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Note: Blood and some injury description in this chapter, but that's about it. Enjoy!

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You find them when you’re ten.

It’s when you’re on the beach shore, sunsetting but just light enough that you don’t need to use the keychain flashlight in your shorts pocket. You’ve pulled the ends of your shirt out to hold all the pretty rocks you were collecting, heavy weighing on the fabric and few tumbling down when you crouch to pick up more, but the beach is so filled with shiny fossils and coins that you don’t care to lose a dull pebble for one with slightly more color.

The village keeps the beach clean, always has. Littering was a big taboo and even though most of the populace wasn’t traditional, it was well understood that you payed respect to the ocean and the shores that it shared with you. It kept the sands clean, and open to everyone. That is, until the others came with big machines, cars and boats that echo loud back at your house at night, digging into the soil and cutting through the waters. Sometimes you wished your house wasn’t so close to water just so you didn’t have to hear the speedboat’s engines at night as they sped by, but it’s not an idea that you entertain for long. You had a Little Mermaid poster in your room for a reason.

The village protests the actions of the other adults but that’s some grown-up mumbo jumbo you don’t understand, and don’t care to. They’re a good village that takes care of their own, welcoming to outsiders but they look to the oilers and poachers with uncertainty. They say that it takes a village to raise a child, but there are other children than you, and they’ve all been so very busy as of late, so no one blinks an eye when you go down to the beach every now and then to shift through the sand for fossils and seashells to add to the ever growing collection that’s stacking up on your bedroom window seal.

Except this part of the shore has all been-picked through. You jump a little when you pick up what you think is quite the pretty rock only for tiny claws to sprout out from the pebble, and you drop the crab back into the sand to watch it scutter away from your abduction attempt.

Dejected, you walk back and dump your findings into the kiddie-wagon you took from the neighbor’s garage, (not like they’re gonna use it anyway) and tug it in the direction of a more secluded, hidden part of the shore you rarely go to, never without permission, but fairly certain has plenty of pretty things and coins for the picking. The wagon bumps a little in the sand, and almost doesn’t make it over the rock formation separating the hidden shore from the rest of the beach, but you yank it over, and inwardly pride yourself for being super, duper, uber strong for your age, and that you totally didn’t fall down in the process. If no one saw it, it didn’t happen.

You were right. The seashells were better on this side of the shore. The colors were lighter, brighter, and you’ve parked your wagon by the rocks to gather pieces in your shirt again, slowly filling it up with trinkets you’ll give names to back at home.

It’s when you pick up a rock you think is a pretty red color, but the red dribbles down a drop onto your hand do you notice the faint crimson color streaking in the sand, dampened by the water, and you hear them.

A cold, pained sound. Two of them, echo's of each other. Quick breathed and faint, like trying to stay quiet but clearly in pain. It doesn’t sound like puppy dogs or birds, but not human either. Humans don’t make weak growls at the ends of their whines.

Fueled by childish curiosity, you follow the sound, letting the faint red in the sand be your guide before it’s washed away until you see a shape form in the distance. The sky is dimming, casting the beach in an array of colors as twilight settles in, but you can see the details of them clearly…whatever they were.

They were…something. You’re not sure yet, but you think it’s a fish. Two fishes, actually. And they’re caught in big net with claws scraping uselessly at the sand as the lines dig into their skin and scales drawing blood at the wire. Dead fish are caught underneath them in the net, the blood from them mixing in with the creatures own.

They see you as you approach, and their whines stop, eyes wide, caught in the headlights.

There’s one colored like the sun, yellow and oranges with fins that sprout like a sunflower around it’s head and a tail with as much flair. It’s face has the same baby-fat as you do, and it’s eyes a white, luminescent glow that glare back at you while it struggles to claw through the netting, crumpled in a shape that cannot be comfortable. It stares at you with sharp, tiny teeth in his maw, frozen like it debated on continuing it’s attempts to escape the net, or to try and claw it’s way back into the ocean, trapped or not.

