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One of his jackets was missing.
This would normally be of little consequence to Bruce, who could just order a new one and it would come on the ship that always came here every 2 months to deliver his supplies. But this jacket was less easily replaced. Of all the things his father had left him, this job, this lighthouse and his wisdom, the jacket was the only thing Bruce could hold close on the long nights. With it, he could pretend that his father was still with him, still guiding him like he used to.
Once Bruce was finished cleaning the lenses and oiling the gears, he went searching for it. Perhaps he’d left it somewhere, somehow, and it was waiting there for him. He checked his bedroom, the small little kitchen and dining room, and all around the island. In a fit of desperation, Bruce even took the telescope and peered out into the waves, but nowhere could he find his precious jacket.
A thought came into his mind that it had been stolen, but by whom on this empty island?
It was on the third time rifling through the lighthouse that he began to notice other things.
There were fewer potatoes in store than normal. And there were three less onions. His bag of rice was lighter than it should be, considering he had only opened it two days ago. He pulled out the sacks of produce and inspected them thread by thread, palming the rough fabric for minute spots. He found them in perfect condition, unmarred by the teeth of rats and bugs. He was missing a can of tuna.
Four of them, in fact.
He gained a suspicion, but one that he could not prove. Instead, he returned to his work, and kept a careful eye out for any more changes.
On the fourth day after his theory was born, he heard the tiniest chitter from the depths of his closet. He had forgotten his jacket – a poor replacement for that which his father had given him – and had returned to retrieve it. If not for that minor instance of human error, he never would have discovered the stowaway. Quietly stalking over the floorboards, Bruce grasped the handle of the closet and swung the doors open.
The light of the room cast a shadow over pale skin and eyes bluer than the sky and sea itself. There was a yelp, and the child inside froze.
He was pale, paler than was natural for a healthy child, and he was skinny too, bits of bone jutting out from the skin that wasn’t covered. The boniness was exacerbated by the curled up, furtive position which he had taken. The only thing he wore was a familiar coat, Bruce’s father’s. His hair was wild and unkempt, and he was dirty, too. The child’s face was wet and sticky with watermelon juice, the half a watermelon Bruce had been saving clutched snugly in the kid’s arms.
“What the fuck, man?! I thought you were supposed to be at work by now! What gives?” the boy cried out.
“You’re a siren, aren’t you?” Bruce said, cutting through all the conversational nuance and getting straight to the point.
The child stiffened, his eyes suddenly looking anywhere but Bruce’s, his hands fiddling with the zipper of his stolen jacket. “W-what do you mean? That makes no sense! You think sirens have legs, d-dumbass?” He poked out his leg, wiggling his toes as if that was proof enough.
Bruce quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. Sirens were known for many skills, but they rarely taught their children to lie. They had too many senses, too many keen sensations and signals they could pick up for a small child to learn in a timely manner. “For one thing, the last boat to come here was six weeks ago. The signs of your staying here only started two weeks ago. For another, your clothes, specifically your lack of clothes, except the jacket you stole from me. Sirens aren’t known for their advancements in the fashion industry.”
The boy huffed, standing up straight. He was so short and thin that the jacket which would fit snugly on Bruce’s frame dwarfed the child’s, pooling around his ankles. He briefly wondered how the boy can even support the weight of such a large and heavy garment. The boy crossed his arms and stepped forward, his gaze a challenge. “Sounds like correlation and not causation to me. So what if a boat hasn’t come in a while? Sirens aren’t the only people that can swim. And so what if I don’t have any clothes? What do you expect? You know any sicko that goes swimming in a full school uniform? In a suit and tie? That would be weird!”
Bruce was more amused than anything by the insinuation that this boy had swum without any gear the five miles it was between the mainland and this island, and somehow avoided freezing to death. Instead of dignifying the siren guppy’s lies any more, he scooped the boy up by the arms. The child screeched, kicking in futility at Bruce.
“I have work to do. The human world is no place for a siren guppy. Go back to your pod.”
