that scar on your chest. Outside of a blessing from the sea, I’d have no clue how to go about taking a knife to someone’s chest and having them survive. I wish I did - know a person or two who’d benefit from that. But you may never fully get your strength back. I’m sorry. I’ve done everything I know how to do.”

He can hear it in her voice; she is miserable over her perceived failure. And this truly isn’t her fault. Plus, he’s still amazed by how easily his identity is accepted here. So, he tries, badly, to choke back his anger.

“It’s not your fault,” he manages, hiding his clenched fists under the fur blanket.

That day continues much the same as many that came before, with five separate people badgering Nessa before breakfast. Eventually, she says, “Right. I’m shutting the door. People on this island can solve their own problems for one damn day without me.”

“It seems like everyone always needs something from you,” Martin says.

Nessa laughs. “When I was young, and I told my mother I never wished to marry nor have children, she worried about me being alone. Now look at me. No one will leave me alone for a damn minute.”

It looks like it will be a rare peaceful afternoon, and Martin is very much looking forward to a bit of quiet.

Ten minutes later, there is a giggle from behind a barrel in the corner. He questions if he really heard anything, but then there is another.

Martin jumps, but Nessa just rolls her eyes and says, “Oh no, a laughing barrel. Whatever could that mean?” and drags out the still giggling girl from behind. She then looks around and pokes, none too gently, a seemingly silent pile of furs in a corner, which lets out a soft “ow.” An older child of indeterminate gender disentangles themselves.

Children are a fairly frequent occurrence in this cottage. Nessa tries to moderate their enthusiasm, but the village children are apparently very curious about their new visitor who was “given to them by the sea.”

People say that like it has some sort of significance, and Martin would very much like to know how exactly these people view the sea. Is it some sort of deity or spirit to them? Does it actually hold some power here? He’s seen far too much to literally discount the idea, especially when he does not know the rules of this place. But if the sea is going to eat him because he displeased her, he wants a fair warning.

The girl is staring at him, and he clears his throat uncertainly. He always feels a bit awkward around children. He likes them fine in theory, but he’s never really gotten to spend much time with them.

Nessa sighs. “Right. Cam, Sarah, if I let you stay, do you promise to keep quiet?” Two solemn nods follow, one that he believes and one that he doesn’t. “Fine.”

Martin tries to think of a way he could be useful. “I could read them a story,” he offers, gesturing to the pile of books on a shelf that he has never once seen touched. Silence falls as they all turn to stare at him.

“You can read?” Sarah asks, wide-eyed.

“Er, yes?” he responds, sensing that he’s walked into something much bigger than he planned.

Nessa gives him a long, considering look, then takes one of the volumes down and passes it over. “Go on, then,” she says.

He opens the book slowly, running his hands along the thick pages. They’re ever so slightly uneven, and the texture is different from the paper he’s used to. Staring at the first page, he finds can read the text, perhaps in the same way that they all seem to be speaking the same language even though that must be impossible. He clears his throat.

“Concerning the tales of the water people, a record. There is a miniscule island, far to the north, where a people far removed from civilised folk dwell. I discovered this place by a combination of skill and chance, as although rumours of its existence have long circulated in select circles, it is impossible to find via traditional navigation. The locals are superstitious and attribute this difficulty in finding their home a sort of protection from the sea. Try as I might, I have not yet discovered a more logical explanation, although I will keep searching for an answer. These are a strange people, with webbed fingers and large eyes…”

“Oh, drown that nonsense,” Nessa interrupts. “I knew that man was full of it.” Sarah giggles, but Cam looks disquieted.

“Er, what exactly am I reading?” Martin asks, wrinkling his nose.

Nessa explains, “Well, I wasn’t quite sure. Martin, not a one of us on this island can read. Some of the groups that landed here throughout the ages may once have had that knowledge, but it has been lost over the years. We’ve never needed any such tricks to remember our stories from one generation to the next. These came from a scholar who sailed here years ago, when I was young. Said he was ‘collecting accounts from the islands in this region.’”

“What happened to him?” Martin asks.

“Well, I don’t know what things were like, where he was from. But he seemed to think spreading the word that I was “some sort of witch” who refused his proposal would get him sympathy from the village. Let’s just say he was, er, politely convinced to leave with the next trade ship that managed to find us.”

Cam snickers, and Martin finds himself joining in. Sarah looks confused and says, “Why would you be polite if he was mean?”

“I kept the books he left, though. I could sense I’d need them, although I didn’t have a clue why. I always suspected he was lying his head off with whatever he wrote down. He always acted like a prat whenever he’d be told something that wasn’t interesting enough for him.”

Cam asks, “Was he talking about us? Are we “the water people?” And what about my hands?” Cam waves a hand that indeed shows a few of his fingers connected. “You swore to me that they were lucky, not weird.”

“They are. Means you have a bit of the sea in you, dear,” Nessa says. “Plenty of people around here have them.”

Martin mulls it all over for a minute, then asks. “Wait. You said you trusted me because I “came from the sea.” Didn’t this jerk “come from the sea” as well?”

Sarah, in the self-evident tones only available to small children, says, “No. He came on a boat. You came from the sea. That’s special. ”

“Ah.” Martin wonders how often people must wash up on shore here, to have a whole cultural attitude towards the phenomenon.

“Well,” Nessa continues, “I’d quite like to hear a bit more of what he wrote, absurd or not, and I think these children will as well.”

“Ok. I mean, I don’t mind reading more,” Martin replies. The two children curl up on either side of him on the mattress and peer over at the words. He knows they can’t read it, but he starts tracing the text with his finger anyway.

It’s a slow process, as he’s interrupted every few sentences about how the information is all wrong. It’s mostly Nessa, but these kids know their stories well. There are tales of ghoulish terrors in abandoned fields, and he worries that those tales will be too scary for the kids. However, he just learns that said ghoul is apparently named Jack, and only a fool would be that frightened of a soul too lost to find his way to the water.

With each story, it’s harder for Martin to avoid thinking about how much Jon would have loved this. The local legends and the dragging the stuck-up scholar through the mud alike. Then, there’s the comfort of his small audience curling up close to get a better look, and…no.

He cannot think of the children in the context of Jon, in the context of his now impossible daydreams. Jon is gone, and their potential family will never exist. Drawing a shaky breath, he pushes forward. These kids don’t need to deal with his pain. He’s better than that.

While Nessa doesn’t blink at the kids hearing even the grimmer folktales, she gives him a look after he starts one or two of the accounts of some of the local families. “There is some drama little mouths do not need to be spreading,” she says.

“I wouldn’t say anything!” Sarah protests.

The next surprise happens about an hour in, when Sarah points at a word and says, “That says ‘the’ doesn’t, it.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Good job.”

Cam chimes in, “And that’s sea, and that one’s man. Island?” Martin nods, impressed.

Nessa purses her lips in thought.

“Is it a problem,” Martin asks. “Them learning?” It would be just his luck to stumble into some huge cultural taboo.

Nessa shakes her head. “Not at all. Or, perhaps it would have been once, to the elders from when I was young, but…that man managed to take some of his books with them. His skewed story is out there, and the stories that are told about a people matter. If ours is out in the world, it should be written down right somewhere.”

“I could rewrite this, if you’d like,” Martin offers, but Nessa shakes her head.

“It’s kind of you, but…you’re very new here. These aren’t your stories. Not yet, at least.” She looks far off into the hearth for a second as if it holds all the answers before continuing. “I’ll take you up on that offer…but only if you teach these two to read them first. And to one day continue writing our stories themselves. Consider it taking on apprentices, of a sort. If you want to help, it would mean much more than insisting on breaking yourself after I just patched you up.”

Martin boggles. She hardly knows him, and yet she wants to trust him with children? It seems absurd.

“Wait. I thought you wanted me to be your apprentice?” Cam says.

Nessa looks at them. “That is not something that can be pushed on someone who isn’t ready. And whatever you decide, I think this will be a good skill for you to have. Cam, I promise I’m not pushing you away.”

They nod and smile slightly.

Martin feels like he should refuse. He didn’t even finish his own education, for Christ’s sake. He doesn’t know the first thing about teaching. He doesn’t know the first thing about children.

But oddly enough, he does want to teach them, and just that feeling of wanting is incredibly alien. So, he finds himself saying yes.

The days are quickly getting shorter, and Martin is told again that he daren’t think of branching out on his own until spring.

“Wait, how is it almost winter?” he asks. “It was…” It couldn’t have been almost winter when he landed. He would never have survived the ocean.

Nessa gives him a look. “You were ill a long time.”

I’m still ill, he wants to add. He doesn’t.

Meanwhile, lessons continue. Martin, not wanting to waste the precious little paper available, shows the children to write letters in the dirt of the floor. He starts with their names, and Nessa cautions them all to be careful. Apparently, names have power here.

He learns that Sarah is too clever by half, and she is either entirely focused or bouncing off the walls with no space in between. She has too many older siblings for Martin to keep track of, and he gets the sense that her home is a happy one, but that she never quite gets the stimulation she needs.

Cam, on the other hand…they’re quiet, and they never say anything about home. From Martin’s experience, that says more than enough. Those suspicions are confirmed when he finds several pages ripped out from one the books. He wants to confront the kid, but Nessa says to let it be.

Both Sarah and Cam remind him of Jon in completely different ways. Then again, it seems everything reminds him of Jon. Jon’s absence is a constant presence in his life, like there is always one additional person crowding the room. There’s whoever is really there, and then, in the corner, staring judgmentally at Martin, is the absence of Jon.

One day, he’s even able to say it, when Nessa asks what’s on his mind. “I’m missing someone, someone who didn’t make it.”

Nessa gives him a small smile. “You know,” she says, “I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said about where you are from.”

He looks at her, eyes wide, and makes one brief attempt at playing dumb. She raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen plenty of shipwrecked strangers. The sea likes bringing them here. Never seen one of them anything like you.”

“I…I want to explain. I just don’t know where to start,” he finally says, which she accepts, on a condition.

“Hmm. I’m not fond of secrets, at least not ones I don’t know. Not a great sign, someone new being all secrets. But I’m not really the one to judge it, either. If you want the story properly judged…yes. I think you are up for the journey, so if you truly want my trust…you need to go tell it to the sea.”

He scrunches up his face in confusion.

“Tell it to the sea” is, apparently, entirely literal. The next day, Martin finds himself bundled up in furs, and he walks further than the outhouse for the first time since coming to the cottage. The island is quite hilly, with a few farms dotted around and a central village that is really nothing more than a small cluster of houses where various craftspeople live. There’s older ruins he can see on a hill, but Nessa says no one’s lived there for ages. All of it is currently covered by a sprinkling of snow. It’s a short walk, but he may as well be running a marathon based on how his muscles protest. He’s glad he didn’t refuse the stick he was offered.

Jon, I’m now an even slower walker. Bet you didn’t think that was possible. You’re lucky you don’t have to walk with me like this, he thinks.

Finally, they make it to the shoreline, and Nessa guides him to a rock where he can sit. “Er, what exactly am I supposed to do here?” he asks.

“Just say what needs to be said. To the sea herself, or to whoever you lost out there. We don’t believe there is much of a difference. When you are ready, you’ll find the words.”

“And then what?”

