Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hot August afternoon was melting into a muggy evening, and Law still hadn’t caught anything worth keeping. He drained his sixth beer, dipped the can into the lake and filled it with water, swilling to rinse it, then crushed it and tossed it with the rest of the litter to the front of his boat.

As far as fishing went, the day had been a bust. The cooler of ice he dragged aboard to pack his haul in was starting to slush. His last few beers and remainders of lunch were all that was keeping cold in it, and with the sun starting to dip…

“Think I’m going to have to call it,” he sighed.

He started reeling his line in to a chorus of grumbles from the waterproof speaker rigged to the underside of his seat.

“What about dinner?” Shachi asked, his voice tinny.

“Bepo’s tearing through our sandwiches,” Penguin whined.

Bepo mumbled sorry at the same time Law snorted. “Yea,” he drawled. “I’m sure it’s just him.”

His reel jammed mid-crank, the line going taut as his hook snagged something—a tree root or thick patch of water grass on the bottom of the lake. Law frowned. Just his luck: he finally caught something, but it couldn’t be gutted and fried to appease his friends.

Well, he thought, at least they were having fun. They’d brought enough weed, burgers, and beer to last five or six days. If Law could drag some fish up, they might even manage to get a full week out of this latest camping trip.

He and his friends had been coming to these park grounds for years: pitching their tents, drinking, and lounging by the water; showering in the communal stalls maintained by rangers; going on walks, swimming, fishing. It was Law’s favorite part of the year, a break from real life.

Back in med school, it was the only thing that staved off burnout. Now, as a resident, it kept him sane. Last summer had been so hellish at the hospital that he and the boys had to skip their trip, so this year, this one? Law wanted every part of to be perfect.

But the fish hadn’t gotten the memo, and it looked like their traditional first night fish fry would have to wait.

“Think I timed it wrong,” Law grumbled, angling his rod and giving it a tug to free his line. It tightened up and vibrated, but didn’t snap free. He changed angles and tugged again, not really surprised when it didn’t accomplish anything. “Got too late of a start this morning.”

Shachi snickered. “Because you stayed up too late partying?”

Penguin and Bepo laughed along in the background of the call. Law rolled his eyes.

“Keep it up and it’ll be you idiots out here tomorrow.”

“No!” the three whined in unison, and Law smirked, imagining their faces.

“What's the matter?” he teased. “Not up for some pre-dawn boating?”

Shachi and Penguin, and even Bepo, who came along with Law on the boat sometimes, were quick to say no; that they were happy to stay back and mind camp. Law was tempted to remind them that camp didn’t need minding. Even at the height of summer, this park was quiet.

Law rarely ever ran into more than two other campers at the showers. It was one of the things he liked most about this place. Whether he was walking a woods trail, out paddling on the lake, or watching sunset skip diamonds across it while he and his friends lounged and ate, his clinic felt a thousand miles away.

“Whatever.” He tugged firmly on his rod. The hook seemed to get more stuck. Law sucked his teeth, thought, what a pain in the ass, and said, “Look, I need to hang up. I’m snagged on something. Think I'm going to have to get in.”

“Good thing you took your swim trunks,” Bepo said.

“Yea, good thing.” He laid his rod down. “See you at camp.”

He disconnected from the voice call they’d been on for the last hour and stashed his phone in the lockbox under his seat. He hauled up his anchor and paddled closer to where he was snagged. A few oar strokes back from it, to keep from blocking it with his own hull, he glided to a stop and dropped anchor again, efficiently tying off.

He pulled his line one more time, hoping...but no luck. Whatever had him, it wasn’t giving up. He couldn’t even see it this close up. The water wasn’t very deep in this part of the lake, but it was murky. He’d have to put on swim goggles and submerge to figure it out.

Best case scenario: It was only tangled in weeds, and Law could hold his breath for however long it took to free it. Worst case scenario: the hook was unsalvageable, and he’d have to cut the line and abandon it. He wasn’t too worried, either way. He had a whole tackle box full of—

Without warning, the boat tipped sideways, rocking like it’d caught wake. Law shouted a cussed and braced himself to keep from toppling out.

“What the hell?” he gasped, whipping his head around to scan the water. It frothed and rippled, but he couldn’t see anything that might’ve caused the turbulence.

The boat listed, port and starboard, slowly settling, but just as Law relaxed, it tipped sideways again, hard, threatening to flip. But from what? Law couldn’t figure it, not exactly, but it had to be something swimming underneath him, smashing into the hull.

Alligator? No, don’t be stupid; the water’s too cold. A large fish, maybe, or a massive turtle he’d pissed off by clipping it with his keel. He’d never heard of a species of either one of those in the area capable of capsizing a boat; but the lake was big, and big lakes had big wildlife, and…well, he’d never been very lucky. If it was going to happen to anyone while they were fishing alone, it would be him.