“Fuck you, man! We had a good thing going on! You can’t just toss me into the water like that! You know how cold that shit is? It would be murder! I’ll call the cops on you when I survive half-dead and dying and they’ll arrest you for murder!”
“If you can swim to this island so easily,” Bruce said sternly, walking down the steps of the lighthouse and keeping a firm grip on the guppy – sirens were known for their slipperiness. “Then you can swim back to the mainland, assuming that’s where you even come from. Goodbye.”
“Let go! Let go, let go, let go!” the guppy protested, which fell on deaf ears.
Bruce marched out the lighthouse and soft grass and underneath the grey sky and clouds. The guppy attempted a few more bluffs, and when those proved futile, more attacks against Bruce’s person, also ineffectual.
Standing at the edge of a cliff that hung over the water, Bruce shifted his grip to the folds of the jacket, pulling the arms of the garment upward and shimmying the guppy inside of it out. “Go back to your pod, and don’t bother humans. It’s not safe for a guppy like you.”
“You don’t wanna do this! I bet my body’s gonna wash up on shore all dead and mangled-looking and then you’ll be sorry!” was the guppy’s last words before Bruce summarily tossed him over the cliff.
“Fuck yyooouuuuuuuuu!” The siren guppy’s screams echoed in the wind, before they were cut off by splash. Bruce sighed, dusted off his hands, and turned back, where another day of work and quiet ennui awaited him.
Nothing good came for him from other people. Not humans, not sirens.
His peace lasted precious little time. It wasn’t even a week when he caught a whiff of sea salt inside the kitchen, and he was welcomed to the guppy helping himself to Bruce’s canned tuna supply, his little legs swinging merrily over the edge of the chair. Bruce’s prized jacket was not swamping the child’s skinny frame, but Bruce’s, so the guppy had settled for one of the blankets instead.
“Hey fucker,” the guppy greeted. What kind of humans was this guppy mingling with to have learned such language, Bruce pondered. “You should be thanking me. It’s only cause of my killer swimming skills that I avoided dying and haunting you forever.”
“I’m overjoyed,” Bruce said flatly. “Why have you come back here?” Surely the migrating pod would have already left for winter by now. Perhaps they were dragging their fins.
“Maybe it’s cause I pity you, being here all alone and sad. Maybe you’re alone ‘cause you like to throw kids off cliffs.” The guppy shrugged, then took another brazen bite of Bruce’s canned tuna as if Bruce wasn’t standing in front of him. He had heard of siren guppies sneaking onto land to sample human food, though this one could do much better for himself than raiding a lighthouse keeper’s rations. “Besides,” the child continued. “I don’t like drowning or freezing to death or being eaten by sharks. So I kinda have to stick around this island, and if I have to stick around this island, I might as well do it here.”
Bruce dignified the guppy’s logic by picking him up again and slinging him over his shoulder.
“Stop that! You might not be as lucky this time! I could totally fucking die, get my head bashed on the rocks and shit!”
“There aren’t any rocks around this island. And this lighthouse is no place for a child, let alone a siren child.”
“That’s probably cause the keeper’s a psycho who murders kids by tossing them off cliffs! I thought you people were supposed to be about saving lives.”
“Goodbye,” Bruce said, unwrapping the blanket from the guppy and releasing him to the waters.
Bruce counted his lucky stars that the guppy hadn’t seen it fit to invite his friends along to help himself to Bruce’s supply. He’d submitted his order for that month, stocking much more food than his usual, not that he was intending to feed the guppy. It was only that he suspected that his unwanted fishy guest would help himself to the food whether Bruce liked it or not.
He hesitated, then put down an order for fabric and a sewing kit.
In between his rounds at the lighthouse he took to his desk, elbow deep in his latest project. When there was a knock on the door, he hardly even raised an eyebrow. Bruce climbed down the stairs and to the front door, where a familiar guppy stood, naked as the day he was born, hardly an ideal state given the cold breeze coming in. There would be a storm within the hour.
The child cleared his throat. He held a large fish by the tail, thrusting it forward.