“Then, she passes judgement. Or she doesn’t. Can’t make her do much of anything if she isn’t in the mood for it,” Nessa says. “It’s the saying it that matters.”

She gives him some privacy, and suddenly the waves in front of him seem immensely overwhelming. Right. Tell it to the sea. It can’t be that hard.

“Er, hello?” he asks, feeling foolish. Getting no reply is honestly a bit of a relief.

“Right, I guess…I don’t actually have any clue what to say here. And it’s not being scared of looking like an idiot. I do that plenty, let me tell you. I just…”

“You know, Jon grew up close to the seaside. Told me once that as much as he hated the tourists and the commerciality of it all, he still loved being by the water. I…”

He almost says, “I think he’d like this being his resting place.” Or “I miss you, Jon.” Or “I’ll always love you.” He even considers just rambling about everything that’s happened to him. But bile is burning his throat, and he can’t spit the words out. He digs his fingernails into his palms while resisting the urge to storm away from this blasted sea right now.

But he just isn’t up for the journey back yet, so he calls out to Nessa, from where she’s standing far down along the rocks, that he will make his way back on his own. She nods warily, but warns him that it doesn’t stay light for long these days.

Try as he might, he doesn’t have any more words for the sea. It’s nice though, sitting there, staring at the crashing waves. In the end, it’s hard to pull himself away.

When he makes it back, he’s exhausted and aching, and his social reserves are drained from the people who all insisted he stop and rest for a minute before continuing on. He knows that he’ll be utterly useless for the next few days.

But Nessa smiles widely upon seeing him. “Feel better?” she asks, and suddenly, Martin is suspicious.

“Wait,” Martin says. “You rotten…that didn’t have a thing to do with trusting me or the sea passing judgement, did it?”

She laughs at him. “It did and it didn’t. She has the power you give her. And when you can’t tell it to anyone else, you tell it to the sea.”

Part of Martin, the part that is feeling alive for the first time in ages, loves the poetry of that statement, enough that he wants to turn it into some of his own. Or maybe he just needs something to occupy his mind on the days when he can’t make himself do anything. So, he plays with the words, trying to find the rhythm in them.

Speak to the sea, she’s a listening ear,

For when you need to be lonely but need someone to hear,

Let her hear you scream, let her hear you sigh,

You’ll feel calmer even as waves mock you in reply.

The words are clumsy, and they don’t quite capture what he’s feeling, but he keeps going. It’s somehow important to get it right.

What he doesn’t want to do, though, is celebrate anything.

“But you have to come to the celebrations for the winter solstice. You were still asleep and boring for the last celebration, and almost everyone goes,” Sarah tells him.

“Oh, well, I’m ever so sorry for boring you,” he replies. She sticks out her tongue at him.

Then, he asks her what happens.

Apparently, there’s a lot of storytelling and something about getting your future told in a cave.

Martin instantly feels a bit on edge hearing about all this. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust these people. They’ve saved him when they had no reason to do so. They have done nothing to make him suspicious. But his experiences from the past several years are hard to ignore, and anything ritualistic instantly gets his hackles up.

“What exactly happens?” he asks Cam the next day, hoping for a clearer answer.

“It’s quieter than a lot of the other festivals,” they say. “Not much in the way of dancing or games. It’s all about trying to remember the light and look forward to it returning. The importance of remembering beginnings and searching for new ones.”

“Er, what about the prophecy bit?” he asks.

Cam shuffles awkwardly. “People always say you can’t tell other people your answer. Otherwise, the good won’t come true and the bad will come faster. And you have to take some object with you. Something that represents what you want to know.”

“Huh,” Martin says. He wonders what he could bring. He owns nothing from his old life. Even the clothes on his back were ripped to shreds.

Cam gives him a look. “Don’t expect too much though. I mean, I respect Granny Nessa. But none of her answers ever make sense or seem to have anything to do with the question I asked. And when you call her out on it, she’ll just say you have to wait and see.”

It is indeed a quiet celebration, but Martin likes the hushed sense of togetherness as people gather by bonfires on the beach, waiting for the sun to return in the morning. A more cheerful affair would probably have sent him running.

He’s trying to be cautious, but it really does just look like people sitting around and talking. No one either tries to push him into participating or acts scandalised by his presence. He feels awkward though, unwilling to interrupt the tight-knit circles of people sharing stories around each light. That is, until Sarah drags him over to where her family is seated.

“So, you're the one turning my youngest into a heathen,” her father says. Martin freezes, and the man laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

“What he means is, thank you for giving her something to occupy her mind before she destroys the house,” her mother adds.

“Oh, er, not a problem.”

“Martin should tell us a story,” Sarah declares. “He never tells us anything about where he came from, and I’ve heard all of your stories before.”

“Oh, er, I wouldn’t know..”

“It’s tradition,” her mother explains. “Telling stories of the past to keep them alive. Keep the people in them alive. Tonight, we’re sharing stories of childhood. Ours, and those we are remembering.

Martin gulps.

Her father catches on quickly, saying, “It’s especially important if it’s a story like the one I see in your eyes, son. But maybe one of us should go first. Besides, we haven’t even done the beginnings of this island yet.”

Sarah whinges. “But that one’s boring. Once upon a time, no one lived here. Then, people got shipwrecked here long ago. Then, they disappeared. Then, the sea sent all of our ancestors here too and it happened a bunch of times more. The end.”

“Sarah,” her mother says disapprovingly. “The story is about how the sea cares for the people and brings people here for a reason.”

“I mean, that is basically the whole story, though,” one of the older siblings points out. “Can’t we skip it this year?”

“Granny Sarah,” another requests. “That’s a fun one.”

“Ah, my mother,” Sarah’s father sighs. “Why we thought naming a child after her was a good idea I’ll never know, especially right after she just went to sea. Our Sarah really is very like her.”

Martin holds back a laugh.

“Right…let’s do the time she set the barn on fire when she was five…”

By the end of the tale, Martin is starting to understand why they think distracting Sarah with the written word and a stranger from a mysterious land is a good idea. She could be getting into so much worse.

The story ends, and everyone whispers, “Sarah,” Martin follows along, hoping no one noticed the delay.

“Right, now you,” Sarah insists.

“Feel free to attempt some patience in between those letters,” Sarah’s mother chimes in. “Maybe your attempts will go better than ours.” But she says it fondly and ruffles Sarah’s hair.

Maybe there is something about this night, because he finds he does want to share. He wants Jon’s name said aloud. But if it has to be a story about childhood, there is only one coming to mind.

“Er, if it’s meant to be a story about childhood, I have one. But it might be a bit too scary…” He’s hoping that Sarah’s parents will give him an out. Instead, every single child is now absolutely rapt. Great.

He focuses mostly on building an image of Jon as a kid, restless and exploratory and fascinated by piles and piles of books. He wishes he could have seen some pictures of Jon as a kid, but there had just never been an opportunity. Sarah is entranced, and he wishes Jon could have met her. He would have been so good with her.

He then starts to get into the bit about the Leitner and…he can’t do it.

He wishes he knew happy stories from Jon’s childhood to share. But he can’t think about him like that right now, young and afraid and alone. Can’t think about what was done to him.

Instead, he says “Sorry” and storms off, walking towards the shoreline. He supposes that one of the others must be physically holding Sarah back, because no one follows him.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he stares out into the moonlit waves. Maybe it is just the local beliefs playing tricks on his mind, but he feels close to something when he stands by the water. It makes his feelings work when he can’t feel anything, although sometimes that seems worse. Like now.

Maybe someday, he’lll be able to do what he’s seen the villagers do. They’ll just say a brief hello at the sea, smile, and go about their day. Maybe someday, his memories will be balm and not a storm. But the thought of his grief hurting less over time is just as terrible, if not moreso, than the thought of it continuing like this forever.

He hadn’t known what to bring into the cave with him, but he gets an idea as he stands there. He picks up one of the many rocks on the beach, and he takes out a small knife that had been given to him. Slowly, deliberately, he carves Jon’s name into the stone. Just three letters, and a heart around it, because Jon deserves that.

He flips it over in his hands, feeling the smooth ridges of his engraving. Yes, he thinks, this will work. He’s not even sure that he has a question in his head, but this will work.

The cave on the beach is marked by a path of small fires, but it is still difficult to navigate. He knows he’s just going to find Granny Nessa inside, and that people have been going in and out all night, but still. He can’t help but be nervous.

She is seated directly on the rocky ground and a circle of torches surrounds her. She gestures, and Martin sits in front of her and wordlessly hands over his stone.

She takes it, closes her eyes, and runs her fingers over it, nodding. “Good choice,” she says. Then, she breathes on the stone, holds it up to the fire, and passes it through a bowl of water. Finally, she places it on the ground in front of her. “You have your question? Remember, you must tell no one but the sea what happens here.”

“Er, yeah,” he says, although he really doesn’t.

After a moment of silence, the torches all seem to glow more brightly and dance for a moment. Nessa looks first at the flames, then into the bowl of water. Nodding, she declares, “Martin Blackwood, when you die, you will die at sea.” She says nothing else.

“Er, what?” Martin asks. “No offence but…what does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said. What it means to you, you’ll have to wait and find out,” she answers, but she isn’t acting like it’s bad news. “Now, go and tell the ridiculous giggling couple outside that yes, they can come in together,” she says, dismissing him.

Martin might miss Jon more than words can say, but he has not missed this level of cryptic bullshit in his life. The words echo in his head. “You will die at sea.”

As the winter goes on, Martin finds himself snapping more and more. It’s freezing, and while of course he’s been cold before, the cold has never hurt like this before. And while fewer people come round to chat with Nessa, he’s still stuck in close quarters with a near stranger and little escape, and whatever progress he had made before is quickly reversing.

He still desperately feels a need to earn his keep, and the lessons hardly feel like enough. Nessa had even said it wasn’t a skill her people needed, and Martin couldn’t help but wonder if she had given him this task just to help occupy him. But he doesn’t know how to do anything else to help in this world. He may have spent a good deal of time traversing an apocalyptic hellscape, but that didn’t require what are apparently basic survival skills here.

He misses modern conveniences, and until now he’s never known just how much he relied on them. He misses not having to constantly tend a fire or make every little thing from scratch. And he misses tea. Christ, if only there was some sort of caffeine here, maybe his brain wouldn’t keep getting caught up in this damn fog.

And Nessa’s warning has proven right, at least thus far. Martin’s strength still has not fully returned. Nessa is remarkably tolerant of his bitching, being prone to such things herself, but eventually she asks, “What about it bothers you so much?”

He pretends not to understand.

“I’ve seen more than one frustrated that their prior strength or nimbleness or whatever else is unlikely to return. Yet there is more to it than that for you, isn’t there.”

“I…guess there is,” he says. “I’m sorry. I know I complain too much.”

“Hardly. It’s not that, lad.” It feels like she is staring right through him. “You cared for someone, once. Someone who didn’t appreciate it. It was never her need that caused you pain, and you know it. So, stop thinking you are going to turn into her.”

“Stay out of my head, J-” he starts, then bites his lips. Fuck. He hadn’t wanted the love of his life seeing into his head like this. He certainly isn’t prepared to tolerate it from anyone else.

To make matters worse, whenever people do visit, they constantly reference “his Jon.” He knows, intellectually, that they believe continuing to reference the dead somehow keeps them alive. Keeps them close. Lets their spirit at sea remember itself. But every time they do, he cannot help but feel that it is salt being rubbed in a never to be healed wound.

