Chapter Text
Some distant part of Buck's mind is shouting at him to stop what he's doing, but it's not like he's ever been known for his impulse control anyway.
It’s the sort of idea that’s led him to swim headfirst into shipwrecks, heedless of the hazards that scare other merfolk away. The sort that’s left him with broken arms and torn open fins; black-eyes and one too many stares from the others as his parents regretfully dragged him home.
But this is something else entirely, and he knows it. The bad idea to top his other bad ideas, the kind of bad idea that could get him killed. He keeps swimming anyway, uncaring of his parents’ shouting voices behind him. They do not bother to follow, of course. They never do.
His parents claw-like grip a noose over his neck, his sister’s absence a knife to his heart. He's long since given up looking for love in his parents’ eyes, something other than thinly-veiled loathing, but it still leaves invisible bruises prickling at his skin every time they look at him.
So, in Buck’s defense, he’s not thinking straight when he swims nearer to the surface than he knows is safe. He can see the distant glow of the sun through the water, a sight as unfamiliar to him as the land itself, yet it’s strangely enticing today. He's not sure what he's looking for when his head breaks the surface; another lost soul, perhaps. Someone like him, searching for something unattainable. But that's not what he finds.
He finds a ship.
It's distant enough to not be immediate cause for concern, which allows him time to study it. There's a name painted on the side that he can't quite make out, tiny figures dotting the decks and pointing to the water below them. Humans.
Buck’s heart lurches in his chest and he swims back a few feet on instinct. He’s only heard stories of them before, and none of them pretty. Loathsome creatures, they are, who litter the oceans with debris and steal their resources. They fascinate him, these humans, and their vessel of wood and steel. He squints his eyes against the brightness of the day, aching to get a closer look.
It's dumb. He knows it's among one of the most idiotic decisions he's made as of late. So he has no idea why he submerges again and cautiously approaches the ship, eyeing it as a prey would its predator from the safety of a hiding spot. It’s larger than he initially thought, casting a dark gloom over the water. Buck is not stupid enough to break the surface again. Thoughts of his family are forgotten as he stares at it. This is the closest he’s ever gotten to one in all of his 27 years, save the rotted graveyards the humans leave behind after shipwrecks.
He doesn't realize how close he is until he feels it; the tug on his tail, then a stabbing, blinding sensation at the end of a fin. He screams, arms flailing to try to get away.
His tail is in agony, and he remains steadfastly stuck to the hook that’s caught him. It pulls once more, and he cries out. Even when he knows it's fruitless, even when a net is released and he's trapped in its webs, he tries to escape. A sudden, blinding flash of panic: do his parents know how far he's gone? Do they care? A heart-stopping scream as he tries desperately to call for help, but the presence of the ship has alerted whatever allies he would've had into hiding.
He's alone. But really, that comes as no surprise.
He pulls uselessly at the net, trying to tear it apart. He flinches away from the sun as he emerges from the water, shielding his eyes with a hand to keep from blinding himself.
It’s exhaustion that's driven Buck to stop fighting by the time he's dropped unceremoniously on the ship’s deck, the blade of a knife too close for comfort as a strange man–a human man, that is–starts cutting away the net. Buck can hardly feel the pain anymore, reduced to a dull throbbing in his fin, but he can feel the acidic, fiery touch of the sun. It's already burning him, from the top of his head to the tip of his fingers, to the blood dripping ceaselessly from his injured tail.
“Look at it,” the man before him breathes, hunger and awe in his eyes. “I've never seen anything like it.”
Someone from behind grabs Buck’s arms and begins to pull him. It wakes up his anger and he starts to struggle. A struggle that is promptly cut short by the searing pain of a hook being removed from his body, a pain so hot it makes him dizzy with nausea.
He's dragged haphazardly across the deck of the ship, where he's dropped into a tank of water. It's small; so small Buck can't straighten himself entirely. So small he can touch each end of the glass with the palms of his hands without straightening his arms. He looks up to find a black lid placed atop the tank, then locked with a padlock that falls right in front of his face.
And that, coupled with the men who stare at him as if he's some prize, is when the real panic sets in.
He bangs a fist against the tank, but the glass doesn't budge. He can't hear the mocking laughter on the other side, but he can see the glee in their faces anyway.
