Chapter Text
He had been harpooned. Anchored in shallow waters. Sharp metal embedded in delicate fins. The scales on his chest had faded already to skin and the webbing between his fingers had receded. The angle was difficult; he couldn't reach the weapon pinning him in place. Instead, Ar tried to pull himself free. His tail started to tear. The pain was paralysing, if only for a second.
A second, it seemed, was enough.
A human jumped down the rocks; a second, smaller one following closely. Both were male, Ar was quite certain. The first had broad shoulders and a flat chest. A dirty white shirt hung loosely off its torso; a dark waistcoat on top; a leather belt over this and around its middle. A second leather strip ran across its body, from shoulder to pelvis. There was a pistol tucked into its belt and a cutlass at its side. Worn leather boots finished mid-shin over black button-fly breeches. Its hair was dark and cropped, still dripping from the earlier rain. Its nose was straight, its skin tan. The one behind was more of the same; its shirt a blood red and its longer hair held back by a green bandana. Unlike any human Ar had glimpsed previously, this one's eyes were narrow and angular.
Beneath briny sea air and algae-cloaked rock, their scents danced on the fringes of perceptible. Never before had he been so close to humans. He stared. They stared back. The first was almost smiling; the second looked bored. The first took a step closer and Ar snapped out of it.
He thrashed, fighting the pain and trying desperately to get away. One of the humans made a low noise; almost a coo. He replied with a hiss and doubled his efforts. His tail was nearly free. Blood clouded the waters around him. Pain lashed at him.
And then he was struck on the head. As is the human way.
* * *
He wasn't in water. He couldn't see any water, in fact. He could see wood. Above him; below; to his left and right. In front of him was more wood. A small, barred window broke it. Cold morning light shone through, illuminating a good portion of the room. He was on something soft and warm; red and white; some sort of fabric. A human bed, his mind groggily supplied.
He bolted upright, staring at the fabric covering his lower half. A searing flash of pain shot through him; through his--
He shifted gingerly and grit his teeth against the bitter, stinging ache.
-legs.
They felt odd, beneath the pain. Disjointed and clumsy. When Ar lifted the covers, he didn't know what to expect; the change had never happened to him before.
He wasn't naked. That was the first thing to catch his attention and he found it strange. Covering his legs was something the humans wore; loose, dark coloured things, finishing just over his... leg-elbows? After that, Ar's skin was bare; the same deep brown as his chest and face. His toes were like his fingers. He found them creepy. One of his toe-hands - he knew the correct word, but did not have the current mental energy to summon it - was wrapped in white fabric. It started just below his toes and travelled to his toe-hand-shoulder.
Noise interrupted his inspection: low voices, laughter, footsteps. Anxious tension surged from the pit of his stomach to grip his throat. A door opened. His door. The door to the room he was in. Ar felt sick.
It was the one from before. The one with broad shoulders and cropped hair. Another stood at his shoulder; it wore a blue shirt and had a shaved head. Ar instinctively covered his legs back up. The humans stopped in the doorway, surprised. But their surprise was fleeting.
The bigger one smiled. It was a small smile and didn't seem particularly to enjoy being on his face. "You're awake." He hit blue shirt's chest with the back of his forearm.
Blue shirt retreated.
"My name's Vincent." he said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind himself. "I'm sorry about your injuries. We didn't mean to hurt you."
Ar felt the desire to scoff but contained it; feigning ignorance of the human tongue was a strategy that could, occasionally, aid in securing one's freedom.
Vincent kept his distance. "What is your name?"
Ar simply glared.
A flicker of a frown. "Do you understand me?"
Further glaring. He could smell Vincent, now. The human smelt like blood and booze.
"Okay." Vincent murmured, moving closer. He dropped into the wooden chair beside the bed. "We need your help." He was speaking a touch slower, now, as if tempo would make any difference to one who could not understand the sounds he made. "A group of people took something of ours." He rested his arm-elbows on his leg-elbows and leant forward. "We need your blood, just a small amount; we won't hurt you again, not if you're reasonable." He paused and wet his bottom lip. "They're cursed. Can't be killed with conventional methods." He said. "If you cooperate, we will look after you. I give you my word."