And he just…he craves his loneliness. He knows it isn’t good for him, but what does it matter? The most important thing in his life is gone. No one here really needs him, for all they’ve welcomed him in.

No, he needs a place of his own.

So, as soon as the first signs of thaw hit the island, he finds himself asking if there is anywhere he might set himself up. It turns out there is an abandoned cottage close to the shore, near enough to seek help easily from the village but far enough for him to find his peace.

He’s surprised that it is just being offered to him, but he’s told that he came from the sea. It’s only right that he be close to it.

The cottage is…well. It makes the escape house look like a classy hotel. The words hut or shack would truly be more accurate. It’s a single room, with a small pallet in the corner, a table with two stools, and a fireplace. And that’s it. If the people in the village weren’t so generous, he would most definitely die out here for one reason or another.

Still, it suits him. He can see the ocean just by opening the door. And having space of his own makes him that much more receptive when people do insist on coming round to visit.

So, months pass, and Martin continues. Some days there is more pain than others, and some days he spends hours just trying to get his brain working right.

Sarah and Cam come for lessons at least twice a week, and they always come loaded with food and supplies. They’re progressing so fast. It must have taken him longer to learn as a kid.

Even though he never asks them, they keep doing chores around the cottage. Martin suspects that Nessa is encouraging them to do so, but his stomach always churns when this happens. He knows that the problem with his mum was how she treated him, that this isn’t the same, but his mind refuses to listen. He doesn’t know how to accept being the person who needs help.

But he’ll try, because he absolutely refuses to become his mother. So, he tries to always thank them and offers to listen to them when they need it. He fakes a level of patience that no longer comes naturally to him. But he still finds himself thinking that perhaps it is fortunate for everyone that he will never get a chance to be a parent.

He still dreams of being under the water, lonely and longing and finally free. As much as he wants to dwell on these dreams, he pushes them away. They, combined with Granny Nessa’s prophecy, have come to represent far too great a temptation. Some days, just continuing on after everything that’s happened feels absurd, and he just wants it all to end. To just let himself sink.

But he just keeps putting it off and just keeps going. Maybe he doesn’t really want to die, or maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to go through with it. But as time passes, he has more and more days that, while not good, at least reach the impressive standard of okay.

If he’s honest with himself, he’s starting to heal.

If he’s even more honest, that’s half his problem. He doesn’t want to heal. It feels like a betrayal.

Nearly six months have passed since the winter celebration. Today, Martin’s body is cooperating with him, and he manages to amble through the village centre fairly easily. Some people are sitting in groups, instruments in hand, practising for the night ahead, and he finds himself nodding along. Groups of children chase each other around without a care while adults try to convince them to help.

Martin sinks into the feeling of the day, and he finds himself laughing at the antics. He’s looking forward to tonight, he realises. He can’t remember the last time he had this much energy. He glances over his shoulder, wanting to share the joy of the moment…

And then, that joy shatters.

Within an instant he feels sick to his stomach and knows he needs to flee. He cannot be here, in this crowd of happy people celebrating with their loved ones.

He cannot be here, in this place that fills him with peace and company, this place that makes him forget, even for an instance, what he’s lost. He will not celebrate the sun and the sea and whatever else the village is commemorating, because he doesn’t deserve to celebrate.

He storms back to his cottage, wheezing and grabbing his side by the end, his rare good day ruined because he pushed himself too hard. He welcomes the pain. He knows he’s spiralling after months of feeling relatively stable, but now that it’s started, he doesn’t want to stop.

He grabs one of the blank books Nessa left him, and for once, the words flow out of him, ink dripping all over the page. He cannot bring himself to care about the waste of paper.

The sea’s a damn thief and a killer besides,

Though people here praise her I see through the lies,

She stole away my love to the depths of the cold,

Leaving me with not even a body to hold.

But that’s only half why I curse her, although it’s enough,

The other half’s that she spat me out of the rough,

She’s no fair judge, if she were I’d be dead,

And my love would be here in my place instead.

Martin shoves the book aside. He will regret this tomorrow, if he’s still here, but he cannot be still right now.

He walks towards a small alcove along the beach as the sun sets. Even as the party moves to the beach, he should be alone here. He can still hear the sounds of celebration in the background: drunken laughter, a slightly off-key flute and pounding drums. The sounds of so much happiness infuriate him. He stares at the water, but today, it does not calm him down.

Granny Nessa’s words echo in his head. “When you die, it will be at sea.”

He sits cross-legged right by the waterline, taking off his shoes to dampen his toes. It’s cold, even in summer, but he can’t bring himself to care. Then, he grabs a rock and chucks it at the sea, making not the slightest attempt to skip it.

“Hey, you, did that get your attention?” he asks, glaring across the waves.

“So, everyone keeps saying that I should talk to you, but you know what? I’m sick of you. I’m sick of how everyone here sees you as this miraculous thing when you are the monster that took Jon from me.” The sea is dark, silent, and endless in return.

“No, no, you’re right. You are right. That’s not fair. It’s me. It’s my own pigheadedness. If it weren’t for my choices, Jon would be alive. Lording it up over a world of fear, but alive.”

The sea responds to all his hate and self-loathing with the same gentle rhythm of waves, and he hates it. To some odd part of his mind, it sounds almost compassionate, and he does not want that. He’d much prefer being told that he’s just as terrible and at fault as he believes.

“You know, Jon, sometimes I hate you too. Not for any of the reasons you might think. It’s…at the end there, you changed your mind for me. You risked dooming all those other worlds, including this one, for me. I’ve played it through every way I can think of, and that’s the only conclusion I can come to. You thought that me stabbing you gave me the best chance of living when I wouldn’t leave.”

“Which means you didn’t just die because of me, you died for me. Which is the damn reason why I can’t just walk forward into this blasted sea until I join you, because I cannot just throw that gift away as much as I never asked for it. And yeah, kind of resent you just a bit for that.” He lets out an ugly laugh.

What would it be like, letting the ocean overtake him? He could shove his pockets full of rocks and just passively let it pull him down until there was no longer any meaningful distinction between him and it. He knows the reality would probably be hell, but in his mind it’s peaceful. Blissful, even.

“I mean, it’s not just you. You know, tomorrow morning, I’m going to have two little voices eager to irritate me. Begging for lessons and stories. And if I’m gone, one of them will go looking. If I wash up to shore, one of them might even find me. And I can’t…I know what it’s like, to have an adult who matters to you just up and leave one day. I can’t do that to them. And I kind of hate them for that as well.”

“All of these people here…I don’t deserve their kindness. Honestly, fuck their kindness and concern because without it, I would have been dead months ago. But you know, this place has lulled me in. It’s beautiful, and I find myself smiling, and I shouldn’t get to smile when you will never get to again. Jon, love, I can’t do this without you. I need you so much.”

Martin doesn’t think he’s said this many words in all the time he’s been here. But now, he is desperate to explain himself.

“You know, part of this is my own damn selfishness too. There’ve been so many times recently when I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go on, and I told myself that if I died trying to do the right thing, that somehow made it okay. That I wasn’t suicidal; my death was just necessary. Helping Peter, my plan for if we couldn’t get rid of the fears. But right now, I just want the pain to stop, and I know it wouldn’t do anyone a bit of good. It might even hurt people, if only because they are stupid enough to think I’m worth something.”

Tears sting his eyes. “You know what, fine. Fine. This ocean apparently wants my damn tears so much, she can have them. She’s already taken everything that matters to me. I just…I won’t. I promise, Jon. I promise I won’t. I know you wouldn’t want me to. But I can’t do this. Not without you. So, what do I do? Help me, Jon. Please, I need help.”

His tears hit the water, one at a time, and he listens to them hitting the water. Plop. Plop. Plop.

There’s countless of them, but the sea just needs seven.

Seven tears.

The world stands still, and Martin forgets to breathe. The noises in the background go distant, then fade out entirely. Distantly, Martin thinks it’s like when the sound cuts out in an action scene in a movie and everything switches to slow motion. Not that he could use that metaphor with anyone here. It’s one moment, and it’s an eternity, and there is nothing for Martin to do but wait.

Then, the moment breaks with a rush. The flute in the distance returns, and existence moves on as before. He huffs.

“I don’t know what I expected to happen. Some miracle? But miracles don’t exist. You’d think after everything I’d know that.”

Martin stares out at the blackness, then continues in a choked voice.

“Jon, you really would have liked it here. Part of me likes it here when I forget to be miserable. You’d have liked the people. I’ll…I’ll tell you about them more, sometime. I’m…I’m gonna try. For you. I…” he stops. “Nevermind. This is stupid. It isn’t like you can hear me.”

But a miracle is already in progress. Unbeknownst to Martin, the sea has accepted his offering. Right now, his plea is skimming the waves, then piercing deep beneath the sea. It travels far and wide until it meets the hidden ears of what to looks for all the world like a common seal.

Jon starts swimming as fast as his flippers will carry him, guided by the shifts in the sea.

Chapter Text

Martin stares into the water for what feels like hours. He has decided not to immerse himself, yet at the same time, he cannot bear the thought of going back to an empty cottage. Shame wells up in him. Whether it is the shame of getting to this point in the first place or the shame of being unable to go through with it, he cannot say.

Finally, once he can see the first few slivers of dawn, he takes a few steps away from the shoreline. He hears it almost instantly. Thump. Thump. He freezes, and so does the sound. His heart races even as he tells himself how ridiculous he’s being. Only the sea is at his back; no one could possibly be there. He’s just…he’s just tired. Steeling himself, he moves forward again. Instantly, the thumping returns.

He swings around, ready for a confrontation, then bursts out laughing at the sight in front of him.

“You scared the life out of me!” he scolds the seal, who is looking up at him with wide eyes. The seal puts a flipper in front of its eyes, as if sheepish. It’s a beautiful creature, with silvery fur speckled with dark spots.

“No, it’s okay, little guy. Just me being terrified of nothing. What else is new?”

The grunt he gets sounds like a rebuttal, and then the seal starts rocking side to side. Martin can’t tell what it’s doing. Trying to scratch an itch, maybe?

“Look, I really do have to get back. I’m sorry you weren’t around earlier, though. I could have used the company.” The seal gives a little tilt of the head. It’s silly, but the animal seems to understand him.

He keeps going, and the seal continues to follow him.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything for you.” The seal bounces up right to his feet and sniffs them. This couldn’t be normal seal behaviour, could it? Martin thought they were typically scared of humans.

“Look, it’s better for you out here. You probably wouldn’t like a human house at all. And I’m…I’ve gotten used to being on my own. I probably wouldn’t be very good company.”

He tries to ignore the seal as he walks forward, but he can still hear it following him. It’s so strange. Now, he could swear the thumps sound more like footsteps than anything else.

Then, a voice calls, “Martin!”

The world goes sideways, and Martin forgets to breathe. Because Martin knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have just heard that. It’s impossible for him to have heard that voice.

Slowly, he turns. And a miracle is in front of him.

“Jon?” he asks weakly, stumbling towards him. As he approaches, he reaches out one trembling hand to cup Jon’s cheek. It’s warm.

“Martin?” Jon replies, sounding just as unbelieving.