He finds he can't breathe. Feels himself choking in this water that is not his home. He grabs at his throat, at his chest, covers his mouth with his hand as if to muffle the sobs that escape it. He flinches away from one man who raps his knuckles against the glass, feeling naked under the weight of their stares.
They leave him, eventually. Retreating to their cabins as the sun sets below the horizon. Buck hasn't eaten in hours and the hunger is ravenous. He can't make himself comfortable here, but he settles at the bottom of the tank and leans his back against the glass, too spent to cry, too angry at himself for getting into this situation to begin with.
Buck falls asleep after a while, his stomach twisting with fear once he wakes up and remembers where he is. The sun must be rising, he thinks, peaking idly up on the horizon. He can see land in the distance, something he has only heard about in stories. He stares at the beach, at the mass of buildings, and wonders if he will ever go home.
This is unlike him. He's known for his endless optimism, isn't he? But he knows that nobody who has ever been captured by humans has returned. Nobody knows what happens to them, but the rumors are endless. All Buck knows about humans is their endless cruelty, their unparalleled desire to hurt.
The pain in his fin has worsened. Without the proper treatment, he knows it'll grow infected, but he can't bring himself to care. He probably won't even live long enough for that to happen anyway.
Movement in his peripheral vision startles him into moving to the center of the tank. The same man who cut him from the net is approaching, the same man who laughed at the way Buck flinched the day before.
Buck briefly considers the possibility of killing him. After all, if he's going to die, perhaps he should take one of his killers with him. He's not sure he has the resolve. The thought never crossed his mind before, to cause pain, to hurt. But this man, with his carefree smile and easy gait makes Buck’s blood boil.
But then he sees the food in the man’s hand, stuffed precariously in a plastic bag, and he can't help but stare. The hunger in his stomach has only worsened. Every survival instinct inside of him is telling him to refuse as the lid is lifted from his cage and the greens are dropped inside. He decides he will not give this man the satisfaction of eating in front of him, at the very least.
Buck watches him retreat after returning the lock to the cage, then bites into the seaweed like it’s the first meal he’s had in days. It does little to alleviate his hunger, but it’s something.
The boat docks and the bustle of men around him begin shouting commands that Buck can’t hear. He stares warily as a group of men approach him, instinctively pressing himself against the glass as if it would make a difference. He sees their smiling faces, amused by his effort.
He thinks about fighting a group of five men, and wonders if it’s possible to win with such odds. He thinks about the wound in his tail, the sun over their heads, and the waters down below.
He wonders if his parents have noticed his absence yet. Unlikely, honestly. They probably think he’s throwing a temper tantrum, as they like to call it. Or, as Buck calls it, going away for a few days so he doesn’t do something he’ll later regret.
All of this runs through his head as the men roll up their sleeves, while another unlocks the cage and removes the top. Buck finds himself sinking to the bottom, out of their reach, and only feels a brief moment of satisfaction at the frustrated look on some of their faces.
His victory is short-lived.
It seems to be a unanimous decision, because all at once, the men jog to one side of the tank. Buck has no idea what they’re doing, not at first, until it becomes apparent that their strategy is to simply tip him over.
He presses his palm against the glass and makes eye contact with one of them, the same one who brought him food, and hopes that the pleading in his eyes is enough.
It’s not.
He topples over and lands painfully on the wound in his fin, crying out in fresh agony that sends shockwaves through his body. He hardly has time to process this before his arms are being grabbed, and he’s heaved over the shoulders of one of them. He’s kicking with all his might, screaming, using his fingernails to dig into the man’s skin. And it must work, at least a little, to cause pain, because suddenly he’s being hefted by three men at once, one of them holding his arms and the other two holding his tail.
It’s a relief when the sun disappears, shielded by some sort of structure. Buck can’t see much from his position, but there are other people staring at him. Men and women with their mouths agape, some of them whispering to each other. He wonders if any of them have any humanity at all, and then balks at the question. This is their humanity. Their humanity is made up of cruelty and barbarity, tearing others from their homes and laughing at their pain. Humanity is selfish, is vicious, is evil.
The dry air is becoming too much, his breaths growing more labored. It causes the men to pick up their pace. Of course they wouldn’t want their prize dying on them, not quite yet.
And then, all at once, they drop him.