Ar's throat felt scratchy and dry. Even if were he inclined to speak, he didn't know what would come out. His eyes dropped to the bed.
"The harpoon," Vincent spoke again. "wasn't the plan. I'm sure you realise by now, the fire was made to lure you out. We just wanted to talk. But something spooked you and you were about to flee. We've been searching for one of your kind for so long. Time's running out. How is your wound?" When he was still met with silence, he let out a short sigh. "Wound?" He repeated, gesturing to where the covers concealed Ar's legs. "Pain?" He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled through his nose. "Ouch?" He tried.
Ar's lips twitched. He did not mean for them to and put a stop to it as soon as it started.
Vincent didn't apparently catch the reaction. He sighed again and stood. "I'll leave you. Come downstairs if you need me. We have food and drink."
Ar watched his hands where they lightly gripped the bed covers.
Vincent's footsteps were heavy as he made for the door.
"Ar."
Vincent stopped and turned back. "What?"
"Name." Ar did not lift his eyes. It hurt his throat to speak; the vibrations were not so smooth above water. "Ar."
Vincent smiled, fractional and brief. It was not a pleasant smile, though seemed more at home on his features than his earlier attempt; perhaps because it was not concerned with external reception. "You can understand."
"Just take." his voice was hoarse and Ar swallowed. Human words felt clunky rolling off his tongue. "You need, just take." His gaze darted to the window. Back to the bed. Not to the human. "Don't need be with you."
Vincent tilted his head to the side. No trace of a smile now existed. "You understand why we need it."
Ar cautiously ungripped the covers. His fingers flexed. He thought his hands looked ugly without webbing. "Yes."
"Then you understand we need fresh blood." Vincent returned to his chair. "We know where they are, but it will take time to reach them. Any blood taken now will by then be useless."
Ar swallowed again. "What is the word?"
Vincent's brow furrowed. "What word?"
Ar's eyes flicked up to his. "Your word." He reiterated. "Your word you give me."
He didn't understand when Vincent laughed. Unpleasant like his smile. "My word of honour." He said as his laughter melted. "It's what humans say when we make promises."
Ar wrinkled his nose. "This is bad gift. I do not want."
Vincent laughed again, reclining in his chair. "And what holds merfolk to their promises?"
"Violence." Ar told him. "Revenge. Love. Greed. Hate. Fear."
Vincent's mouth twitched. "Then we are not so different."
"I do not get real word." Ar's throat felt a little better now, like it had warmed up. "But I give my blood. You return me nothing?"
Vincent lifted his eyebrows; an expression both receptive and bored. "What do you want?"
Ar blinked. What did he want? He had no use for human things. "You can give what?"
"Money." Vincent offered. "Women. Alcohol."
"No." Ar frowned at him. "You cannot give women."
Vincent ran his eyes over Ar's face, then looked to the side. "I will give you what you ask, given it is within my power. Think on it." He said. "How is your wound?"
Ar stared at the spot where his toe-hands made a lump under the covers. "My ouch."
Vincent snorted, bringing his gaze back. "Yes." He stood from his chair. "It should take no more than ten days to heal, I'm told." He leant over to grab the bed covers.
Ar recoiled instinctively and hissed.
Vincent stilled. His scent was stronger now. It made the air thick and heavy. Breathing became difficult.
Ar did not like it. "Space."
Vincent stepped back. "Sorry."
Ar pushed the covers down himself, exposing his legs once more. The sight made his stomach lurch; this was not how he was supposed to be. "Is pain."
"I'll get you a drink." Vincent nodded. "Our surgeon will take another look."
Ar didn't want that. The less human interference with his body, the better. "Human drink?"
"It'll help with the pain." Vincent told him. "Merfolk can take it, there are records."
"Not want." Ar covered himself back up. "I say you cannot have my blood, you let me go?"
Vincent watched him, expression closed-off and penetrating. His eyes were brown. Like kelp. "No." He answered at last. "We will get your blood. That's not what's up for discussion." He said. "What's up for discussion is how you are treated while you're with us and how you are rewarded once we part."
