Chapter Text
Fishermen tell all kinds of stories. About mythical creatures with bewitching voices, ghosts lost at sea, creatures from the underworld that need not exist; and like any other fisherman, his father passed them down to him too.
His father liked to say, in wishful whispers while they waited silently in their little boat for fish to bite, that his only dream was to go with the sea and become one with it like his mother had that one stormy night. And he’d succeeded alright… leaving three fatherless kids no less. That dramatic fucker. That had been almost twenty-five years ago.
These days he lived alone, still inhabiting that ramshackled old house his father left them. Sitting near the highest point of the cliff, where telephone lines didn’t reach and the strong winds caused the old structure to whine and cry. If he wanted to hear his sisters' voices, who’d gone off to educate themselves in the city and never came back (per his hard work and request), he’d walk half an hour into town and into the local inn that held one of the few open phones in the whole village to call them.
They were far better off than him the second they graduated and that’s all that mattered to him; them meeting good people to marry and stay in the city for was just a nice little extra gift from above. He’d worked his back off this whole time, since their father’s death, just to see them out of the village and away from this life one day; if it meant living alone for the rest of his life then that was a fair price to pay.
Of course they disagreed; they tried inviting him around on the holidays, which he attended to, but never for more than a couple days. He’d never get used to the city, the hurried, stress-induced voices of its people… and he knew what kind of memories his presence evoked in both of them. They were lovely, and he loved them so, but his dark hermit aura always seemed to bring sad looks to their faces. He’d rather stay away.
They looked happy with their spouses and their children; and the kids always wrote back their thanks along with some story or other about their daily whereabouts, in exchange for whatever little treasure he’d mailed their way recently. They were always addressed to ‘Uncle Ichigo’... and it was more than enough to make him happy.
Not in Yuzu and Karin’s eyes, of course; whenever they spoke nowadays, the topic always drifted to friends and dating and getting out of his house to talk to actual people and not just fish. He insisted he was just fine of course, and the townspeople didn’t want to talk to him much either. He was happy to work on his nets, and the little wood-carving he often did to pass the time; and only ventured into town to call them and do some trading or shopping.
The woman who owned the bakery bought his fish most of the time; she made the tastiest fish patties in the whole town, and often made sure to have Ichigo leave with a good five of them along with his normal pay every Thursday he came to deliver the fish.
It’s during one of those few mornings that he’s in town that he hears the other fishermen in the village (the ones his father used to work with before ‘the accident’), who fished for a company that mostly worked for exportation purposes, talk about those stories again.
About creatures that could punch holes in ships and swallow seamen whole, nothing of the sort had happened, naturally, but fish had started to go missing in recent days. In the past few months (jeez he’s so out of loop with the town gossip) nets had been scratched open and fish stolen before anyone could claim them.
He’d never believed them of course, maybe he held some amount of childish wonder before, but in his thirty-six years at sea, he’d never once seen anything of the sort. Whatever is stealing from them could easily be a whale, or a shark; hunger-driven into their ports, far from their usual hunting grounds.
Sea monsters, huh? All he can do is chuckle at the thought once more, picking up his nets and making his way on his thick fishing boots down the cliffside path until he reaches the calm waters under the muted midday sun (that on these late-autumn days barely warms anyone more than the breeze chills their bones).
The water splashes around him, lulling him into that little dance he’s known ever since he had to make do on his own. Unroll the nets, untangle the knots and move with the waves. The gossip of the town distracts him, but even then, the first net comes full as it can be when he retrieves it; he could scoff at their fears… but these are shallower waters. Even if it’s just an animal that is stealing their fish and not a mythical beast, nothing that big would ever come here willingly.
It’s along that line of thought that he reels in the second net, it’s heavier and the fish are thrashing even more wildly - it’ll be a good day - he thinks for just a second , before blue and white and black and pale skin meets his eyes. It’s tangled in his net and… eating the few fish that could fit along… whatever… it is.
He’s frozen where he stands, the rope of the net wrapped only halfway around his shoulder, as the creature in the net seems to have frozen too. There’s a fish tail half-way out its mouth and another fish thrashing in its hands… its human-looking hands.
His breath catches on his lungs when its head slowly turns towards him, and - oh - it’s … huh. It’s a kid. Despite the horns and the fins and the sky-blue hair…it just looks too young. Well... maybe to his mature eyes, at least; these days he can’t tell actual teens from young adults apart anymore… they all look too young to him now, hell knows his sisters still look like kids to him… even if they have their own children now.