“Here, what if I give you some of this? Then will you let me in?”
Bruce crossed his arms. “I should call the local pod. They won’t like you sneaking off to bother humans like this all the time.”
“P-please? S-sir? I-it’s really cold out there,” the guppy pleaded, staring up at Bruce with his big, beady eyes.
“Wait in the living room. And don’t touch the candles, or the lights, or any of the machinery. You’ll get hurt,” Bruce warned, stepping aside to let the guppy in. He skipped inside like he owned the place.
“Thanks! I’ll put this in the kitchen if you don’t mind?” the guppy said cheerily.
“Put it on the table. I’ll cut it up later. Then sit down. Let me get something.”
He lumbered upstairs and retrieved the project he had been working. When he returned, he found the guppy helping himself to an apple from the newest shipment, seated comfortable on the couch.
“Take these,” Bruce said, presenting the fruits of his labour, a soft pair of trousers and a red T-shirt. Just ordering a pair would be far too expensive, as it was a more unusual good, so he saw it fit to make a set himself. “You can’t be running around naked, or wearing blankets and oversized jackets.”
Bruce held the clothes in front of him, waiting for the guppy to take them. He didn’t expect the tears. The boy stared at the clothes for a long time, tears slowly beading up in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks, his body still except for an intermittent shaking.
“T-thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Just get dressed. And wash yourself. You stink.” He directed the guppy to the bathroom, instructing him in the use of the basic functions like the tap and soap, giving a pointed warning not to eat the soap or anything else there.
The boy stuck his tongue out at him, but it was half-hearted and weak.
Bruce turned his back to the boy to give him some privacy, going into the kitchen. He examined the fish, a large fresh tuna. More than a challenge for someone with a fishing rod, and quite a bit expensive to buy from a market. Of course, a siren would have a much easier time acquiring one than a human. He set to the task of butchering the fish, putting the excess parts of it away for later. He cut up steaks of the fresh, dark red meat to cook, but also cut up slices of sashimi, plating them with little balls of rice.
The boy returned, freshly showered and dressed. He sat at the table, quietly watching Bruce cook. Bruce returned to the dining table with two plates, cooked tuna and raw. “Which do you prefer?”
“I’m good with any,” the boy muttered, his bravado suddenly evaporated and gone. “I have a confession to make.”
“And what is that?” Bruce said, sitting down with his own plate of fish.
“I’m actually a siren.”
“That’s surprising. I never would’ve known.”
The guppy pouted. “Fuck you! Look, I need your help, ok? It’s getting cold as fuck around here. It’s harder to be in the water, and…” The boy blushed in shame, averting his eyes. “I can’t swim.”
This one, Bruce didn’t expect. “How is that possible?”
“Fuck if I know! Look, all I know is that if I can’t migrate, I’ll be fucked. And don’t go blabbering about how I should ‘go to the pod’, I can’t. You know what kind of freak of nature I am? A siren that can’t swim? Those guys would chew me up and leave me to the sharks. A-and besides, I’m not really f-from around here, so it’s not like they’d help me anyway.”
There was no reason that Bruce, a human that spent his days alone in a lighthouse, would have the ability to teach this siren, someone born for the sea and yet could not swim, how to do something that should have been ingrained within the kid’s instincts from birth. There was no reason to think Bruce would be capable of helping him, of being helped.
He looked into the guppy’s eyes. Underneath the foul words and prickly demeanour was a deep vulnerability not entirely unfamiliar to him.
Bruce stood from his seat, and returned to the pot of rice, scooping up another bowl, layering slices of fish and soy sauce upon it. He returned to the boy at his table, and placed the food in front of him.
“Eat up. You’ll need a lot of energy to swim,” he said.
The guppy’s eyes almost teared up, but he blinked them away almost as soon as they came. “Thanks, man. I won’t make you regret it!” the boy cheered, before digging into his food.
It had been such a long time since he shared a meal with someone. “What’s your name, lad?”