Ar hissed softly.
"I'll get you a drink." Vincent repeated. "Are you hungry?"
Ar doubted he'd be able to stomach any human food. They did peculiar things to it. "Raw fish."
"I know." Vincent responded. "We have what you need." He moved to the door. "I won't be long."
Ar listened to the sound of his footsteps retreating. He sat still for a minute. There was a prickling under his skin. It felt like a warning. A seabird swooped past the window. Its squawks were dulled by human walls. Ar wondered where he was. Near the sea; he could tell that much but no more.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze to his waist where the bed covers were pooled and pushed them down. He lifted uncertain hands to the front of his leg-coverings. The fabric was course and robust. He undid the button. He liked buttons. He'd seen a lot of them. Buttons, coins and bottles; like rain, these fell into the sea. The leg-coverings opened at his crotch. Ar stared at himself.
He had a human cunt. It looked alien and obvious. He brought a hand down to touch. The door opened. Ar looked up, retracting his hand as if he'd been burnt. Vincent blinked at him. He held a bottle in one hand and a tankard in the other. Ar covered himself. He believed humans to be easily embarrassed by bodies.
Vincent did not move from the doorway. "Did you want some privacy?"
Ar didn't understand. "You are not giving drink?"
Vincent's eyes flitted to Ar's crotch, then away. "How old are you?" He asked, moving into the room. He set the bottle and tankard on the cabinet beside the bed.
Ar watched him uncork the bottle and begin to pour. The liquid stank, sharp and thick. "Twenty-two." There were scars on Vincent's hands, nestled amongst younger, fresher wounds. "You are?"
"Forty-three." Vincent set the bottle down and held the tankard out.
Ar took it but did not drink. "Where is this?" He felt absently frustrated by his poor grasp on the human tongue. "For how long on land?"
"Galway." Vincent told him. "A few days."
Ar's eyebrows knitted. "I don't know Galway."
Vincent breathed out a laugh and dropped back into the chair. He crossed his ankles and watched Ar with those deep eyes. "This place is called Galway. It lies on the west coast of Ireland."
Ar took little meaning from this explanation. He didn't know whether or not to pursue such a thing.
"From here, we make for the Bahamas. That will take weeks." Vincent said before nodding to the tankard in Ar's hands. "Drink."
Ar did not want to. "Weeks on human boat?"
"Yes." Vincent answered. "Drink, Ar."
Ar stared into his tankard. Then, hesitantly, he lifted it to his lips and took a small sip.
It burnt.
It burnt his tongue, throat and nostrils. He coughed and turned his face to the side. The flavour was rich and woody. His insides tingled. It was horrible. Ar held the tankard out for Vincent to take back. This would not help his pain.
"Where is the fish?"
Vincent sighed and accepted the tankard, placing it on the cabinet. "O'Malley is bringing it up."
Ar looked out the window. His throat stung. There was a cloud of gulls in the distance. He could, just barely, hear their sharp cries and squabbling shrieks. It was a noise Ar liked. "I comply," He started, watching the birds fade gradually from view. "you let me swim?"
"No." Vincent topped up the tankard and took it for himself.
Ar dug his nails into the bed cover. "I cannot use legs."
"You can learn." came Vincent's unsympathetic answer.
A sudden shooting ache flared in Ar's leg and he swallowed a grimace; his weakness was not for Vincent's eyes. "You are unkind."
Vincent let out a short laugh and took a swig from the tankard. "I'm worse than that, darling."
Ar gripped the covers a little tighter.
Silence fell between them. A strange silence; one both hostile and patient. Ar was thinking of fire. Of how it looked from eyes beneath the ocean. Blazing and alive. Brighter than anything. A dance warped by flowing currents. Terrible and glorious. Its beckon deafening. How could he have resisted? How devastating that he had not?
The door opened again.
The human who entered now was the same as earlier; blue shirt, shaved head and pasty skin. He held a wooden pail in one hand. Ar could smell the fish it housed. A satchel hung from his opposite shoulder. Ar could not smell what was within this. The fact made him bristle.
The new human finished the distance between him and the bed. The bucket was placed beside Vincent's chair and the satchel beside Ar's legs. "You get your food once I've examined your wound."