This new cage is bigger, but still leaves Buck with a sense of claustrophobia. The glass on the other end leads to some sort of viewing room, and the other three walls are closed in with concrete. Buck sinks to the bottom and finds himself sitting on the ground, too shocked to move, too shocked to even think. Something brushes against his arm, and when he looks he notices the kelp flowing freely in the water.
But no, not quite.
He grabs it in his hands and recoils instantly, as if burned. It’s fake, plastic, like they tried to create a facade of the ocean but gave up halfway through. The insult of it all is almost comical; to create imagery of the ocean using the very thing they’ve polluted it with. Buck thinks about the time he got a ring of plastic stuck on his wrist and had to use a sharp rock to cut it off. He thinks of all the creatures who died because of the carelessness of humans.
The ground itself is hard, covered in sand and rocks, and it’s not clean. The water is hazy, so much so that he can hardly see the other side of the tank. It feels wrong to breathe here. Painful, almost, to look around and find no trace of the waters he’s so familiar with.
He feels as if this is happening to someone else, like he is outside in that viewing room looking in. Surely that’s what this is, isn’t it? Some sort of terrible nightmare, fueled by the stories his father used to tell him about humans to keep him away from the surface as a child. This can’t be more than that, can it?
“Can you hear me?”
Buck jumps at the noise, flinching away from the intrusive voice. There’s something on the wall beside him, a black, protruding circle that sticks out sorely against the rest of the enclosure. He stares at it, perplexed, when it makes noise once more.
“I repeat. Can you hear me?”
Buck’s confusion outweighs his fear, if only for a moment. This mysterious, omniscient voice has no body, as far as he can tell. He looks around just to be sure he’s alone. Sure enough, there’s nobody with him.
“Do you think it speaks our language? Or is it too dumb to understand us?”
“Look at it. This is a waste of time.”
“It can clearly hear us, man. Try again.”
A beat of silence. And then, “if you can understand me, nod your head.”
Reluctantly, Buck nods.
Someone, whooping victoriously. Someone else, you owe me five dollars, dude. Someone else, stating that it’s just a coincidence.
It’s all too much. Buck wants to go home. He wants to go home. He’d do anything to go home.
“Good,” the voice prompts. “Listen very, very carefully.”
***
Buck thinks he stopped listening halfway through, but it’s not as if he could understand the words being told to him. Something about aquariums, and opening in thirty minutes, and you won’t be given food unless you’re good, which sounds like something his mother would say. This thought is absurd enough to make him choke out a laugh, long after the strange black circle has gone silent. A laugh that turns quickly into a sob.
How could he possibly be missing her? His mother, whose touch was never gentle, voice never soothing, who never looked at him with anything resembling love. At least it was the sort of pain he could count on, reliable, expected, something he was used to.
This is something different entirely. His fin is on fire, a sensation he hasn’t felt in years. The lights kick on in the viewing room before him and he flinches. When the door opens, he pulls himself behind a large plastic rock, obstructing the view of whoever’s inside.
Heart hammering in his chest, he feels the panic rising to a crescendo once more. He can hear voices on the other end of the glass wall now, but can’t make out what they’re saying. He squeezes his eyes closed and tries to pretend he’s home.
But what is home?
Home is steely gazes and disapproval. Home is the friends he’s been clinging onto for years, afraid that once they inevitably drift apart he’ll have no one. It’s Maddie’s empty room in their castle of coral and stone. It’s the hook-ups that Buck has only half-heartedly enjoyed, unable to shake the feeling he’s been used. It’s the people he loves that might not love him back.
“Come out, fish. Put on a show.” The voice is hard, unkind, coming from that strange circle once more. Buck presses the palms of his hands to his eyes and shakes his head, unsure if they can even see him, unsure if it’s worth fighting this at all.
He doesn’t move, although he’s not sure himself if it’s from sheer stubbornness or fear locking him in place. It’s where he stays for hours, so long the pain from hunger forces him to curl up tight against the rock and bury his face in his tail. So long that his body cramps from the position and the ache in his fin dissipates once more.
He’s there for so long he must’ve slept, because by the time he wakes he’s being jostled by two men in scuba suits. He flinches back from them, grateful that in water, he at least has an advantage. He’s faster, stronger, smarter than they are in here, even if this tank is their creation.
But in his haste to get away, and his lack of options for places to go, he finds himself trapped once more in a fishing net. It closes around him and he screams, the sound piercing even to his own ears. The divers clasp their hands over their ears and shy away from him.