“Yeah…” Martin says, “I…” and then, half hysterically, notices how woozy he suddenly feels. He tries to stay with it, but the whole world is swimming and his heart is pounding, weak and fast.

“I think I’m turning into you,” he says with a half hysterical giggle, trying to steady himself by holding onto Jon. Then, he collapses.

When he wakes, he’s confused. The morning sun is shining directly on him, and even his bed doesn’t feel this rocky. But despite the rocks jabbing into his back, he can’t remember the last time he felt this comfortable.

He’s been wrapped in a warm fur, and his head…his head is in someone’s lap. Whoever it is, they are petting his hair. He can’t help but let out a small “mmm” at the sensation.

He opens his eyes, and Jon is staring down at him, illuminated by the rising sun from behind. It reminds Martin of an old painting of a saint. His hair is reversed from Martin’s memories, pure silver with darker splashes at the roots, and he seems to be lacking a shirt, but otherwise…that’s Jon.

“Am…am I dead?” he asks, more curious than bothered by the idea.

“I…don’t think so?” Jon answers.

“Then, how…because you…you were…there’s no way you could have survived that. You were dead.” Jon just gently keeps stroking his hair with a far off look in his eyes.

His mind races through various possibilities. Did Jon crash somewhere else, find someone to care for him? Did Martin fail to look for him when he should have, leaving him abandoned at sea?

Jon looks well, better than Martin even, so Martin doesn’t know how to take it when Jon finally nods and says, “I was. I think I still am.”

Martin frowns and reaches behind himself to poke him in the thigh. “You are pretty solid for a ghost, Jon.”

“Not a ghost, I…I’ll explain. But I think we should get you somewhere more comfortable now that you’re awake.” Martin flushes with embarrassment.

Then, as they get to their feet, Martin flushes for an entirely different reason as he looks Jon over, trying not to ogle.

“Er, Jon, did you forget something?” he says. Christ, it feels good to get to tease Jon again.

Jon, flustered, grabs what Martin had thought was a furry blanket and wraps it around his waist.

Martin starts to say, “I have a cottage not far from here—”

Jon cuts him off by pulling him into a tight embrace, clinging as if letting go would cause him to disappear. Martin kisses him, hesitantly at first. Then, within seconds, it is like they’ve never been apart. Waves and early morning birds sound in the distance, and Martin wishes this moment could go on forever. Right now, it doesn’t matter how this is possible. The pain of the past several months is unimportant. What matters is that right here, right now, they are together.

Both are silent as they walk hand in hand to the cottage and as Martin starts a small fire to boil water for an herbal tea.

“I really miss real tea,” he says, “but this at least tastes pretty good.” Then, he can bear it no longer. “Jon, what the hell? How is this possible?”

Part of Martin is very aware that he isn’t processing this at all. He’s scared any moment that he’ll wake up.

“Right,” Jon says, massaging his temples with his fingers. “I suppose you want my statement.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t put it like that…”

“Martin, it’s. It’s okay.” Jon reaches out to grab his hand again.

“After the Panopticon, I remember the world tearing apart. I remember hitting the water, but I could feel myself fading away. I was dying. I knew I had to be dying. And…I’d made my peace with that.”

Martin’s eyes are already welling up with tears.

“So, you can imagine my surprise when, however long later, I found myself opening my eyes. The world looked different, yet I could see clearly. I was underwater, yet I found I had no urgent need of breath. It was so peaceful that my first thought was that I didn’t think death would be this peaceful. Not for me, at least.”

Martin’s breath hitches. That description sounds painfully familiar to the one that’s been haunting his dreams.

“I felt…I guess you could say a presence as I floated there. There were no words, but I felt like I was being offered a choice. And my first instinct was to try to refuse, because I know, of anyone in the universe I know what the consequence of accepting such a choice could be. But I felt so…unafraid. There was so little pressure to say yes or no, just an offer for a second chance. I challenged whatever it was, demanded to know what the cost would be. But it didn’t answer.”

Martin hums thoughtfully, and Jon gives him a look. “What?”

“Oh just, the people here have legends, you know. I was just thinking, they probably would have said that you met the sea.”

Martin expects Jon to question this, but he merely gets a far off look in his eyes when he says, “Perhaps.”

“Then, I tried to warn ‘the sea’, I suppose. Tried to explain what had happened, that there could be grave danger. But I just felt wave after wave of calmness being pushed at me, like it was trying to comfort a crying child. I couldn’t make it understand. And I didn’t know what happened to you or the fears so…so I accepted the offer.

“My memory is hazy, but sometime later, I was again aware of the water, and that some great change had been worked on me. And my first thought was that I had made a terrible mistake. That no matter how soothing that presence had been, I’d just given myself over to another power that I didn’t understand. That I was doomed to forever be an idiot.”

Jon might be worried about the consequences, but all Martin can think is that if accepting this deal means that Jon is here, it must be a good thing.

“Jon, you’re not…”

Jon just shakes his head. “Let me finish. I tried to know anything about this place, anything about what had happened, but I couldn’t. I looked for any sign of the fears, but again, there was nothing. That part of me, that ability to know, I think it’s gone for good. Which meant I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t tell if the same thing had happened to you that had happened to me; I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. All I knew was that you weren’t with me, and also…I had become a seal. ”

“Wait, I thought I must have hallucinated that. You can’t seriously be telling me…”

“Look at the skin, Martin,” Jon says. “Really look at it.”

Martin holds the pelt and takes a good look at it for the first time. It’s incredibly soft, with a pattern much like the new pattern in Jon’s hair. It’s beautiful…but it also looks like it has been through hell. There are marks and scars all over it. If Martin had just seen it, he would have guessed that some poor animal had a bad encounter with a boat propeller.

But, even after all these months, he knows Jon’s skin well. He’s spent hours tracing it, memorising it. He knows these patterns. The worm scars, the knife mark at his throat, the burn, all of it. He grabs Jon’s arm and examines it gently, running his fingers up and down. The skin there is completely free of any scars.

“Holy…”

“Quite.”

Martin stares into his mug for a second. Then, he asks, “So, what did you do?”

“Not being able to know any of the answers myself, I attempted to find others who might be able to help. There are others, like me. Selkies, I guess. The problem was, none of them seemed to have any very clear answers either. I learned I could take human form on land, but none of them could agree about when or for how long. I learned we were all souls of those who died at sea, but beyond that, no one seemed to agree about why we were transformed. And when I discussed the presence, no one admitted to knowing what I was talking about.”

“That sounds frustrating,” Martin says.

“Some said this existence was a punishment, that we were damned for some reason because of how we lived our life. Others said we’d been gifted with a second chance. I…I found myself drawn to the damned explanation, that it had been a trick after all, a way of making me admit that I didn’t deserve to be at peace.”

“None of it was your fault,” Martin tries.

“Don’t. Just, don’t.”

Jon’s whole body quakes with tension, but Martin, not knowing how to convince him, just changes the topic.

“Did you stay with them? These others that you found?” Martin notes with surprise that the thought doesn’t bring the jealousy it once would have. The thought of Jon being all alone, stuck in a strange new form, is much worse than the thought of him finding companionship.

It’s a low bar, but maybe this place has made him grow up a bit.

“I…I thought about it. But I had to keep looking for answers. None of the others had met any other new selkies recently, but I thought there might be a chance you were out there. And when I found land, I’d go ashore to see if there was anyone there, but all the places I found were abandoned. Recently, I’d almost started to accept that you had almost certainly drowned, and that you were unlikely to be damned, if that’s what this is, like I was. Or perhaps you were just angry, and thus refused to make a choice that would mean staying with me.”

“Jon, what…no! That’s ridiculous.”

Jon doesn’t look convinced.

A sudden guilt gnaws at Martin. He had just given Jon up for dead, when all this time, Jon had been out there, not giving up on him. He should have…he doesn’t know what he could have done. But whatever it was, he should have done it.

“No, Jon. Look. I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything that happened. I have a whole list of things I thought I’d never get to apologise for. And anything I was angry about, I just…I’m not. Not anymore. Nothing that happened was as bad as you dying on me, and I can’t even be angry about that anymore, because here you are.”

Jon says, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. Last night, I heard you. I heard you crying for me, although I don’t know how I could have. I wasn’t exactly close to this place. But I’m here now.” He pulls Martin into a tight hug.

“I love you,” Martin says, choking up.

“I love you too.”

“I…I’m sorry. If you heard all of it. Some of the things I said. I didn’t…”

“I know. I know what you meant. And I’m. I’ve been there, where you were last night. I know how hard it is to just…keep going when all of your instincts say you shouldn’t. And I’m sorry. For leaving you alone.“ Martin just clings harder.

Then, he grins. “You know, this is a rather hard to believe story. I can imagine what you would have said to it, years ago.”

Jon gives him a look. ‘Really? After everything we’ve been through, this is what makes you sceptical?”

“It’s not…I’m just having trouble believing you are really in front of me. I think…seeing you switch might help it sink in.”

“I…okay. It doesn’t bother you?”

“Jon, you can turn into a seal. That’s not exactly threatening or malicious. I mean, seals are cute.”

Jon looks like he can’t decide whether to be relieved or offended. He says, “You’ve seen seals before. It’s not that special.”

“But they are also not you.”

“What, so you want a chance to coo at me?”

“I’ve thought I’d never see you again for months. I mourned for you, and here you are. I absolutely want a chance to coo at you.”

“I…alright.”

“If it bothers you, you don’t have to…” Martin starts, but Jon is already standing up.

In one swift motion, he wraps the pelt around himself. And just like that, there is now a seal lying on the floor of Martin’s cottage, who is now staring at Martin with huge, black eyes.

“If you are trying to prove that you aren’t adorable, you are doing a very bad job,” Martin remarks. Jon responds by pushing his nose against Martin’s leg.

Martin gets down on the ground, wincing as he does, and opens his arms. Jon bounces up onto his lap.

“Oof. You’re a lot heavier like this, I’ll tell you.” Jon makes an unimpressed noise.

“But you are very, very cute,” Martin says, petting Jon’s head. Jon closes his eyes happily.

Martin has, in the past, suspected Jon to be part cat. And while he has become an entirely different species, the premise still holds in his love of being petted. Martin knows that if he could, Jon would be content to stay like this getting doted on the entire afternoon, and he plans on obliging for as long as he can.

Jon rolls onto his back so that his belly is exposed, and Martin obediently goes in for the belly rub, then stops.

Fuck.

When he’d examined the scars on the pelt, he hadn’t seen that one. Maybe because it was where the coat split. But there, right over Jon’s heart, is an ugly, jagged scar. Suddenly, he’s back there with a knife in his hands. Hearing the sound Jon made as the knife went in. Calling out for him to an open sea. Jon taps him lightly with a flipper to get him to look back at him, and he can hardly bear to see that easy acceptance.

“Jon, I… I’m so sorry. It’s okay if you hate me. You should, you’d have every right…”

Jon traps Martin's hand under both flippers and presses it to his heart, right on top of the scar. Martin can feel Jon’s heart beating underneath the raised scar tissue.

“I love you. And I’m so glad you're here.” Martin can practically feel the affection radiating off Jon, and privately he thinks that Jon forgives far too easily.

Then, there’s a knock on the door, and Martin groans at the worst timing in the world.

“I can’t believe I completely forgot…hang on.” Jon looks up at him curiously.