Ar's eyes flitted down to the bucket. There were three fish. Two gurnards. One bass. He could smell they were fresh; they'd probably been underwater more recently than he had. His eyes lifted to the new human. He smelt of blood and booze, too. Ar looked to Vincent. "You examine."
Vincent swished his mouthful around his mouth before swallowing. "O'Malley is a surgeon." He said, sliding the emptied tankard onto the cabinet. "I'm not."
Ar didn't know what that word meant. "I not want him touch."
Vincent watched him, a quiet glint in his eyes. "But me?"
Ar gave him a glare. "I not want both."
Vincent uncrossed his ankles and gave O'Malley a short nod. O'Malley muttered something Ar couldn't make out and Vincent stood. "Is your cunt still out?"
"Its what?" O'Malley sneered.
Ar ignored him and instead did his buttons up beneath the covers. "Not out."
Vincent nodded and stripped the covers down, exposing Ar's legs and toe-hands completely.
Ar looked away.
Unnerving. That was the word he would use to describe the human body. Vincent's fingers touched Ar's toe-hand and he flinched. A sharp, throbbing pain burst from the area. Vincent made a low noise and began unwrapping the white fabric. Ar looked tentatively back. His skin was smooth and unblemished. Until it wasn't.
A deep gash marred the dark skin of his left toe-hand. It was bloody, but not bleeding: red, fleshy and livid. Ar gazed at it. He did not know what it meant for his tail.
Vincent glanced back to O'Malley and O'Malley gave a curt hum. "It won't be walking for a day or two yet."
Vincent stared at the wound. "We don't need it to walk." He said and Ar became aware they were speaking about him, but not to him. He glared and settled his eyes out the window. Vincent's fingers trailed over the skin bordering the laceration. It stung. It stung horribly, as if Ar were being scraped with a barnacle-crusted rock. He wanted to pull away. "You're sure we don't need to stitch it?"
O'Malley stepped around Vincent and helped himself to the bottle on the cabinet. "It's not worth it." He said, taking a swig. "We don't need it healthy, we just need it breathing. I'm not prepared to waste the crew's supplies."
Vincent's hand slipped from Ar. "Repeat that for me." He said, gaze remaining on Ar's body.
O'Malley lowered the bottle. He looked at Ar; looked at Ar's wound; looked at Vincent. "You disagree?"
Vincent's mouth twitched. "I asked when it was brought here," He turned to face O'Malley and Ar became aware of an atmosphere of violence. He did not know what had triggered it. "if its wound needed stitching." Vincent said. "You assured me that wasn't necessary. Do you think I asked because I enjoy your conversation, O'Malley?"
O'Malley let out a huff of laughter. "You would use the men's supplies on this-- thing?"
"Yes." Vincent's answer came. "It has taken months to get here; breathing isn't enough for me. The risk is too great."
O'Malley took another swig; this action was a harsh one.
Ar watched his throat bob and tried to catch up with what was happening. "You will heal pain?"
Vincent looked back to him. "If you want us to heal you," He said. "you'll have to let him touch."
Ar's gaze flicked to O'Malley.
O'Malley scoffed and drank some more.
Ar returned eyes to Vincent. "You cannot?"
"No." Vincent reached over and pulled the bottle off O'Malley. "I'll hold it down. You do your job." The bottle was placed back on the cabinet.
O'Malley snorted. "Yes captain."
When Vincent gripped Ar's shoulders, Ar let out a startled hiss. He attempted to twist away, but the hold was strong enough that he failed to move even an inch. So Ar did the only thing his panicked brain could think to do. He spat.
He spat hard. Right into Vincent's face.
Vincent did not give Ar the reaction he had hoped for. Instead of releasing him, he laughed. It was transient and low. The mirth one expects to fill such a noise was entirely absent. To Ar, it almost sounded like a challenge: do that again.
O'Malley, in this time, had taken something from his satchel: a stitching quill and needle. He was fiddling with it. It looked akin to a fishing hook. Ar's chest went cold and his heart began to hammer. Sharp metal. Soft skin. Ar had seen it countless times. He'd smelt the blood and watched the struggle. Humans did not hunt with mercy.