And speaking of… is this… is it- pregnant ?
The creature flails its limbs, letting go of the fish in its claws in an attempt to untangle itself from the net; it’s only at this angle that he catches the full swollen belly… and the fins and the weird tail. Fuck, it’s going to hurt itself.
He tries to push past the fact that… his father and the fishermen (and pretty much everyone in this town)... were right : creatures like this do exist, and throws the rope aside to try and help it free. Pulls on the net, tight from the pulled rope, to try and open in further; but the creature only fights more wildly, pulling on its tail where it’s caught on the holes of the net and hissing angrily.
“Shit- stop- stop! You’re- let me help! I’m not trying to- AH- FUCKER!”
Ichigo stares at his hand for… how long has it been now? Ten minutes, maybe? The bite is not very deep, another human would have probably done worse, but it’s swollen and the fact that he blacked out and almost drowned for enough time that he lost two nets … tells him that the creature can at least defend itself enough. Whatever possessed him to try and help such a thing is beyond him.
He only hopes that’s all whatever venom it infected him with will do … because he still has one (now only half full) net to carry over to his storage and two nets to replace.
When he reaches home finally , walking on soaked boots and dripping clothes that send violent shivers down his body (because the fishermen’s attire he wears everyday is not meant to protect him from getting wet while starfishing in the water), it’s almost dark and he’s starving from not having eaten anything since breakfast, but he takes just a second to breathe and look at the sea. The waves are rocking angrily now and he fleetingly worries if the creature even made it out safely; if only because then at least the loss of his nets and a full work day won’t have been for nothing.
His brow twists in a frown, however, as he strips out of the heavily wet clothes in the safety of his home; surrounded by the warmth of a just-lit fireplace. Actually, fuck that thing. He’s probably going to catch a cold because of it, and for what? Ungrateful little bastard.
.
.
.
He’d anticipated it, but, naturally, he’s still pissed as fuck. His nose is dripping and he sniffs it back for what feels like the thousandth time in the last hour alone; his throat feels tight and his body simply groggy all over. Fucking kid. His steps feel heavier than usual, walking down the crunch of the pebble-y road to the town in hopes that the apothecary was open already at this hour; if old Urahara was even awake, or sober that is.
He’s relieved to find the lights on, and is welcomed by the familiar bitter scent of medicine and herbal tea and a whisk of ale that seems to permeate the wooden walls; just a little sharper this morning, Urahara’s definitely started early.
“You – look like shit ~!”
Ichigo’s smile is unamused and his eyes squint the you-don’t-say sort, “morning to you too.” He huffs away the stink of alcohol breath, leaning on the counter for a breather while Urahara fetches what he’s asked for; stumbling only a little.
A smack of the dark glass container, right where his sight had locked on the surface, catches him off guard; Ichigo’s eyes jump to Urahara’s unexpectedly sharp ones. “You saw it, hm?”
In all his years, Ichigo’s yet to master the ways of stilling his own reactions, wide-eyed at the mention of what had troubled his thoughts all night last night. “I told your ol’man I’d live to see the day you too saw a monster. ‘Leviathan’, is what they’re calling this one. It’s certainly much bigger than what Isshin n’I saw.”
With callus fingers, Ichigo scratches at the thick hair of his jaw, he’s only half way through the first line of knots on the new net and yet the old drunk’s musings have yet to leave him to his work. At least the medicine cleared some of the sick fog off his head. It’s certain what he saw and what the rest of the town speak of in fearful mutters is not at all one and the same. But at least it explains why, in all his years of fishing in the same waters, he’s only now seen a creature such as that; if this ‘Leviathan’ thing is as real as that blue-haired kid… it’s only natural that things once kept to hiding are suddenly being forced into the light.
The shallow waters are about to get more and more interesting…
It’s a good two days later that Ichigo can finally fish using the correct amount of fishing nets, three nicely woven nets that’ll hopefully be filled with fish and not… whatever that thing was. He ties the nets to their posts, waiting for the current to bring along the large fish to their bitter end, and although he never explores the shore much anymore (he knows already every rock and cave like the back of his hand) something compels him to make his way with saltwater-slowed steps to the other side of the rocky cliffside, where the water hits harshly against bare rock and fishing is simply not a possibility.