The guppy waved his hand in a circle. “Oh, you know, it’s totally impossible for you humans to say it, and it hurts my throat to speak siren above water, but you can call me Jason, since it’s close enough.”
“I’m Bruce.”
~~
The storm rocked the waters and howled against the shuttered windows. He had Jason sequestered in the bedroom while Bruce ran up and monitored the lighthouse and radio systems.
When the storm blew over, he returned to his bedroom in a mess, the guppy having built a pillow fort in the time it had taken for Bruce to come back. The chairs had been propped up against each other, and the duvet draped over them to form a roof, with more pillows forming supports. Jason himself was lying on his back, holding up Bruce’s copy of Pride and Prejudice, one of only four books he owned. It was his father’s copy. He couldn’t bear to get rid of it.
“I haven’t met any siren kids that could read Jane Austen and not get completely lost.”
Bruce’s entrance startled the guppy, causing him to jump and drop the book straight onto his face. The guppy shouted, though relaxed upon realising it was Bruce. “What the fuck was that for? You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“It is my bedroom you’re in. Who taught you to read, if not swim?”
“I taught myself, stupid.” Jason pouted as he picked up the book and dusted it off. “When you can’t swim, you have to steal from humans or starve. And reading makes it easier, so I can read.”
“Hm. The storm is over. It’s time to get started.”
“What?! Now?!”
“it’s like you said. You have to learn to swim soon, or you won’t be able to migrate when winter comes. Now come on.” Bruce turned around and walked out the door without looking back.
~~
The water was calm, and waves barely even formed on the shore of the island. Bruce sat in his dingy, with Jason sitting beside him, clutching a large towel around his shoulders, looking nervously at the water.
“You won’t drown.”
“Shut up!” Jason said, hunching in on himself defensively, even though Bruce meant no offense. Children… “I’m just... psyching myself up.”
“Take this,” Bruce said, offering a rope. “I’ll tie it around you. If you float or sink too far, I’ll pull you back. If you feel too uncomfortable, tug on the rope and I’ll come for you.”
Jason gave the rope a long look. “Fine,” he said with a pout.
Though he meant to seem tough, Bruce could hear the sound of a scared child in there, someone who seemed afraid of drowning, despite no such thing being possible for one of his ilk.
He shifted the towel and draped it over his legs, exposing his bony torso. Bruce was definitely going to have to order more food on the next shipment. He tried not to think about the boy’s state as he carefully tied the knot, making sure it wasn’t too tight on Jason’s sensitive skin.
Once secured, the kid sucked in a deep breath, and then threw the towel off of his body, and into Bruce’s face. In the short moment it took Bruce to unblind himself, Jason had already climbed overboard. There was a black mop of hair in the water, dripping wet, and scarlet-scaled arms clung to the side of the boat. If it weren’t for the clouds, those scales would be glimmering like living jewels.
“So?” Jason pressed.
“Let’s begin.”
Bruce’s grandfather taught Bruce’s father, Thomas, to swim, but Grandpa Wayne was more of a sink-or-swim type of teacher, something Thomas was determined not to inflict upon Bruce. Unfortunately, Thomas’s strengths lay more in academics and medicine, so his good-natured attempts mostly ended up with Bruce clumsily splashing in the water anyway, the only difference being he had an inner tube on when his father didn’t as a child.
That was to say, with this child looking at him, the human with the clumsy legs and large, unstreamlined body, and expecting him to teach him to swim, Bruce suddenly realised the depth of his task.
Deep breaths, deep breaths. He should start with the first thing first with swimming, which was simply not drowning. Looking down at Jason, at the gill slits that lined his chest barely visible under the water’s surface, at least they didn’t have to worry about that. The next thing, he supposed, was not sinking.
“Can you float? Paddle on the water? Tread it?”
The boy’s ear fins stiffened and his eyes drew downward. “B-barely. I had to crawl on the sea floor to get to this place.”
“We’ll start with that.”
He’d seen sirens floating on the surface, their arms spread out like rafts, basking in the hot sun. Sometimes they would even have their children lying atop them, and still remain afloat.