"If it doesn't keep its legs still, I'm gonna make a right fuckin' mess." O'Malley said, coming closer.
Ar hissed and wriggled. Vincent's fingers dug into his skin; Ar's top half was immobile. His bottom half was not. So he kicked O'Malley. Violently. Right where his floppy, silly, ugly human cock would be.
"Fuck!" O'Malley cursed, stumbling back. "Ungrateful bitch!"
Vincent laughed just as before. He leant in so his face was close to Ar's ear and the stench of him clogged Ar's nostrils. "Did I not say we're trying to heal you?" He said. Ar's shoulders began to ache under the man's tightening hands. His breath was hot and damp. He turned his head. Lips brushed Ar's ear. His voice was a shadow that moved in places Ar dared not swim. "Behave."
Ar could not find the air to breathe.
Vincent straightened and spoke to O'Malley: "Get Lee."
O'Malley set down his stitching quill and retreated, muttering, from the room.
Vincent released Ar's shoulders with an edge - the faintest edge - of malice.
Ar felt his eyes prickle. His vision grew watery. His throat was constricted and sore. He didn't know what was happening. Something wet rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks. He lifted a heavy arm to touch.
"They're called tears." Vincent wiped spit from his face, sat back in the wooden chair, and retook the bottle. "You're crying."
Ar swallowed. The wetness kept falling from his eyes. A small noise slipped from him.
"Humans cry when they're upset;" Vincent had a swig, eyes on Ar. "when they're hurt, grieved or frightened."
Ar pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. He didn't like this feeling. He wanted the tears to stop. His chest was uncomfortable. His nose felt runny and blocked. He kept making pathetic little noises.
"Are you frightened?"
Ar sniffed. It was loud. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"If you act with defiance, what do you expect to be met with?" Vincent leant forward. "Whether or not your life is easy with us depends entirely on you."
Ar dropped his hands. His eyes remained wet, but it was with residual, not new, tears. "Not trust you." He said and his voice sounded croaky. "You are bad."
Vincent huffed out a laugh and reclined. "So I've been told."
Ar side-eyed him. "Bad life means bad end." He said. "You are sorry when is too late."
Vincent's mouth twitched. "Threats don't suit you, sweetheart." He slipped the bottle, now holding only dregs, back onto the cabinet.
Ar swallowed and let his eyes fall to the fish, still in their bucket beside Vincent's chair. "I can have fish?"
Vincent peered into the bucket himself. "Which one do you want?"
"Bass."
Vincent reach down, grabbed the fish by its tail and chucked it to Ar.
Ar hissed when sharp spines cut him; the skin covering his body felt thinner, now, than it did beneath the waves.
Vincent kicked his feet out and crossed his ankles. "Don't make a mess." He said. "And be quick. My boys don't like to be kept waiting."
Ar petulantly lifted the bass to his nose and sniffed. He did not know why it had been scaled. "You are father?"
Vincent laughed, just as Ar's ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps. "My boys are my crew."
The door opened as Ar bit into his fish. He watched with suspicious eyes as O'Malley and a new human entered. The new human was the one that had been with Vincent that night; angular eyes and a green bandana that held back long hair.
O'Malley's face twisted with a leer. "You made it cry, captain?"
Green bandana clicked his tongue. "D'we have to watch it eat? Fuckin' vile."
Ar knew very well what the word vile meant. He pulled back from his fish, flesh stretching and snapping. It hung wetly from his mouth. He chewed, loud, messy and slow with his eyes fixed dead-on green bandana's.
"Be nice, Lee." Vincent tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling. "It has feelings."
Lee's eyes ran over Ar as he continued eating. "What's your name?"
Ar swallowed his mouthful. "Ar."
"You stink of fish, Ar." Lee said.
Ar looked at his food. "You stink worse."
Lee laughed. He glanced to Vincent. "Think I'd've preferred one that didn't talk."
"Then, by all means," Vincent's gaze remained on the ceiling. "go fishing."
Lee tutted harshly and crossed to the window.