Sarah and Cam are at the door, waiting for their morning lesson. Martin tries to think of a reason to make them go away, but before he can even try to think of a lie, Sarah is peeking around the corner.

“Martin…why is there a seal in your cottage?” Sarah says, then barges inside. Cam, looking curious, follows after.

Jon is bouncing up towards them, and well, it isn’t as if this island isn’t used to its share of weirdness. These kids grew up in a world steeped in folklore.

“Er…meet Jon?” Martin says.

“That’s your Jon?” Cam asks. Martin nods.

Sarah squeals. “Can I pet him?” she asks. “Because my dad says you should never pet the seals because they bite, but if he’s your Jon I know he won’t bite me and I’ve always wanted to pet a seal.”

Martin very much wants to be alone with Jon right now, but he doesn’t have the heart to kick the kids out. He looks at Jon, who nods.

“Go ahead. But not too long, ok. I want to introduce you guys properly.” Martin says.

Jon seems somewhat taken aback, but he’s remarkably tolerant of Sarah’s overly enthusiastic petting.

It’s Cam who grabs her hand, saying, “It’s too much when you pet like that. You need to go softer.”

In Martin’s mind, Jon hadn’t been showing any signs of distress at all. “How do you know that, Cam?” he asks.

“He just said so,” Cam responds, then freezes. “No one else heard?”

Cam looks like he’s freaking out, so Martin says. “No. It's…it’s fine though. I mean, that seems like it will be useful. Maybe something to ask Granny Nessa about?” Martin winces, wishing he was less useless at being comforting.

Cam still shifts uncomfortably, like they know more than they’re saying.

Jon tolerates Sarah’s affection a bit more before scooting away, and a second later, Jon is human-looking again, carefully wrapped in his pelt. The children’s eyes are wide.

“Martin, would you care to introduce me?”

Sarah, not giving him a chance, says, “I’m Sarah. I’m Martin’s apprentice.”

“Apprentice?” Jon asks, and then Sarah’s off, answering every question Jon can think to ask. Jon keeps shooting him warm smiles, and Martin cannot help but feel self conscious. Sarah is making it sound like he’s done much more than he actually has.

Cam is still holding back, although they answer all of Jon’s questions (except how they could understand seal) politely enough. They have a look Martin recognizes from their lessons as meaning that they are chewing over a question, but they won’t ask it until they figure out the right words.

Seeing everyone properly distracted, there is something Martin needs to do. He sneaks just out of his front door for the moment and looks out at the view in front of him. “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely.

Of course, the sea just waves in reply. He goes back in with a smile on his face.

When he returns, Cam is finally asking their questions, “You have your coat. Doesn’t…doesn’t that mean you have to go back to the sea?”

Jon frowns. “I mean…I plan on staying?”

“Selkies can do that?” Cam looks hurt, although at what Martin cannot say.

“I think so. I mean, I’m not very used to being a selkie. But I don’t see why not.”

“And Martin…isn’t making you stay against your will? He’s not forcing you to be here?”

“Of course not!” Jon says, looking horrified. “I love him. I just…I can’t believe I actually found him.”

Cam clenches their fists. “I just…he told me that…nevermind.”

Jon exchanges looks with Martin, who shrugs. He has no clue what is going on with Cam. Although, between the pages torn out of a book long months ago and Cam’s hands, he’s starting to have some suspicions.

He’s also starting to quietly panic. He’s not overly familiar with selkie myths, but just the concept that Jon might have to leave just after he’s gotten him back…no. That cannot happen. Cam’s just…Cam’s just wrong.

Martin tries to think of a response, but his body has decided that it’s had enough. Instead of words, all he manages is a coughing fit. It’s a nasty thing, with whole body shakes that leave his back and arms aching.

“Martin, Martin, are you okay?” Jon asks, but Martin can’t reply. When it finally ends, he feels wobbly, and all too aware of how long it has been since he’s slept. Finally, he nods. To prove he’s okay, he attempts to get up, but fails miserably.

Cam tells Jon, “He’s better than he was. Granny Nessa wasn’t sure if he was going to survive for months after all that time in the water.” Martin glares at the little traitor.

Martin wishes he’s been able to hold off. He knows he couldn’t have hid this forever, but, if there’s a chance Jon won’t be able to stay on land with him, he’d really rather that Jon not spend the little time they have worrying.

The children are answering Jon’s worried questions, but Martin can’t focus on anything but the pain that won’t fade and the feeling of Jon’s hands encouraging him into bed.

Finally, he manages, “Guys, I think lessons are over for the day.”

“Do you need anything?” Cam asks. Martin almost says no, then rethinks it.

“Let Granny Nessa know what’s happened. And if you can find any clothes for Jon, I’d appreciate it.” Jon is going to need those, because Martin is determined that he is not going to leave. The second they’re gone, Jon is on the bed with Martin, laying his skin over the both of them.

“Isn’t that a bit creepy?” Martin asks. “I mean, it is kind of your skin.”

Jon chuckles. “Why would it be? I’m just using it to keep you warm.”

“I…sorry that this isn’t exactly an ideal first day back together,” Martin says.

Jon runs his fingers through Martin’s hair. “Oh, I don’t know. I found it fascinating. I must say, I didn’t expect you to have apprentices.”

Martin snorts. “I am not cut out to be a teacher. But they’re good kids. ”

“You’re good with them,” Jon says, kissing Martin on the cheek. Martin doubts that, but he’s too tired to argue. Instead, he just wraps his arms around Jon and closes his eyes.

For once, he does not dream.

When he wakes, it’s night. The skin and Jon are gone and the door is ajar. His heart sinks, and he rushes as much as he is able. To his relief, Jon is right outside the door.

The moonlight envelops Jon in a soft glow, and a gentle breeze is ruffling his hair. Martin walks around him to see his face, and Jon does not even register his presence.

It’s different than when Jon was in the grip of the Eye. There is nothing malicious underneath it, at least not that Martin can see. But does he know that? Suddenly, that doesn’t seem so certain.

And earlier, when Jon had said he thought he was dead, Martin hadn’t quite believed him. He’d seemed so solid. But now, although he can feel Jon’s flesh as he grabs his arm, he very much can believe that Jon is more spirit than man now.

Martin shakes him, desperate to pull him out of it, to bring him back. It takes an eternity before recognition returns to Jon’s eyes.

“Don’t…don’t do that,” Martin begs. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Jon still is half in a dream as he speaks.

“When I put the skin on earlier, I felt this urge to be in the water. This sense that that was where I belonged. But I’m not…” Suddenly, he sounds more aware and more distraught. “I’m happy, being here with you. I don’t want to leave.”

Martin believes that Jon believes that, but echoes of the apocalypse flash in his mind. A quote flashes through his head, something about history rhyming.

He glares at the sea he was thanking just hours ago. Deep down, he’s already preparing for another round of heartbreak.

Martin had been right. Jon is fascinated by the local folklore.

“Why?” Martin asks. “Haven’t you had enough of ghost stories?”

“I’ve had enough of the fears and statements. But these stories aren’t those. They’re something new.”

Jon also takes an active interest in helping with the tutoring project, and Sarah and Cam are delighted. He’s as curious as they are, and before long he’s taking them off on field trips to some of the more mysterious local sites, the ones that he’s been assured are safe.

Today, they are off to see the ruins on the tallest hill on the island. Well, Jon and the kids are. Martin, not wanting to make a big deal out of the fact that he knows he can’t manage that hill, just says that he has had enough of walking for a lifetime. The kids are both prepared with their little journals, ready to take some crude notes. Jon had figured out that too. He hadn’t had a clue how to make anything like that himself, but he had at least known enough to know that the local leather worker might have some ideas.

There is something magical about watching Jon work, watching him encourage the children to get their own tales into words. It feels like Jon has taught them more in a few weeks than Martin has managed in months. It’s also been wonderful to watch just how excited Jon has been about the whole affair. Martin fully expects all of them to lose track of time today and come trudging back after dark.

So, it surprises Martin when Sarah is pounding on the door not three hours after they set out, saying, “I think something is wrong with Jon.”

Jon is standing next to the cottage, but he doesn’t even say hello as Martin steps out. He just stares out at the sea, gripping the side of the cottage with his hand as if to remind himself that he shouldn’t move forward.

Sarah explains, “Once we got towards the top of the hill, he just turned around and started walking back. We tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t answer us.”

Only one thought exists in Martin’s head. I can’t lose you. Not again.

“Jon, no. You are not doing this. You are not leaving,” he says, and he goes forward to try to snap him out of it. He tries shaking him; it does nothing. He tries dragging him inside, tries grabbing the sealskin that Jon has been using as a cloak, and then—

Smack. Martin barely sees Cam coming. Martin looks at them in shock, his cheek stinging, as Cam shakes out his hand. He’s never seen the kid look at him or anyone with that amount of loathing.

To Martin’s growing confusion, Cam then starts yelling at him.

“How…how could you do that to someone? To someone you love.”

Jon shakes his head, then stares, confused by his surroundings and more confused by Cam’s ramblings towards him.

“Don’t…don’t let him do that to you. Don’t let him trap you. Just, when you have to go, please don’t forget about us?” Cam is crying, and Martin doesn’t know what to do.

He reaches out, but Cam just runs off.

Jon blinks a few times, then asks, “Sarah, do you know what set them off?”

She shakes her head. “No. But Cam never talks about anything. At least, not anything important. And Granny Nessa told me when we started coming to lessons not to bug Cam about his home.” She looks quite put out that there is a bit of information on this island that she does not know.

Martin then makes a decision. “Sarah. Please don’t tell anyone that Cam is upset. Give us a chance to find them, okay? I don’t think we are going to be able to do a lesson today. Actually, no. Go tell Granny Nessa, but no one else.” She’s unhappy about leaving, but she nods.

“Jon, are you okay?” Martin asks.

“I…it was too far. I was too far from the sea. But I think I’m okay now. At least, I’m okay enough to try to find out what the hell that was about.”

“Jon, are you sure? Because a minute ago I couldn’t get through to you at all.” Martin says. He wants to trust Jon, but right now his mind is filled with memories of statements and the Eye’s influence. Can he trust Jon to prioritise his own wellbeing?

“I’m…I’m certain. At least for now,” Jon says. This does not comfort Martin at all.

Cam’s gone to the shore, skipping rocks angrily. Martin approaches. “Cam, care to share what that was all about?” He’s trying very hard to control his temper, but he is not happy about being slapped.

“You're not supposed to bother someone talking to the sea. Don’t you know anything?”

“Eh, still learning?” Cam does not look amused.

They sit on either side of him and Jon says, in a gentle voice, “Cam, you know that Martin isn’t…forcing me to be here, right? I want to be on land, even if the sea does call me. He isn’t stopping me from doing anything like that.”

Cam glares. “That isn’t how this works.”

Martin wants to scold them, but Jon just asks, “Tell me how it does work, then.”

“You are a selkie, shouldn’t you know?”

“Being something doesn’t mean understanding it.”

“Fine. What happens is, a selkie never really wants to be on land. It’s torture for them, and only bad people like, well, I didn’t think Martin was a bad person like that, but only bad people make them, either by stealing their skin or tricking them. And then one day, the call of the sea gets to be too much, and because the selkie was tormented by being on land, they leave everyone behind, too screwed up to care if they never see anyone they cared about on land again.”