“Push yourself away from the boat, and spread your arms out. Try and lay your body flat against the surface,” he instructed.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, old man.” Jason frowned. After a moment’s pause, pushed against the wooden frame, the thick rope trailing behind him in the water, tied to a knob on the boat. The boy paddled on the water with clumsy, awkward motions, and brought his tail to the surface. However, even when his tail was almost horizontal the boy still kept splashing at the water in those unsteady motions.
“You need to slow down. Just let your body float. Spread your arms out, like you’re lying down on the ground.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m sure you’ve never had to do this before!”
“Actually I have, so I know you can do it. Trust your body’s ability to float.”
Jason grimaced.
“I have you,” Bruce said again, firmer, steadier. He gripped the rope. “If you sink, I’ll pull you back up.”
With his reassurance, his charge took a deep breath of air. He bended his torso, bringing his waist and tail up and spreading his arms and fins out. For a tense moment Jason floated there. The waves lapped against his sides, splashing against his scales and coming up over his face. Though unsteady, Jason really was doing it.
“I-I don’t feel good about this,” he said, on the edge of whimpering. “You sure this is ok?”
“You’re doing great, Jaylad.’ Where had that come from? “Just stay steady. Steady.”
Jason sucked in a breath. His fins quivered and shook. “I feel like I’m gonna drown.”
“You’re not. You’re doing just fine.”
But his words fell on death ears, and Jason cried out, crashing his arms against the water. His form broken, his body started sinking, which only caused him to further flail about. His tail kicked and thrashed without any direction, and his mouth gasped and gurgled with half-breathed water.
Bruce cursed and he yanked on the rope. He pulled the boy back to the boat, and – once Jason was close – he didn’t wait for permission. He grasped Jason by the armpits and heaved, rocking the boat perilously. With great effort, Bruce hauled the child back onto the boat, where the boy’s weight tipped him over and Bruce fell on his backside, knocking the breath out of him.
When Bruce had recovered, Jason’s panic had tided over, only shallow breaths remaining, his fingers gripping the sides of the boat like barnacles, his face a half-transformed mix of scales and soft skin.
“I fucked up...” Jason muttered. “I failed. Again.”
Bruce shook his head. “Not a failure. Just a setback. You managed to stay floating for 10 seconds. Tomorrow we’ll increase that to 20. Would you like that?”
Jason nodded silently, a quiet show of bravery.
Bruce wrapped the towel around him again, keeping his eyes averted as Jason slowly changed back to human form and got dressed. This road would be a long one, he thought as he rowed the boat back.
Jason grimaced. “What… is this?”
Bruce huffed. “It’s rude to criticise the chef’s cooking, you know.”
Jason poked at his serving of boiled chicken and boiled vegetables. In Bruce’s humble opinion it was a perfectly serviceable meal. “Do you always eat like this.”
“Well, no,” Bruce said, somewhat defensively. “I sometimes have baked onions. Or boiled potatoes. Or baked fish, or boiled carrots, or boiled beans.”
The guppy pressed his fork into the broccoli, which pressed down as it turned into a green paste. He looked at Bruce. “I’d rather starve than subject myself to this,” he muttered.
“Just try it,” Bruce pleaded. It couldn’t be that bad. “Can’t knock it until you try it, right?”
The boy’s face scrunched up, and he scooped the broccoli with his spoon, shoving it into his mouth. The grimace turned into a pained expression. The edges of his face were sweating, and the sound he made when swallowing was closer to a sandpapering than a satisfied gulp. Jason’s face turned as green as the broccoli. “I should call the police on you for attempted murder for that.”
For a boy that seemed to be so willing to steal his food before, Jason was picky.
But there was never a challenge Bruce didn’t back down from.