The other one look’s like it was painted for the night. It’s slumped over the other, tail with a crescent end twisted up in the wiring with blood drawing from it’s scales. Fins that sprout up decoratively in a fashion on it’s head that reminds you of a old-fashioned night-cap are caught in the net, tugged painfully as the creature tenses. It’s eyes are white too, but you blink and think you see barely illuminated pupils zeroed in on you. Both of them, actually. Zeroed in on you completely. Frozen.

You know what mermaids look like in storybooks and movies, though they were never quite depicted as this. They were always shown prettier, majestic, unlike the sprawled creatures in front of you that you’d mistake for children just like you if it wasn’t for the obvious fish characteristics. They don’t look like Disney mermaids at all. They don’t look half-fish, half human. They don’t look human at all.

You’ve heard of monsters in the sea. You’ve heard of the stories the grown-ups tell to keep children in line, or to get spooked laughter at Halloween parties. You’ve heard of fairies that steal names and faces, leprechauns that enact revenge if you steal their gold, and you’ve heard of creatures of the ocean that prey on human kids just like you for being disobedient, vowing to pull you under the waves and drown if you swim out too far from the safety of the shore. Or at least if you didn’t wear your floaties when you were told. Not like you go any further than where the water reaches your hips, anyway.

But you are ten years old, you have a shirt full of rocks and seashells, and they look like they’re in pain. “Hello!”

The one colored like the sun shrinks back, sharp teeth bared in fear. The night colored one tenses, fins raise on it’s head and his claws scramble in the sand with his counterpart. You drop the rocks from your shirt, letting them tumble to the sand (you can always just find more later) and approach with slow, cautious steps, and a wide smile. “Hi! Can you say Hi? Say ‘Hello!’”

The yellow one hisses at you. The night one’s teeth lock tightly and let out a growl.

Your head tilts. “Is that ‘hello’ in fish?”

No answer, at least not one you can understand anyway. The two mer-things keep their focus on you, bodies ridged and fangs bared. One of them flinches as the other coils away from you, pressing them further into the net that cuts away at it’s skin. The other doesn’t thrash it’s tail like it’s counterpart, instead the stubby fins rising in some sort of hackled defense. Both seem ready to lash out, the sun with it’s claws and the night with it’s teeth.

Scary, but you think bee stings are scarier, so you lean back and scan the two after a moment. “I’m gonna getcha out of there, okay?” Hands on your hips, you’re confident in your post. “And then we can be friends!”

The night one is coiling back before you even finished your sentence, and the sun one’s fins are pressed back against it’s skull with a tiny hiss in it’s throat. You ignore it, going through your pile for something you could use to free them.

You’ve been here hundreds of times, sliced your foot on plenty of sharp rocks that you know are out here in the sand. It’s why you don’t leave without flip-flops anymore.  It’s frustrating for a moment unable to find a sharp rock the one time you’re actually looking for one, but you eventually uncover one with a jagged edge. It’s not perfect, but you can’t go back for a kitchen knife, and the creature’s claws have half-way sawed through the weakest point in the netting anyway.

You turn back to the withering creatures. “Okay! Stay still!”

They, in fact, do not do that. The yellow one hisses continuously, panicked and scrambling but getting no where in it’s predicament. The darker one freezes, claws and jaw tense like it was ready to snap at you at any moment.

You approach anyway. “I promise I’ll be fast! I just gotta…cut you out!” You search for the weakest point, hooked underneath the lighter one’s tail, and just far enough that they couldn’t viably reach you at that angle unless they wanted to cause more pain for themselves. You’ll still act quickly, though.  “I’m gonna start now.”

Hooking the jagged rock underneath the frayed net, you start cutting away. The sun one makes a noise of panick with a break in it’s voice, like awaiting some sharp pain that never comes. It’s voice quietens for a moment, never disappearing but coiled in the back of it’s throat in low, nervous rumbles. The night one is silent, poised, ready to attack and watching with wide eyes as you make short work of the netting entrapping itself and it’s counterpart.