Martin says, “Cam, you never really mention your parents. Were they…”

Cam hugs their knees. “My mum just left one day. Never said goodbye. And I asked and asked what happened, but dad would never tell me why. Till I heard some people talking about seal-folk, and I remember being really little and mum saying she was looking for her skin. That my dad had hidden it. I confronted him, and he just said it was a foolish move, that it would have been better not to mess with the seal-folk just to be left with a weird child.

“I used to look for her all the time, you know. But I think she must have just swam as far away from this place as possible. I don’t suppose you’d...” he cuts off.

Jon asks, “What’s her name?”

“Emily.”

“Did she…scar above her right eye?”

“Yeah.”

Jon’s quiet.

“Tell me. I’m not little anymore, I just…I need to know.”

Jon sighs. “She said that she’d been trapped on land, once. That she hadn’t liked the land during her life, and that she had been a fool to return. That none of us would go near land if we were smart, and that humans were all cruel. ”

“Did she mention my dad? Or me?”

Jon stays silent.

“That’s...yeah. That answers that. What about…could she have visited? If she wanted to?”

“I…yeah.”

Cam just nods and looks at their webbed hands.

“So, are you really okay with being here?”

Jon smiles, “I want to be here. I want to be with Martin, and I want to keep teaching you. I suppose…I’ll be here as long as I’m able.”

Suddenly, Jon frowns and looks at them pointedly. “Cam, is there anything else you want to say?”

Cam suddenly looks apprehensive as they turn to face Martin.

“I’m…I’m sorry for hitting you,” they say, “I just…”

Martin takes a deep breath. “You wanted to protect Jon. I can’t fault you for that. It’s not okay, but I’m giving you one pass. But next time, talk to me.”

Some of the tension leaves Cam, and they ask, “Is it okay if I stay here sometimes? Not all the time, I just…I hate going home, knowing what my dad did.”

Martin and Jon exchange a long look, then reach out to hug the kid. It’s one of the weird things about living in a community like this. There isn’t actually any authority who will say that Cam has to stay with their dad if their dad doesn’t raise a fuss about it. And somehow, Martin imagines that the man will be perfectly happy to see Cam less.

“Anytime,” Martin says, trying not to freak out that he and Jon seem to have just acquired a child.

Later that night, Jon and Martin sneak out to the beach to discuss things, not wanting to disturb Cam from where they were sleeping in the corner.

“Perhaps it would be better, if you were to hold onto this,” Jon says, holding out his coat.

Martin grabs one end of it but doesn’t take it. “Is that really what you want? Do you want to give this over?”

“No,” Jon responds. “But I don’t know what else to do. I would have walked straight into the sea if no one had stopped me.”

Martin contemplates this for a moment. Now that he has Jon back, he wants to cling to him and never let him go. But he will not keep him here if it is a misery for him. He won’t be a monster like Cam’s father. If Jon needs to be at sea, then, well, at least he is alive (sort of) and happy somewhere.

“No, Jon…look. Before, I was wrong. I kept trying to tell you what you could and couldn’t do, and I didn’t have the right to do that. I don’t have that right now, either. So…I trust you. I trust that you will try to stay. And I don’t…I won’t be the cause of you being miserable here.”

Jon smiles weakly. “Okay. I…thank you.”

“I’m sorry for how I acted,” Martin says. “When I couldn’t get through to you…”

Jon turns over, curling up against Martin’s side. “It’s okay. If you're angry, I…I understand.”

“No. It’s not that,” he says, although in truth he is a little. Just not at Jon. However, if he ever gets to properly meet the sea, they are going to be having some words. “It’s just…I, I still don’t know how to let you go.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jon says. Martin looks at him, confused.

Jon smiles. “When I first got here, I was so surprised. I’d heard you calling, and I feared the worst. I heard you at such a low point. Then, to be reminded of the traditional selkie myths so soon after…” Jon looks away, slightly guilty.

“What, Jon? Just spit it out. I can take it.”

“I didn’t know what you’d do. If you’d try to keep me here, for my own good or something.”

Martin winces. “Oh, glad to know you have such a high opinion of me.”

“Well, obviously, now I’m saying I was wrong to think that,” Jon snaps.

Martin takes a deep breath to steady himself. He knows that part of why Jon’s words sting is that they are fair. Especially with how Martin had been acting right before the Panopticon. He just…he hates that he could ever seem like a person who could do that. That he could ever potentially have been a person who would do that.

“Martin…you shocked me in those first few days. You’d clearly been mourning but you weren’t isolating yourself. Not completely. You were letting people in, you were trying to do something with your life.”

Some of the old guilt wells up in Martin, and he starts to apologise.

“No. Martin, I was…I was so relieved. That there was a real chance that you would be okay, with or without me. And now, I know for sure. I don’t want to be called back to the sea forever, but if I am…you’ll be okay. And that’s a good thing.”

Martin knows without a doubt that he is doing the right thing, but it hurts. It feels like every moment he’s just going to be waiting to lose Jon again until he finally does. But Martin has to ask for just one thing.

“If you need to be out there, I won’t try to stop you. Just, please, let me know. Please don’t just disappear one day without a word.”

Jon smiles and takes his hand. “I promise."

Martin leans against Jon and stares at the waves, and in his head he begs, “Please, you just gave him back to me. Don’t take him away again. And if you have to, just give me the strength to do the right thing.”

Naturally, there is no response. Martin will just have to hope he has that strength inside himself.

Sarah is, as ever, being a force of nature.

“I was told not to bug you for stories because you were sad, but now Jon’s back, so you're not sad anymore. So, you should tell us some of your stories.” Her logic is, as usual, very hard to argue with.

Martin desperately tries to think of one that would work. Or rather, he’s trying to think of one that won’t require too many explanations. Having mentioned various things from his world by accident, he’s learned that Sarah picks up on his explanations really quickly. She also fully understands the idea of specialisation. But the idea that someone could have no idea how something they use works so far has not sunk in, and it tends to lead to demands to figure out how to build a telephone or train or whatever else. Jon fares a bit better, but as he’s no longer connected to the Eye, he ends up having to tell her that he just doesn’t know, and both of them feel like she deserves better than for them to resort to just saying, “It’s magic,” even though that’s an answer that she would accept.

“Jon, why don’t you tell them about how you saved me?” That one…that one he wants shared.

“Wait, like stepping into a fairy ring?” Sarah asks a bit into the story.

“I…er, that’s actually a fair comparison,” Jon says.

“But why would Martin trust a fairy and get caught in a fairy ring? Everyone knows you shouldn’t do that.”

“I thought I was protecting people. Protecting Jon.”

“That’s stupid,” Sarah says. Martin just looks at Jon, daring him to say anything in reply to that.

Then, a bit later, she asks, “Wait. So Martin is vulnerable to this…evil loneliness?”

Jon nods and says, “He is. Sarah, will you promise me something?”

She nods, eyes wide.

“If I ever need to go back to the sea, will you make sure Martin doesn’t get too lonely? He might still be vulnerable to it."

Sarah nods, more vigorously, and grabs Martin by the arm. “I won’t let them get you,” she says. Martin smiles at her, then scowls at Jon’s far too innocent look over the top of her head.

And so time goes on.

At the beginning, Martin spends every day on edge. Will this be the last day? Or this? When Jon stares at the sea, is he lying about how bad that separation is?

But time moves on, and Jon fits so well into this life he has somehow made here. For all Martin kept assuming Jon would have a better idea of how to survive here, it turns out that equates to a lot of excited ramblings and very little in the way of actual skills. But they laugh together as they try to figure it out, and it all seems so much less daunting.

Of course, it helps when Cam stays over. They’ve been staying at least one night a week, when things get to be too much at home, but they still seem terrified of overstaying their welcome. Martin wishes he knew the words to convince them that it was alright.

Jon and Martin even, after much reluctance on both of their parts, make it to the last harvest festival, which Martin is trying very hard not to call not!Halloween in his head. Here, the stories shared are of endings, and though they must gloss over most of the details, there is something in hearing the names whispered around a circle. Tim. Sasha. Daisy.

There are attempts to communicate with the dead, but neither Martin nor Jon have any wish to take part. It’s doubtful that any spirits they might have known would be able to come through here anyway.

Martin doesn’t know if he will ever truly be at peace with everything that happened. But somehow, to put it into a story, to tell those stories even when it hurts…it helps. He doesn’t necessarily buy into all of the beliefs here, although some are hard to discount, but he’ll give them all one thing. Wherever these beliefs originated, they certainly tied in well with human psychology.

As winter approaches again, Martin thinks of his prophecy from the year before. He knows he isn’t supposed to share it, but when he asks for clarification on that, Nessa just laughs and says, “Telling your love counts as telling the sea, Martin.”

Jon mulls it over, a faraway look in his eyes. When Martin asks what he thinks it means, he says, “I don’t know. But I’m choosing to interpret it as a blessing. We’ll be together at the end, one way or the other.”

“You think it’s that simple?”

“I don’t know. But I’m hoping.”

“You could ask for one this year, you know,” Martin says. “If you wanted. I’m sure Nessa would oblige.”

“I’m not even sure what I’d ask,” Jon says, but then adds, “You said I’m not supposed to tell anyone the actual question, right?”

When it is time to head out to the cave, Jon has a very familiar bundle under his arms.

Martin had seen couples go in together last year, likely wanting to know of their futures together, so he asks Jon if it is okay to go in with him. Jon agrees easily.

This year, Cam is sitting beside Nessa, shifting awkwardly as they see them. Martin tries to hide his surprise as he gives them a warm smile. He’d known that Cam had been spending more and more time with Nessa, but he hadn’t realised that things had progressed this far. He’s not surprised though. Cam’s talented.

However, when Jon hands over his coat, Cam shakes their head. “I…this one’s too much for me.”

Nessa snorts. “It may be too much for me. Can’t say I’ve ever told a prophecy over a selkie’s coat before.”

“I…I need to know,” Jon says.

She spreads the coat out on the floor of the cave, illuminated by torches, and traces the scars. “And I thought our Martin had had a rough time of it,” she says. Jon looks awkward, but says nothing.

“You have your question in mind?” she asks, and Jon nods.

She looks to Cam, who carefully dips their fingers in the water, then traces both their names on the coat. “It adds something,” Nessa explains.

She then murmurs under her breath, and the result is far more dramatic than what Martin experienced last year. Golden threads seem to jump from the torches to the coat, swimming over it in elegant curved lines and leaving the torches extinguished. At first, he reaches forward, terrified that the coat would burn, but Nessa holds him back.

Each scar, from the small worm marks, to the burn, to the jagged knife wound that Martin can never bear to look at, glows in turn in the absolute darkness.

Then, the coat lifts off the ground, seemingly on its own, and these lines begin to move. They tell stories, each scar forming the impressions of how it was gained, in figures almost like cave paintings. Martin stares, transfixed, as the marks are recounted, from the spindly legs of the spider to the circus to saving him in the Lonely.

As the last scar, the stab wound, comes to life and then fades, the coat gently settles back to the ground, and the light jumps back to the torches, which seem to shine brighter than before.

Nessa frowns. “I’ve never seen anything like that, nor do I have a clue what she means to say to you. Cam?”