But the thundering crash of the waves seems to steer clear of his senses when his eyes lock instead on the pitiful shape tangled in nets, thrown dramatically over a large rock where it barely holds on to life. He doesn’t usually carry this knife with him, the short one he uses to carve wood, but seeing as he’s been doing a myriad of inexplicable things this morning, he doesn’t even question why it’s in his pocket and easily reaches for the lost nets to slice through with quick and worried motions.
It’s heavy , even more so uphill, but it’s flushed like it’s feverish even though its body feels deadly cold.
“ Come on ,” he mutters to himself, as a little encouragement… to the creature or maybe to himself. Kicks the door to his home open, and deposits the creature in the old tub that hasn’t been used since his sisters left the house. Fuck, it needs saltwater.
It takes him several hours and a trusty bucket to carry enough water to fill the little tub (and then another trip to retrieve his netfulls of fish); he’s just glad it seems to be able to breathe air, or else he’d already be in the position to simply put it out of its misery. It’s not exactly large, but the tub is only big enough that its tail can stay somewhat submerged with little room to wiggle about.
His breaths come heavy and painful in his chest when he can finally sit on a little stool by the tub and examine the creature. It's… beautiful , if he’s being honest. Without the water crashing on him anymore, or the nets pulling on its body tightly, the creature looks almost peaceful. Quiet, careful not to wake it unless necessary and keeping a mindful eye of the slow rise and fall of the ribcage, Ichigo scoots with his stool as close as he can get. Looking at it like this, calm and worryingly unmoving, he can see it more clearly. It looks, it’s lower half at least, like a very large seahorse. He’s seen plenty in his life, loved ‘hunting’ for them with his sisters deep in Hollow Cove to look at their pretty colors and funny faces; never saw one quite like this , of course. His eyes roam its body and the pink and slightly swollen rope burn marks all across; Ichigo hopes with a squinting frown that the skin isn’t broken on any of them, an infection is the least this thing needs.
With a heavy exhale he lets go of those thoughts; once he’s gotten some food on it, and he’s sure he doesn’t risk another bite, he’ll give the seahorse another more thorough once over. For now… his fingers rub nervously against each other before finally bringing a hand up to gently touch its face; its pale skin, still somewhat flushed, has a similar feeling to human skin but smoother, like it’s covered in a thin layer of goo. His fingertips run across the supple cheek, up it’s temple, fuck, those horns really do come out of its head don’t they? The hair feels damp, and yet, despite the salty water, it stands almost fluffy like it’s dry and well cared for; the kid looks like a doll.
‘Kid’. The same old-man thought from the first time he saw it reminds him of another thing, retrieving his hand to tighten shamefully for its touchiness and bringing his attention to the creature’s round belly. Something close to relief blossoms in his chest to see it still full with its young. He knows a thing or two about seahorses, if this thing is anything close enough to them, that should make this… a male? Ichigo takes one more look at its face, long eyelashes still resting atop pale cheeks, he does look like a young man now that he thinks of it.
The jaw sharp even while the cheeks look soft, the shoulders and arms built and squared, even with the softness of the enlarged belly.
Only one more thing worries him,… where’s the other one, then? Never has he seen seahorses, much less adult ones with young on the way , in nothing other than in pairs. Where is the other one?
In his worrisome musings, Ichigo fails to notice the creature stirring beside him on the tub, ever so gently waking from his painful sleep and rushed into alertness with distress. The thrashing of tail and limbs has him whipping to attention, rushing to push the seahorse back in the water where it should continue to rest .
“S-Sit back! You’ll empty out your wa-! D-Don’t bite me agaIN, OR I’LL GUT YOU!” With both his hands on the other’s shoulders and his face just a few centimeters away from the snap of the creature’s sharp teeth, he holds him finally frozen in place; if he understood or if the mere tone of his voice was enough to put a stop to the mindless thrashing didn’t matter much. Still, the roughness of his empty threat brings heat to Ichigo’s face; he really lacks social skills.
“S-sorry… just- stop moving so much alright? You haven’t eaten in what- three days ? You need to calm the fuck down, and rest . I can bring you some fish, but you need to stay put .”
Surprisingly, he does relax back down on the tub, well, as much as stiff looking arms, a deep frown and wide eyes that seemed intent on following his every next move could be called “relaxed”. Ichigo chuckles nevertheless, the boy is starting to remind him of himself when he was younger— didn’t trust anyone, always jumping into fights. It doesn’t surprise him that this seahorse is the same, given what he seems to have been through.