Good, Buck thinks hatefully. Let them think I’m something to fear.
Once he’s breached the surface and the netting is once more removed from him, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred, does he finally speak.
“Let me go,” he says. His voice is hoarse, weak now that he’s no longer in the water. But the man before him looks surprised, eyebrows raised and mouth agape as he considers him. Buck is dropped unceremoniously on the hard ground, but he doesn’t let himself feel the pain. Only rage.
“Didn’t think it could talk,” someone says from behind Buck’s place on the floor. Buck snarls.
“What’s your name, then?”
Buck stubbornly closes his mouth and looks down, hands balled into fists.
He doesn’t register the crack of the whip until the third lashing, and by then, his throat is already raw from screaming.
“I asked you a question,” says the man in front of him, kneeling down to eye level. He grabs Buck’s jaw and forces him to meet his steely gaze, his breath hot against Buck’s face. Buck recoils, hot tears springing freely from his eyes. He reaches out, half-blind, to try to push the man away, but he doesn’t budge. He uses his other hand to grip onto Buck’s wrist hard enough to bruise. “Answer it.”
“I-I, please. Please, I-” The crack of the whip again. Hot, fresh pain against his back. Buck chokes on another sob, struggling uselessly against a grip of iron. “It’s Evan. E-Evan Buckley. Please stop.” It all comes out in one panicked breath. He can’t see the man’s face before him through the tears, but he’s certain he has that same satisfied smile on his face from the day before.
“Good,” he says, as if praising an animal. He rubs his thumb against Buck’s jaw and Buck wants to vomit all over this man and his hard, calloused hands. Dark brown eyes avert from Buck’s face and down to his chest, where his eyebrows raise in consideration. “Think we can lose this, guys? Wanna know what it looks like underneath.”
Buck shakes his head, horror and humiliation bringing fresh tears to his eyes as he feels the binds cut away. He’s made many of them, over the years, out of kelp and coral and really, whatever he could find. Enough to flatten his chest so he doesn’t have to look at what’s there. So that others don’t look at what’s there. Once upon a time, he used a discarded human knife to cut his hair down to his ears, and his mother had lost her mind over it. You look like a man, she had screeched, and Buck had yelled back to her that it was the entire point.
The human lets go of Buck’s face to place his hand against Buck’s right breast, then whistles while the other men laugh. Buck's face goes red as the man's fingers go from his chest to his free wrist, grabbing onto it with the same ironclad grip he’s holding the other one.
“What do you want?” Buck asks. The longer he’s out of water, the more weak his voice becomes. He’s finding it hard to breathe, his tail red-hot against the dry air.
“What we want from you is to put on a fucking show,” The human says, and his grip, somehow, grows tighter. “And if you can’t do that, you’re useless to us.” There’s a threat in his voice that makes Buck all the more terrified of his fate, and he chokes out another gasp as the whip cracks but doesn’t meet skin.
His entire body is starting to hurt. He can feel his lungs fighting for breath, and he’s not sure if he’s more afraid of the cracks forming in his scales or the man with the whip still hovering behind his back.
“Do we understand each other?” The man asks, voice so quiet only Buck can hear. Buck doesn’t answer, not immediately, and he’s met with another bolt of lightning against his back that makes him scream, yanking desperately at his hands to try to free them.
“Yes,” Buck sobs. “Yes, yes, please. I’m sorry. Please.”
“Good.” He lets go, finally, leaving Buck to collapse down against the hard, cold floor. He has no idea who grabs him and deposits him back in the tank, only that the dirty, horrible water is blissful, is breath in his lungs. Not exactly safe, but the closest thing he’ll come to it for now.
Blood drifts in the water as he sinks to the bottom, leaving a gruesome trail behind him. He curls into a fetal position and cries, uncaring for who sees, or who hears. He doesn’t sleep after that, the pain keeping him awake each time he’s on the edge of unconsciousness. He weeps from the unfairness of it all, weeps because he knows, of all the people in his village, he’s probably the one people will miss the least.
Weeps because not a fucking soul has loved him enough to worry over his absence, except for his sister, and she’s gone too.
And Buck wonders idly, as the bleeding slows to a stop but the sharp, knife-like pain continues, if the reason he went to the surface in the first place was because he was hoping for some kind of end. But he's realizing, much too late now, that it’s not what he wants after all.