Cam stares deep into the distance, and when they speak, it doesn’t quite sound like their voice. “She wasn’t ignoring you. She just thought that what you were describing was far too much of a burden for someone so small to bear.”

“Small?” Jon says, indignant.

Nessa snorts. “We’re all small to the sea, dear. She doesn’t mean it as an insult.”

Cam continues as if they didn’t hear the interruption. “The cost you are worried about…she was offering a trade. That she would deal with the monsters, but that you will have to do something for her.”

“But what?” Jon says.

“She…” Cam stumbles, and then the odd tone of their voice is gone. “I don’t know.”

“Would it kill her to give a straight answer?” Jon says.

Nessa says, “You will get no more tonight. That much I can tell. But I will say this…when people come in here together, the answer they get always involves the whole group, in one way or another.”

As they leave, Jon looks at Martin. “Don’t you dare say one word about me being cryptic, after this.” Martin laughs lightly, although he still feels as haunted by the images as Jon looks.

One morning the following summer, Jon breaks his promise. Martin wakes to a cold bed, and he looks around to see no Jon and no pelt. There are many reasons this could be, but he panics. He goes to town searching, and his worst fears are confirmed.

Jon was seen heading for the beach, as if in a trance, in the early hours of the morning.

Martin already feels a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Jon promised. He had promised that if he ever needed to go, he would at least say goodbye. Did he not trust him? Think that he’d be unable to resist trying to tear the coat away from him? Or was he just unable to, the draw of the sea too strong?

Martin stares out at the sea for hours. Cam is searching on land in a panic, and Martin can tell they are terrified of losing yet another parental figure.

He almost tells them not to, but he’s not ready to dash their hopes not yet.

Tears worked before, so he tries crying, but that does not bring Jon to him. And soon after, the skies darken, the wind picks up, and a horrible storm begins. He tries to stay, to brave it out, but Cam shows up again, saying, “I can’t lose you too,” and drags him back to the cottage. There, they wait.

Cam shares that Granny Nessa spoke with him, and that she’s worried. The storm was unexpected, and most of the village fishermen are out at sea, too far out to make it back. Apparently, such a storm killed a few people two or three years ago.

“Is your dad out there?” Martin asks.

“Don’t care if he drowns,” Cam says mulishly. “Care about the others. And I’ve been trying to listen to what the sea is saying, like Granny Nessa says, but I’m not getting anything.”

The storm rages for hours, and Martin finds himself thinking of Jon out there. He knows that Jon has a much better chance than any of those fishermen, but still, it hurts to think of him feeling that immense longing for the sea, only for it to try to rip him to shreds.

He shouldn’t have started trusting the sea. He knows what things with power are like. In his mind, he starts to write.

Place you hopes in the sea, but those hopes may fray,

What is given can be taken, tides will wash away,

For every calm day below and above,

Comes a day she might storm and steal your love.

“What are you writing?” Cam asks.

Martin blushes, knowing his poetry isn’t the best. There’s a reason why it hasn’t come up in lessons yet. But he knows they don’t have anything else to do but wait, so he hands it over.

It takes Cam a while to puzzle over the words, but then they say, “Most people scold you if you try to criticise the sea. No matter how much she takes.”

Martin snorts. “If she’s as powerful as people say, I think she can handle a bit of constructive criticism.”

Cam smiles, their first genuine smile all day. “Teach me to write like this?” they ask. Martin nods.

Half the roof blows away. If Cam weren’t there, he doubts he’d have even bothered to move the dry half of the cottage. As it is, they huddle together, and Martin just hopes the whole cottage doesn’t wash out to sea.

Hours later, Sarah comes to find both of them, frenzied with excitement.

“You have to come. It’s amazing. We’re all having a party right now. Come on!”

She is too excited to explain properly, and Martin tries saying that he has never felt less like being dragged to a party in his life. But she is insistent.

In the centre of the village, people are embracing and dancing in the streets, completely ignoring the scattered debris of fallen branches and pieces of roofs left by the storm. He recognises several people who must have been out on the boats today. Cam’s father, Sarah’s older sister.

And then, in the centre of it all, is Jon.

Jon seems somewhat put out by the attention, but Martin can’t concentrate on that. Instead, he marches right up to Jon and asks, “What on earth were you thinking. You-”

One man cuts Martin off, “He saved us! Oddest thing I’ve ever seen. Our boat got a hole in the storm we just couldn’t patch, and what did we find but a seal popping up beside us. He took us to shore one by one, letting us cling to his back.”

Another woman chimes in, “We were out in a dinghy. He managed to keep the whole thing stable, got it back in one piece.”

Jon looks sheepish. “It was, this morning I just…I knew where I had to be. Somehow. And I heard your tears but…I had to do this.”

All of the fight has sunk away from Martin, and he grins. “So, you’re a hero, huh?”

Jon scowls at him. Neither of them is quite up for the extent of the impromptu festivities, but they sit in a corner, happily watching the crowds as they curl up together. Martin does worry about where Cam went, but the kid is fiercely independent. They’ll let him know when they’re ready.

Later, they muse over the events of the day, lying out on the pelt and staring at the stars. (The roof will have to wait another day to get fixed.)

“I guess this is what she meant, by a price,” Jon says. “It feels…honestly, it just feels ridiculously good to actually be able to save anyone, no matter how small a scale.”

“Yeah, that’s…a lot better than anything I would have guessed,” Martin says. “How,” he pauses, unsure how to ask the question. “I’ve been playing it over in my mind, and I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about the sea, I guess.”

Jon turns to lean into him. “I know what you mean. I don’t think I could ever look up to anything as a deity, but I can’t deny that she’s claimed me, in a way. And I don’t mind being used to protect this place, but I just…back at the Institute, it was made to look like I was doing good too. Stopping rituals, saving the world. But I also know what it feels like to be bound to something evil. And she isn’t.”

Martin mulls this over. “Yeah. But if she’s good, why is she pulling you away?”

“I think, based on the presence I encountered, she does genuinely care. She just doesn’t understand. The span of a human lifetime, the distance between land and sea, it’s all so small to her. I think she just knows that she’s decided to claim me, so she wants me close.”

Martin snorts, “Well, I’d appreciate it if she could wait her turn.”

Jon snuggles in as they look at the stars together. “I’m here now. Let’s just…let’s hold on to that.”

The next morning, Cam shows up with a bag, looking self-conscious.

“Er, I told my dad I’m not coming back. And I know you said it was okay…”

Jon and Martin sweep them into a strong hug.

Ah. Martin thinks. So this is what being a family should feel like.

A few years pass. Almost three, to be exact.

Martin had thought the village had been quick to welcome him in. But after Jon rescues the villagers, he sees that they were still very much holding them at arm’s length. Afterwards, they can’t go three days without a dinner invitation of some family eager to have their story recorded.

Sarah starts bringing friends with her to lessons, and soon they find themselves with a veritable class of eager students. The stories of this place are finally being recorded properly, in the words chosen by the people here.

They get married. Martin’s health gets better, then worse again, but Jon is there for him through it all. It’s definitely been trending towards worse, though, and Martin’s grateful that Sarah and Cam have now started helping teach the others. Cam’s around less though, having taken on several duties for Granny Nessa. Martin is so damned proud of them.

When Cam asks if they can call Jon and Martin dad, Martin cries.

Jon is called out to sea twice more: once more for a rescue, and once to lead a boat of traders with bad intentions astray.

But underneath it all, Jon and Martin know something is shifting.

Jon has been looking at the sea more frequently. Martin will find him at all hours of the day, just looking wistfully out into the distance. It’s strange. It hurts, but it doesn’t hold the horror for him it once did. He wants Jon’s happiness, no matter the cost, and when Jon tells him that he has to go, he just responds with a sort of sad acceptance.

“And what…I suppose you can’t just pop down to the sea for a quick dip, give yourself a top up, and then come home?” Martin asks. Jon snorts while shaking his head.

“I..I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes distant. His eyes are always distant these days.

“No, Jon it’s…this isn’t your fault. And it’s not like…” here, Martin trails off.

“We will meet again. I promise. I don’t know how long this needs to be, but I don’t think it’s forever. Try in a year. Cry for me, and we’ll see if it works.”

Martin thinks: When you die, it will be at sea. Now, he knows for sure. It was a blessing. Something to hold onto while Jon’s away.

Jon says his goodbyes to the kids separately. Sarah seems to take it well, but her smile has been a little less bright since then.

Cam is a mess. Martin watches from a distance as Jon spends hours consoling them, trying to give them some time alone together. Martin doesn’t know all of what was said, but Jon tells him to remind Cam that he will come back, and that he is not abandoning them.

“Every day, if they need it,” Jon insists.

Martin will try, but he doubts that Cam will believe that easily. Nor will he. Not until Jon is actually back in his arms.

“Hey, Jon?” Martin asks softly, as they stand on the beach watching the waves. “Will you do me a favour? Actually, two.”

“Of course. If I can.”

“Okay, first…someday, I will be out there with you. I know you said it was beautiful out there. If you start missing me, if it starts hurting too much…look for places to show me, yeah?”

“I have so missed being a tour guide,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“This will be a much better tour,” Martin replies.

Jon blinks a few tears out of his eyes and nods. “What’s the second?”

“Once you change back, you don’t have to leave instantly, right?”

“Er, I don’t think so? The urge, it’s more about knowing I can’t be in this form any longer. Why?” Jon sounds confused.

“Well, you’ve been trying to change forms less to keep the temptation away, so I haven’t gotten any time to cuddle with your seal form in ages,” Martin says.

Jon smirks. “Yes, I am happy to be your stuffed animal until I have to go.”

They stay on the beach for hours, Jon laying on Martin’s lap as Martin pets him.

“I just hope…I will miss you so much. And I know you will miss me. I just hope…don’t be alone, okay? I know you said that you’d found others out there. Make some selkie friends,” Martin says.

Jon pushes meaningfully against Martin’s hand. “Yes, yes. I have people here too. And I won’t let myself be alone. I’ll…I’ll take care of our kid. I promise.”

They stay that way until nightfall, Jon’s blubber keeping both of them warm. Finally, as evening falls, Jon slowly, regretfully, starts pushing himself off Martin. Martin leans over to give him one final kiss on the top of his head.

“Enjoy the sea, love. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Chapter Text

Martin expects the invitations and eager students to dry up once Jon leaves. After all, he knows he isn’t the interesting one in this equation. But to his surprise, they don’t.

Cam, who is now very much a teenager, laughs at him for this. “You aren’t that terrible to be around, Dad."

“Oh, thanks. High praise,” Martin responds.

It’s not easy, with Jon being gone, but they're managing. Martin tries to keep himself busy, helping Cam and Sarah record the tales just right. But now it seems like it’s hardly needed. Soon, they will write better than he ever could.

He supposes that’s a sign that he did something right.

Every day, Martin makes a point to walk along the beach. Part of it is practicality mixed with fear. If he stops making himself take these short walks, he fears he will lose the strength to. And while deep in his heart he knows he is not destined for a long life, he wants to fight as long as possible. He misses Jon more than words can say, but he’s needed here. At least for a bit longer.

He tries crying, once soon after Jon leaves. His heart leaps as he sees a familiar seal playing among the rocks, but Jon does not come any closer.

Cam translates, “He wants to, but he can’t. Not yet. And he…he sends his love to both of us. He also says that he can hear us, so if we cry we can send messages.”