Over the next week they fell into a kind of new rhythm. Bruce would make breakfast for two and not one, and he dusted off Alfred’s old cookbook. Subjecting himself to the horrors of cooking required bravery and persistence, but Jason seemed positively miserable with his boiled chicken and broccoli, so Bruce had to try something. The guppy desperately needed energy, not just to practise swimming, but to build up fat for the journey ahead, so Bruce had to nip this in the bud quickly.
His misshapen crispy baked potatoes with olive oil and salt were received much better, even if Jason called them ugly. But it was progress.
After breakfast, he would return to his responsibilities, and Jason would hide in the bedroom, reading off of Bruce’s sparse collection.
The second night, Bruce placed an order for more books. The operator was shaken by the sudden influx of requests, but took it in stride, if not with a few jabs at Bruce’s expense.
Every afternoon, they would go out in that boat again. Jason would change to his true form, and they would practise. Jason could assume a floating position just fine, but he would inevitably panic when the waves would lap against his face. Thinking he was sinking, Jason would thrash about, and that would cause him to sink.
This would happen day after day, and Bruce was starting to fear for the boy’s progress. Winter was to come in only two short months.
On the fourth day, after thirty seconds of floating, Jason began to lose his nerve again, so Bruce took a leap off the boat and swam to him. He gripped the guppy’s arms, firmly so that his hands would not slip off the scales.
“Breathe, Jason. Breathe. I’m right here.”
Slowly, Jason relaxed, and shallow gasping turned into deep breaths. For five minutes, they remained together like that, Bruce never letting up his presence.
“I’m going to let go now, alright? You can do this.”
And for the first time, Jason didn’t lose his nerve on the water.
From then on, Bruce begain to teach him more like a human boy than a siren guppy. Once they got floating down, they went to swimming. Jason swung his tail around like a sword, with far too much force and speed that the rest of his body couldn’t keep up with, causing him to tumble and spin and, if there was an obstacle in the water, crash.
Each evening they would return to the island, and Jason would lean on Bruce’s side with half-lidded eyes, with a purring sound resonating from deep within his throat. Bruce didn’t dare disturb the boy or point out the noise. Despite his fear of the water and drowning, Jason worked hard to learn, and complained little, often pushing himself to the point of pain. On nights like these, Bruce would carry the guppy into the lighthouse himself, and only wake him up for dinner.
The days flew by like they never had before. On Halloween, Bruce called in Jim to watch the lighthouse for the day, and took Jason to the mainland to go trick-or-treating, wearing a pirate costume Bruce tailored himself. They started watching TV together, and the books he ordered arrived at last. Bruce would never forget the look in Jason’s eyes when the package opened. They stayed up late that night, Bruce reading aloud to his boy.
His boy.
He didn’t know when his mind came up with this idea, but it was poisonous, and he sought to draw it out.
Jason swam in circles, tail rhythmically dipping in and out of the water, chirping joyously. It was clear how happy he was at the feeling, the same joy anyone felt at improving at a skill. Once he got his bearings, the boy dove underwater, tailfin slapping the surface and sending a wave crashing on Bruce’s person. He couldn’t hear the guppy, but Bruce knew Jason was giggling underwater.
He couldn’t sustain this notion. His boy… the thought wasn’t just poisonous, but dangerous in an active manner. Jason had come to him in need of swimming lessons and nothing more. Bruce had a boy. His name was Dick and their relationship was… tumultuous.
To be out here in the sea, watching his scales glimmer in the water, Bruce looked forward to nothing else. But every day they were out here was a day closer to migration. He was happy with it. Jason was intelligent in a way the guppy himself didn’t seem to realise. He had a whole life ahead of him out there.
Jason resurfaced, a wiggling fish caught between his jaws, the fruit of their fishing practice. He spat the fish onto the deck, grinning. “I did it! I got one with my own two teeth!”
Bruce smiled, and ruffled Jason’s hair.
His heart clenched. Jason was ready. He could leave right now if he so wanted.
“Good job. We’ll do some more laps tomorrow.”
They were halfway through November, and the air was getting perilously cold. Of the neighbouring pod, the nomadic types had already left a week prior, and here Bruce was, still bringing Jason out to sea to practise and practise and practise, and come home to have dinner together, watch TV and read books to him.