The boat was shoved to the port-side and dipped hard enough to scoop water, which sloshed on to the deck and over Law’s feet, surging up his swim trunks. It was bitingly cold, and a lot of it. When the boat settled, it rode it a little lower.

Fuck, he thought. He couldn’t afford for this thing to go under.

He didn’t want to hike back to camp and explain to his friends that he’d been marooned by, what, a snapping turtle, maybe? He’d never live it down. While the boat swayed sickeningly, Law scrambled for his swim goggles and hunting knife. Maybe if he took some swipes at… whatever it was, he could scare it off.

Before his goggles were secure, the boat tipped again, nearly going vertical. Law shrieked and, in a panic, slammed his knife into the starboard side. With his free hand, he gripped the ledge and strained his muscles to stay inside while his cooler, empty beer cans, and lockbox splashed out. The heavier spillage buoyed in place while the cans started bobbing away.

Law, very briefly, berated himself for littering, but panic wiped all thought of it away as his boat’s belly slammed down. Law’s back smacked onto the deck, his head bouncing painfully against the handle of his knife, and he laid there for a few seconds, grunting and blinking the bleariness out of his eyes.

The boat’s violent sloshing settled, the lake around it going eerily calm. Law’s ragged panting was loud in the sudden quiet. He pushed himself up, ignoring the head rush. He needed to move quickly: haul his anchor up and go but—

Law froze where he rested on his elbows, staring at what could only be the thing rolling his boat around.

A wet, shimmery hand had him by the anchor rope.

Chapter Text

It’s a person, was Law’s first thought, then, with a surge of panic: Fuck, they’re drowning. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sad stories were sprinkled throughout every summer. People went out on the water too drunk or tired, swam too far, got exhausted, slipped under, and never resurfaced—at least, not alive—again.

Law had never been in the park when someone went missing. For that, he’d always counted himself lucky. But now, eyes fixed on the hand around his anchor rope, he wondered if it might’ve been luckier if he had been around.

The rope wriggled, the water around it churning again, wiping the thought clean from Law’s head. The boat lurched as they struggled, the motion spiking Law’s headache and smearing his vision. As best as he could, he ignored it and launched himself to that side of the boat.

He grabbed the person by the wrist and pulled. Their body resisted, halfway to dead weight, and nearly dragged Law into the water. Grunting, he braced his feet against the boat, but it didn’t help much. The vessel swayed in the person’s direction, threatening to flip.

They were heavy, two or three hundred pounds that wouldn’t come up easy. Even if Law got them up, he wasn’t sure his rowboat would hold both of them. Whatever, he thought. Let them have the boat. He’d get out and dog paddle it ashore, and then? Law looked around frantically, trying to think.

The lockbox with his phone in it was still bobbing nearby. Once the person was safe, he could fish it out and call emergency park services. While they waited for a rescue boat, he could call his friends too, on the off-chance their camp was closer than the nearest ranger station.

“Come on!” Law shouted, yanking on the person’s wrist with all his strength. His palms slipped and stung. Their arm felt like it was coated with algae, and the smell of it was so pungent and sticky that it made Law retch as he wrapped his fingers tighter. “Up! Kick up! I’ve got you!”

The water frothed and roiled as something heavy battered the hull from below. Law could almost picture the person’s legs scrambling against it. They’d be battered and bruised, probably bleeding, by the time they got out from under it, but Law could worry about that later. What mattered now was that they were almost there.

“That’s it!” he gritted out through his teeth. “Kick!”

He wrapped his other hand around their wrist, and with a slippery, two-hand grip, hauled as hard as he could, guiding them to the surface. Through the murky water, he could see faint, thrashing shadows that matched the sway of his boat.

“Almost there! C’mon, just—oof!”

The boat took a final hard knock and the prow went airborne, crashing down with a heavy splash. Lakewater rained, splattering Law as he lost his grip and went sprawling onto his back, cracking his head against a rowlock.

His vision whited out and he edged the loss of consciousness, his eyes wide and unseeing as he gasped. It took a while for his sight to flicker back, and when it did, it swam so violently that Law had to screw his eyes shut to keep from vomiting.

Blinded by nausea, his hands scrambled against the deck, trying to find something to haul himself up by. The rough bottom of his boat made the stinging in his palms worse. They felt like they’d been cut, but he couldn’t think why; couldn’t think of much of anything besides: get up!

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. There was nothing close enough to grab, and even if there was, his body felt made of lead. It was uncooperative and heavy, and the taste of bile and smell of algae was suffocating.