From the makeshift wooden cooler Ichigo keeps outside the house, behind it where the sun can’t easily reach it, he retrieves a couple mackerels. Walks back through the door of his own house with the fish held up high like he’s surrendering a weapon, his steps gentle and his intent clear: feed the boy with the sharp, venomous teeth.
He extends the fish as a peace offering, his face open in case the seahorse is having his doubts again. “And there’s more where that came from,” he adds, cleaning off the smell of fish off his hands on a damp rag, his body more relaxed now that the creature has food (and he’s standing a good few meters away from his maw’s reach), “so don’t try and stash it somewhere in the tub; it’ll go bad. Alright, kid?”
It’s a win in his heart that the seahorse takes the fish with just the tiniest amount of aggression, his eyes intent on his every move as he sniffs the offered fish all over like it might be some sort of trap. He doesn’t seem to understand his promise of more food, but that’s alright, “I’m surprised you’re in such high energies after all that,” if he can make the boy more used to his voice either way, maybe he can learn to trust him enough to help. “I was sure I’d have trouble getting you to eat, or even stay awake at all. I’m glad—“
“Thank you…”
Ichigo’s head whips back towards the tub so fast he’s not entirely sure he didn’t unscrew it off; the seahorse was still there, where he left him, fish in his hands and his eyes looking sheepishly at him (then anywhere but at him) nervously.
“Y-You can talk?”
The kid frowns his tiny blue brows, his nose scrunching, Ichigo would dare say he was almost pouting; “of course I can, old man.”
Ah,... alright, fine , he treats himself like a much older person than he actually is, he’ll admit, but usually everyone else treats him like a kid— the town being full of older people and all— having this fish call him old well…
“I’m not— “ he exhales tiredly, but he’s not childish enough to get into a fight with a kid.
“And I’m not a kid.”
His heart skips a beat, “can you— ?”
“Read minds?” The seahorse scoffs at him, in that annoyed tone of voice he hasn’t heard from anyone since his sisters finished highschool. “Of course not, you humans are pathetically simple to predict as always.”
Ichigo fights hard against the exasperation itching onto his face, this is exactly what talking to Yuzu and Karin when they became old enough to talk back to him felt like. Except this fish had absolutely no respect for him whatsoever. “‘We humans’… right… enlighten me then– fish, what the fuck are you really? What happened to you?”
A bit of childish delight sparked at the ugly frown in the boy’s face, ‘fish’ was obviously offensive then; good.
“I’m not a fish , I’m merfolk, you land-slug!”
“Land– what?!”
“And whatever happened to me is none of your business, so hurry up and take me back to the shore.”
Ichigo’s brow straightened into a serious frown and his jaw tensed at the tone, there was simply no way he was letting this little brat back out there to get sweeped by the waves again. If anything, the only place he could be safely dropping him off at would be somewhere much deeper than the shore could ever be, and with far less currents to drag his ass; he’d need a boat for that too, and there just wasn’t one available to him at the moment.
“ No .” The firm note of his voice had the ‘merfolk’ stumble over half-attempts at words, following with wide, offended, eyes as he walked back to the stool and sat beside him resolutely.
“Just ‘ no’ ?!”
Ichigo crossed his arms on the edge of the tub to better look him in the eyes, “no.”
“So you’re just keeping me here? As a- As a pet ?!”
“I’m not keeping you as a pet, I’m keeping you safe .” The seahorse’s eyes filled with confusion, but his tiny frown unwavered stubbornly; thankfully, Ichigo’s seen enough tantrums in his life to be affected by this one. “I’m not a marine expert or anything of the sort, but it’s clear to me that something pushed you to hunt on the shore, where a creature of your size can’t possibly swim like it should. You’re hurt, you haven’t eaten anything in three days,” and he glances pointedly down at the fish still waiting on his grasp. “And I’m not gonna be responsible for you dying on my watch.”
And with that he gets up from the stool, giving a resolute end to the topic while the boy stares at the fishe’s dead eye with an angry pout, and turns to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat too.
“ Why do you care so much?” It’s a mutter soft enough that, with the constant low ringing of his left ear, Ichigo barely hears him. He stops, only for a second, his vegetable chopping to listen better, but doesn’t dare turn back to answer; renewing his work and muttering back a croaky “I’ve lost enough people.”
The sound of gentle chewing after a couple breathes’ wait is enough to steady them both for the rest of the night.