The bony frame Jason had come to him with had filled out with guppy fat and muscle, fuel to last him the long journey south. He’d started to gain the grace and speed of his species, and his stamina had increased by leaps and bounds.
But the cold was seeping into his body, and Jason’s movements were starting to slow. Bruce customised a thermal wetsuit so the boy would retain at least some of his heat. Time was running out.
One night, he prepared a water-proof satchel in the style of the sirens, and filed it with clothes and food. There was some canned food and an opener, pemmican and smoked fish, things that would last a long journey. He even packed his dad’s jacket inside. Bruce stood over it for a long time, then wrapped it up and tossed it into the closet.
“D…” Jason hesitated. “Bruce? Do you think I’m ready to migrate?”
Bruce sat down within walls of the pillow fort, having somehow survived all this time. He squeezed his hands. “Do you feel ready?”
Jason was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll do great out there, Jaylad. I’m sure of it. If you wanted…” It hurt to say this, but it wasn’t right to keep it in, to keep Jason here. “You could leave tomorrow, and be with your own kind.”
Jason was quiet. With his back to the boy, Bruce couldn’t see his expression.
“You’re a bright kid, and you can read English better than most siren boys your age I know. You’re learned to swim, despite my admittedly poor guidance. Whatever you’ll find out there, I’m sure you can face it. Heck, now that you can swim, I’m sure there’s no reason for any pod to reject you. You can have a family, if not a guardian and safe place.”
A sinking pain dug deep into his throat.
“Good night, Jaylad.”
When Bruce woke up that morning, the door was ajar, and his bed was empty. The satchel of food lay undisturbed in the closet. Bruce stood up and sighed. He looked around the bedroom. He investigated the kitchen, dining room, the lighthouse room upstairs and the stairway.
His eyes stung. His footsteps were heavy and slow.
He should be happy. Jason was in the sea, where he belonged. There was no place for a human in a siren boy’s life. No place at all.
Bruce returned to work as normal. He put all of Jason’s books back on the shelf, though Jason himself always kept them neatly anyway. His hands brushed over the pillow fort. No need for one of those in a grown man’s bedroom, and yet…
He turned away.
The world seemed to turn greyer. The lighthouse felt… emptier, even though it was filled to the brim with more possessions than Bruce had ever had before. Jason left and returned the lighthouse to the same state it had been in for years, but somehow it just didn’t feel the same way. The quietness he took solace in felt hollow. The walls that sheltered him became dark, and oppressive.
Bruce more than once found himself at his desk in a half-fugue state, pen already in hand, but Jason had no address to write to, and no inclination to write back.
His mission was accomplished. Jason was equipped to go out into the world now. And now, more than ever, Bruce felt unfulfilled.
A stormy night rocked the lighthouse. A firm knock on the door interrupted his dinner. Bruce dropped his fork into his plate of boiled chicken and peas and sprinted for the door, throwing it open.
What greeted him wasn’t the bright, cheery boy that stumbled his way into Bruce’s life.
Well, not the second one at least.
“Dick?” Bruce asked, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting you, B. Hal told me you were going wacko, ordering all kinds of random crap, and wanted me to see if you were going crazy or not. I was in Gotham and people swore they saw you trick-or-treating with a kid last month. Anything you wanna share with the class?”
Bruce’s sigh was long, and heavy. He stepped aside and led his son upstairs, where he told Dick everything. About Jason, his fear of the water, the two months they spent, and how Jason’s gone.
“He’s migrating now. He’ll be fine,” Bruce muttered once he finished his story. They sat in silence for over a minute, before Dick sucked in a deep breath, holding his chin in his hands.
“Bruce, you are such an idiot.”
It wasn’t unexpected. He and Dick used to be so close, but then Dick’s teenage years came, and it felt like there was a wall between them, and any attempt to cross over it ended up in an argument.
“You kicked him out!”