Cam looks devastated when Jon turns away, and Martin can only say, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh. What for?”

“I mean. I’m sure you wish your other dad was here instead. I know I’m not…I’m not great at this.”

Cam rolls their eyes. “Why do you do that? You always, like, think that you’re worthless or something. You’re not, okay. You’re…you’re here for me. You said I could stay after I’d just hit you. I’m sure I’m not the kid you guys wanted either.”

“What? No!” Martin’s desperately trying to think if there is anything he could have done to give Cam that impression. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean, I’m…” Cam starts, and Martin wraps an arm around them. As much as he wants to tear himself to pieces, he can’t bear for his kid to get in that same habit.

“Make you a deal?” Martin asks. “I’ll stop putting myself down if you will. In fact, I’ll make it a whole family thing. The next person who ends up sobbing into the sea is responsible for telling Jon.”

“Bet you mess up before I do,” Cam says, and Martin laughs.

“You’re on.”

Martin talks to Jon often. He’ll tell Jon about his day or what Sarah’s newest obsession is. (She’s decided that Jon and Martin’s full story from before they were on the island needs to be written down too. After all, they are both part of the island now, so in her mind, that story belongs. Martin’s just desperately trying to get her to wait until she’s a bit older. She’s fearless, but some of those stories are still a bit much for her. And…he doesn’t want to ruin all of her illusions about him and Jon. Not yet.)

They learn that Midsummer’s Eve seems to be the magic time for Jon to be able to transform again, but that it is only good for a day. It’s too short a time to say all the things they wish to, but that sadness feels quieter than Martin expects. Every second with Jon is a miracle, time granted that he once never thought possible.

These days, he understands why this village loves their sea. She’s still a damn thief, but she also gave them the gift of stolen time.

There are many places this story could end. Some more bitter, some more sweet.

Perhaps, it ends on one of the few short, yearly visits Jon and Martin have remaining to them. With Martin faithfully casting his tears to the sea for the chance to see his love again. Twenty-four hours that always pass too quickly, full of desperate clinging and bitterness that their time is so short. With a hectic day torn between soaking in each other’s presence and visiting with all the villagers who had, due to their own insistence, become family to them. With moonlit goodbyes, and Martin laughing at Jon’s clear love of his seal form, of watching him splash around in the rough seas until, once again, he is gone.

Or perhaps, it is both kinder and cruler to end this tale with when Martin’s health finally fails him. He never recovers his strength, though he tries to deny how bad it is.

Cam fusses and tries to find a way to cure him, but Martin knows. He doesn’t have long. He tries to fight it. Cam is an adult now, but only just, and they have so much weight on them with taking over for Nessa.

And it’s Cam who has to tell him that he doesn’t have much more time, and Martin does his best to convince them that they have done everything they can. That they’ll be fine when the time comes.

He hasn’t been out of bed in ages, so he’s surprised when Cam and Sarah carry him to a boat, and they all set out. It’s the first time he’s been off the island since he arrived.

Cam looks so sad, and Martin wonders why. He feels like he should know, but thinking is so hard right now.

“Where…where are we…?” he tries to ask.

“We talked about this last night, remember? That if you want to go be with my other dad, now’s the time.”

“But…shouldn’t bother him. Not when he can’t change.” He doesn’t need them to get Jon. He’s fine. Just needs to rest for a bit.

Sarah laughs softly. “I think he can make an exception for this.”

She’s crying, and Martin wants to reach out to her, but he can’t quite make it. She moves closer to hold his hand to her cheek. Then, she leans over and lets her tears hit the water.

Martin looks over to see Jon clinging to the side of the boat. He’s half transformed, with his pelt still wrapped around giving him a tail. Martin hadn’t known he could do that. It’s pretty.

“Hi, love,” he says, and Martin smiles. Jon looks wrecked, and Martin wonders why. He’s confused, he’s been so confused lately, but something inside him tells him that this isn’t a sad moment. Not really.

Jon is speaking to Cam, who is now openly sobbing and leaning out of the boat to hug Jon. “It’s okay. You’ll see us soon. Midsummer, right?”

“Promise?” Their voice sounds so small, so young. But Martin knows that underneath that, they’ll be okay.

“I promise,” Jon says.

Then, he embraces Martin and says, “Do you still want a tour of the sea, love?”

Martin remembers asking for that, so long ago. “I …I don’t think I can swim right now,” he rasps out.

Jon laughs softly. “It’s okay. Trust me.”

And Martin does, completely.

Everything is so fuzzy, but the sun is warm, and the water is especially calm today. Sarah and Cam help Jon get Martin into the water, and Jon holds him afloat. It feels lovely.

He thinks of Granny Nessa, who saved him years ago. She’d gone to sea herself recently. He wonders if her spirit is out here somewhere. He thinks…he thinks he’s about to find out.

She had been right. “When you die, you will die at sea.” He’s glad he didn’t rush into it. Jon holds him until he falls asleep for the last time, till the last possible moment, then gently lowers him into the water.

He answers yes to the sea so quickly that she laughs at him, and she’s remarkably tolerant as he lists off all of his grievances with her. Although, after a few minutes of attempting to lecture her, he finds himself being pushed through the water, snapping into his new form.

“You know I’m right,” he calls after her, and it comes out as a bark.

He can’t bring himself to be too angry though. Swimming as a seal is amazing, moving feels amazing for the first time in ages, and he’s more than content to dance around with Jon underwater forever.

Yes, there are many places this story could end. But perhaps, for this story, the truest ending is just a moment, many years later, on a Midsummer’s Eve. And perhaps, it is best told through the curious eyes of a child, hiding amongst the rocks, who has been told rumours that on this night, the village’s protectors can come ashore and visit.

Liam personally thinks Granny Sarah is pulling his leg. There is no way his saviours would be here tonight. He had said as much to his parents, but they had simply shared a smile and told him to start paying attention when people tell him stories.

But Liam has always been more interested in adventuring than listening, which is how he had met the protectors in the first place.

When he was really little (which, in Liam’s mind, was last year), he had decided to play on the rocks far too close to the sea. Not expecting them to be so slippery, he’d fallen in, completely unable to swim.

The world had gone black. The next thing he knew, he had felt himself being carried, and he’d nearly hacked up a lung on the shore. He remembered gentle voices asking if he was alright, and he knew he hadn’t been left until he could answer in the positive.

But when he’d turned around to see his rescuers, they were gone. He’d only seen two seals, bouncing themselves back out to sea. He could have sworn that they’d looked back at him, making sure he was safely ashore before vanishing into the waves.

When he’d asked, he had just been told that it must have been the protectors, and that he would probably meet them someday. But that was no answer at all. He needs to know for himself. He’s all set up for a long stakeout. He’s brought snacks and everything.

But, like many children eager for adventure, he soon gets bored of waiting and falls asleep.

When he wakes, it is to voices. Eagerly, he looks up from his hiding place, but two his disappointment, he only sees two ordinary men. So ordinary that he could swear he’d seen them before at some celebration or another.

Wait. Now that he thinks about it, he has seen them. Elder Cam had even tried introducing him to these two, he thinks. But he had been more interested in the games going on than whatever stories they had been telling.

The only weird thing about these two is that they’re naked.

One, the one with darker skin and long hair, is straightening out what looks like a pelt.

“Jon, it’s fine,” the other says.

“Do you want it to get dry or not, Martin? You just threw it into a ball!”

The man laughs. “Yes, but you could be messing with our coats, or you could be kissing me. ”

“Mmm. Fair point.” Jon sweeps Martin up into a gentle kiss. Liam, still hidden, makes a face. Whoever these two are, they are worse than his parents.

“So…any plans for this year?” Martin asks.

“We didn’t get as much time with Cam as I would have wanted last year, so I think we should pull them aside for a bit. Otherwise, I suppose we just enjoy the festivities. Enjoy having legs for a night.”

“Yeah. God, it’s weird to look younger than your kid.”

“Yes, but Cam does enjoy telling people who we are and watching their faces. What about you? Plans?” Jon asks.

“Yeah. Last year, people were reciting some of the things I’d written. But I just kind of want to make sure, I don’t know.” Martin frowns.

“Make sure that people don’t take you straining for a rhyme years ago as some statement of cosmic significance?” Jon asks.

“Yeah, that,” Martin says, laughing. “And then people start looking at what Sarah’s put down about us…”

“She is very insistent on having us down in the records as heroes.” Jon looks quite put out. “I don’t think we are going to argue her out of that, though. Not if telling her our whole story couldn’t dissuade her of that notion. And especially not after she’s taught so many of her own students the same.”

Legs for a night…they couldn’t mean. Liam has often wondered what the villagers' protectors looked like. Whenever someone was mysteriously saved from drowning, people always said it must have been these protectors. Some of the village elders were said to be friends with them, and they told stories about how when they were young, the protectors lived with them and taught them their lessons. He’d often imaged glowing spirits, mighty and powerful, towering above the sea, so otherworldly and strange that any who saw them would be forever changed.

But he knows some of his legends, even if he doesn’t know this one as well as he’d like. When it comes to spirits, things are rarely as they seem.

“So..shall we?” Jon asks.

“Just a moment,” Martin replies, and he has a strange smile on his face. “You know…there’s one part of the legends that we’ve never really indulged in.”

Jon creases his eyebrows.

Martin’s grin grew wider. “I mean, I seem to remember tales of selkies dancing on the beach. But then again, you’ve been one longer. Is there any truth to that?”

Jon melts. “Martin…are you asking me to dance?” Martin just holds out a hand and pulls Jon close.

Maybe, Liam thinks, they do look a bit otherworldly, glowing in the moonlight. Perhaps they aren’t quite of this world. Even if, to his well practised eye, what they are doing looks more like swaying than any proper magical dancing would.

Jon seems to agree. “Ouch,” he says.

“Sorry! I’m more graceful with flippers,” Martin says.

Jon laughs as his eyes glance over the beach.

Then, Jon’s eyes gaze over towards him, and Liam’s heart stops.

“Ah,” Jon says, “I think we have a little spy.”

Martin snorts. “The village children really never change here, do they? Well, our little spy will just have to wait. We get exactly one day a year to do this, and we are going to make the most of it.” Then, Martin again leans in to kiss Jon softly on the lips.

Liam, reaching as far back into his memory as he could go, realised he did recognise these voices. They were the beings who had saved his life all those years ago.

Perhaps what the village elders said was true. Perhaps, they all really were under the protection of something truly good here.

And perhaps, that good was these two sappy, love-struck fools dancing in the moonlight, both of them blessed by the sea.

Tell your tears to the sea, at the turn of the tide,

Old love shall return, as hot tears are cried,

The sea’s often cruel, but our sea can be kind,

So tell your tears to the sea; seek what you left behind.

Tell your fears to the sea, as the night grows bleak,

Ask her for strength as your heart grows weak,

Ask for her aid and she’ll send you her best,

Ask for her peace and she’ll send you your rest.

Mock not the sea, for she will laugh last,

Learn from the wisdom of ages past,

The sea takes, the sea gives, there’s storm and there’s calm,

The sea is a tempest, the sea is a balm.

Tell your tears to the sea, let her into your heart,

Tell her your despair and let her do her part,

This is not promise nor a guarantee,

But the sea can be kind, so tell your tears to the sea.