The boat tipped as something slithered in, cold water sluicing aboard with it. It felt so good creeping up Law’s trunks that he groaned. The boat groaned too, accepting something just shy of too heavy for it, and buoyed dangerously low from the added weight.

It took Law’s rattled brain a few seconds to piece together the reason for the shift, but when it did, relief tamped down some of his sickness.

“You made it?” he asked, cracking his eyes open.

He had to squeeze them shut again almost immediately. The orange glow of sunset was an icepick, but the few seconds was long enough to catch the suggestion of a body: hunched awkwardly, half-draped over the port-side, but safe.

“Oh,” Law breathed, “thank fuck.” His head lolled against the siding, away from them and the glare of the sun. “Just, hah, give me a minute. I’ll call help.”

He slapped a hand over his face, rubbed his aching eyes and the bridge of his nose, considering asking the person if they were camped nearby. Before he could, he smelled pennies, and with a dazed huh? pulled his hand back to look at it.

After blinking his vision clear, he saw his palm was running with blood.

Little halfmoon cuts covered it; the other one, too, when he checked. It was a pattern he recognized. As a kid, he’d grabbed a fish around the middle once. It wriggled free in seconds and splashed back into the water, leaving him with nothing to show for his catch but the bleeding imprint of scales rubbed wrong.

Law frowned at the cuts. They didn’t make sense. He hadn’t touched a fish today. Before he could think of an explanation, the boat rocked, the new passanger shifting closer. Their shadow stretched over him, and in the swirling edges of his vision Law noted that they were big. Curious, he rolled his head to get a better look.

Their body blocked most of the light, the sinking sun only managing to slip a few rays over their shoulders and the crown of their head. The light made his gut twist, but Law breathed through it, blinking rapidly while his eyes adjusted and details began filtering in.

His passenger was a tall, shirtless man with hair plastered to his face in shaggy ringlets. His large, wide mouth was frowning and his body was lean. He looked like he should be a good swimmer, had the right build for it, and even his hands…

Law’s eyes stuck to them. They were huge, and they were webbed.

“What…” he slurred, staring at the thin, translucent skin.

Wary of the attention, the man shut his fists. The webbing bunched up and flabbed between his fingers and his dark nails scraped the deck as the tucked into his palms, leaving gouges in the finish.

Law looked up again, taking the man in more carefully. His skin was a dappled gray that faded to milky white on his chest and belly, slick and smooth between a roadmap of keloid scars. A few thick, fleshy-looking whiskers sprouted from his cheeks, and wide bands of what looked like scales decorated both of his wrists. He had twitching, fin-like protrusions at his elbows and hips, and thighs that didn’t split. His whole lower body was a long, powerful coil of muscle.

He looked like…no. Law bit his lip and shut his eyes again.

He’d been daydreaming about dragging up a fat catfish all day, and between that, his jumbled vision, and the head trauma, he didn’t know what he was seeing. “Sorry, I think I must’ve…”

Law trailed off. He didn’t know how to phrase it that wouldn’t make this guy, who’d already had a bad day, feel like he’d been rescued by the wrong boat.

“One more minute,” Law settled on. “Really banged my head.”

The guy didn’t say anything, so Law focused on his breathing: in deeply through the nose, out slowly through the mouth. His queasiness settled to something more bearable and the ache behind his eyes dulled, but he didn’t like the tacky patch he could feel in his hair. He and the stranger both needed attention, either from a park services medic or Law’s friends, whichever could get to them faster.

He needed his phone.

“I, uhn, hate to ask, but any chance you could reach that lockbox?” Law gestured toward the water. “Maybe hook it with an oar?” The guy didn’t answer. “Look, my phone’s in there. Want me to call help? I need it.”

After a pause, the guy made a curious huffing sound, then shifted again, shimmying closer to Law and the rowlocks.

“Thanks,” Law said. “Shouldn’t be too hard, just—”

He broke off with a hiss. One of the guy’s hands planted on his thigh for balance as he fumbled, noisily and clumsily, with the oar. The touch was thoughtless, and Law wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t for how slippery the stranger’s skin was. Law had barehanded his fair share of catfish. He knew that feeling.

Anyway, if he wasn’t seeing things, what about his own hands? He couldn’t think of anything besides the stranger’s wrists that he’d touched.

Gut twisting with something other than nausea, Law chewed his lip and opened his eyes, glancing down at the hand on his leg. It was the same as before. Gray dappled, scarred skin stretched over large, webbed fingers; fingers tipped with sharp, claw-like nails. The only difference was something he’d missed: a glint of metal in wrist’s scale cuff.

A fishhook, still attached to it’s line, still attached to Law’s rod.