“I didn’t, I…”
“You kept him around longer because you were lonely, and then you fucking kicked him out by making him feel like shit. What the hell, Bruce?’
Bruce opened his mouth, but Dick’s words sank in, and his mouth just hung open.
“I can’t believe I went all the way out here just to hear you fucked up another kid.”
Dick stood up, his chair scraping the floor. Bruce stood up as well, holding his arm out. “We can fix this. We can go find him.”
“Look, B, I have to go. The gym needs me back in on Monday.”
“Dick, wait!”
But try as he might, Bruce couldn’t stop his first son from leaving. Dick trudged out through the snow and boarded his boat, sailing back to the mainland as Bruce stood on the shore, looking out to the sea.
He fell to the floor, clutching his knees. He didn’t care that the cold was soaking through his nightgown.
“I’m sorry, Jason,” he choked out, blinking away tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t say how I felt. I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to leave. I’m sorry I failed you. Now you’re out there, all alone, and it’s all my fault. I should’ve come with you. Or maybe I should’ve let you go sooner, so we could’ve said goodbye, instead of hurting you and making you run away. I don’t know what I should’ve done. I’m sorry.”
The waves pulsated on the rocks.
Bruce closed his eyes and buried them in his arms.
A slimy, grooved touch grasped his arm.
“D-did you really mean what you said?”
Bruce jolted to awareness.
Lying on the snow-covered grass, shivering, was the red scales and fins that had become a fixture in his life. It was Jason.
“Jason? How are you back? You can’t be in this cold, you’ll freeze to death,” Bruce said frantically.
Jason’s ear fins folded over his face, almost sheepishly. “Turns out, I kinda suck at migrating, and… the ocean’s kinda scary. And I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Did you mean what you said?”
“Yes.” He looked around at the moonlit snow around them, and the cold breeze. “Come inside. It’s not safe for you to be out in the cold.”
“C-can you carry me?” Jason asked, his face tinging a brighter shade of red than it normally was. “It’s already cold enough with my scales. I-I don’t wanna know how bad it’ll be if I’m human.”
“Of course, Jaylad.”
He scooped up Jason, the boy lifting his arms to allow better access. By now he was used to the right places to grip so he wouldn’t slip from the mucus on Jason’s scales. Bruce hauled Jason up into his arms, and carried him inside. He settled his boy down on the sofa and draped towels over him, and started working on a mug of hot chocolate for them both.
By the time he was done, Jason had shifted to human form and dressed himself.
“You won’t be able to migrate anymore. It’s too late, but you already know that…” Bruce said, his breath disrupting the steam quietly rising from his mug.
“I… I barely even left the island. I kept thinking about going, but…” Jason shifted uncomfortably, frowning.
Jason was near here the whole time? Bruce couldn’t fathom why.
At least he was safe now.
Bruce looked out the window. Snow was falling again. “You can stay here as long as you want, even past winter. Even until you’re an adult. Even after you’re an adult.”
“You really mean that?” Jason’s eyes were wide.
“I care about you,” Bruce said earnestly. “I’ve come to care about you greatly. You’re a wonderful boy, and you remind me a lot of myself, and my first son, Dick. This lighthouse isn’t luxurious, or large by any means, but… if you want to, this place could be your home.”
Tears welled up in Jason’s eyes and his pupils wobbled underneath them. He leapt forward and pulled Bruce into a tight embrace.
“Ok,” Jason whispered, on the verge of crying. “I’d like that. I’d really like that. But there’s one more thing I have to tell you.”
“What’s that, son?”
“I’m… not a siren. Not a real siren. I used to be a human kid, just living on the streets on my own, but then something happened to me, and I got turned into a siren. That’s why I couldn’t swim for shit. S-so yeah, I was totally telling the truth earlier when I said I wasn’t a siren.”
Despite it all, Bruce couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. And yet, things started to make more sense than they did before.
“Hey! That’s mean!” Jason lowered his voice. “So… you’re not mad?”
“No, of course not. But from now on, let’s both be a little more honest with each other, alright?”
His boy grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”