Ar swallowed his second mouthful. "I am not fish." He told Vincent.
Vincent dropped his head back forward. "Don't split hairs." He answered dryly and Ar didn't know what he meant.
He ate his fish quickly, but with a deliberate effort in vulgarity. Lee seemed to find it incredibly difficult viewing. O'Malley fiddled with his stitching quill. Vincent's eyes did not leave Ar. When he was finished, the fish's skeleton clean, Vincent held up the bucket for Ar to drop the bones into. Ar obliged. The tip of his right pointer was bloodied from where fish spines had sliced supple flesh. Vincent eyed it but did not comment nor question. He stood.
"Get its legs." he said, the words directed to Lee as he stepped closer to the bed.
Ar felt his body stiffen. Vincent's hands returned to his shoulders as Lee moved to pin down his legs. Ar grit his teeth. O'Malley cast scornful eyes over him, then closed in.
The stitching quill met meat. Ar's mouth fell open and a raw noise broke the room. Pain. Hot, itching pain. As if his skin were being peeled off. The feeling was concentrated in his wound, but rolled in waves outwards. Ar tried to thrash; to recoil. The four hands on his body permitted not the slightest of movements. O'Malley's jaw was set and his brow was knotted as he worked the quill through Ar's split flesh. Vincent watched. Ar bit his lower lip with a second, smaller noise. He could feel his eyes welling again. He was not upset.
"Keep it still." O'Malley muttered, beginning to thread.
Vincent gave a low hum. His head was close enough to Ar that shivers trickled down his spine at the sound. When he turned his face, his nose brushed Ar's ear. "You're doing well."
Ar closed his eyes, lashes damp. Something in his chest spat and fizzed.
Beneath the pain, as O'Malley worked, Ar could feel his skin being pulled. His mind latched onto the sensation as one he may use to stabilise himself. Everything else burnt unbearably, but that sensation was tangibly discrete. A final tug. A feeling akin to a snag. And tension eased.
O'Malley stepped back. Ar's toe-hand throbbed with a fire bone-deep. Lee released his legs and moved to look. Vincent did the same. Not before his nose again brushed Ar's ear.
"Get its blood off your hands." Vincent told O'Malley, sights fastened to Ar's toe-hand.
O'Malley retrieved his satchel. "Rest." He said, glancing up at Ar with cold eyes. "Sleep and eat. Don't touch the wound. Don't try to use the leg. Understand?"
Ar swallowed, gaze slipping. The gash now was a thin, swollen line. Held together by bloodied sutures. Don't touch. Don't use. The sight invited neither inclination. Ar nodded
O'Malley crossed to the door. He opened it and slammed it shut after himself.
Vincent reached down. A soft tut jumped from his tongue as Ar pulled reflexively away; the motion caused a weak surge of pain. Vincent's hand found Ar's toe-hand-shoulder and stilled him. His eyes did not leave Ar's wound. "Your blood is thicker than ours."
Ar fisted his hands in the coarse sheets either side of his body. He did not answer.
Lee cracked his neck. "I'm done." He said. "The smell's killing me."
Vincent didn't acknowledge him.
Ar offered only a glare.
Vincent released Ar once they were alone and, at last, his gaze left the wound. They returned to Ar's face. "How bad is the pain?"
Ar's fists eased. "Like torn open." He said.
Vincent hummed. He returned to the chair beside Ar's bed and lifted the bucket. "It'll pass." He said, taking out a gurnard. He did not this time throw it, but rather held it out.
Ar, mindful of the spines, accepted it.
Vincent put the pail back down and stood. "You do not know how to walk;" He said, watching Ar examine his new fish. "I will be angry if you try to escape."
Ar turned the fish belly-up. "I do not know how." He said. "I am told I cannot try." He flicked his eyes up. "You intimidate me why?"
Vincent smiled. "Boundaries need to be made clear." He stepped back. "It's easier for everyone that way."
Ar lifted the gurnard to his mouth, placed his eyes on the window and bit down.
The door closed behind Vincent as Ar swallowed. His nose felt stuffy. He sniffled and took another bite of fish. Pain ebbed and flowed. It would pass.