“You guys look really funny, you know that? You don’t look like Ariel at all.” You cut away a few more lines, the netting is starting to become slack, a small hole is starting to form where you started your work. “You’re pretty colors though! I have rocks that look like you. I had to paint them that way though. Also, they don’t glow like you do. Are you jellyfish people? Jellyfish glow sometimes but you don’t look like jellyfish. You look like mermaids or mermen but like…not with human parts like me.”

The creatures are still and quiet.

“I think I’m call you-” You raise the rock for a moment to point, and the two flinch as you point at them individually, towards the yellow one first. “Sun!” Your rock points to the other. “-and Moon! Because of your colors and tails!”

Sun’s bared teeth lessens. Moon’s eyes narrow. You give them a moment before continuing. “Well, I think it’s great names.”

Although both of them remain tense, though the growling has ceased entirely. Any blood of theirs or the fish on the netting that transfers to your hands washes off in the sea water, and you lean back to see your work done. There’s a sizeable hole in the netting now, big enough that the two could pull themselves out of the netting if they were careful enough. “Okay! I think I did a good job-”

Sudden movement. Sun scrambles with scratching claws grating against the sand and you stumble back as the creature riiiiippps himself out of the netting, dragging it’s body along the shore with rampant speed and movements that spelled desperation.

A smile spreads on your face in that second. The meeting is short-lived, but they were free! And you’ll have a cool story to tell back in town.

He gets into the water, half-way submerged before stopping. Blood is still beading from the lines etched into his face as he turns back to the shore, eyes wide, and you follow his line of sight back to the sand.

Moon is still underneath the netting. The exit was available, and he knew that judging by how he’s barely pulled his upper body half-way out, but now lay slumped against the sand, belly down, and expression torn between pain and exhaustion.

You watch as the Sun turns in his spot, dragging himself back over in the sand to his unmoving counterpart. He glances between the body trapped in the netting, to the waters out behind him, and you see the rocks and lowland under the surface that the creature looks to with weary hesitance before laying back down besides his opposite.

Your smile falters. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “What’s wrong?”

The Sun doesn’t hiss at you this time, but his fins crane back in a way that reminds you of dog ears, but you doubt he understands you. The Moon tries to claw itself out of the netting further before letting our a sharp hiss that delves into a low growl, teeth grit before slumping again. The wet sand beneath them both is still pink with blood.

Carefully, slowly as the Moon’s patience seems to be waning thin and the Sun keeps a careful eye on you, you pluck the netting between two fingers and lift it up slightly. Moon flinches, the Sun’s teeth bare in your direction in alarm, but you see what the problem is.

Moon’s tail was worse than you thought. Now without Sun blocking part of the view, the crescent shape of his tail was stained with bloody gashes and puncture holes that the netting couldn’t have done alone, or even the jagged rocks that the two risked being impaled on on their way out into the water, though you’re certain it didn’t do them any favors washing up on the shore.

You’re not a merperson expert, but the Moon was in no shape to swim, and with a quick glance to Sun, he barely was either. “Uh, oh...”

As if to emphasize your point, Moon tries once again to drag himself away from you and into the water, this time with Sun’s  grip on his arms and tugging towards the ocean. You watch as these two children (fish kids, really, you’re not sure if you should call them children) struggle in the sand for a moment before Moon drops again, completely spent while Sun pauses, inwardly debating the risk of dragging his injured counterpart into the rocky waters while he himself was worse for wear.

Your new friends aren’t going to last for very long unless you do something about it.

An idea forms in your head. You drop the netting, the two flinching at the movement but you’re shuffling away before the Moon could growl a non-committal threat at you. They’re not able to go anywhere, anyways, so they’re right where you left them when you come back pulling your wagon behind you, though they look to it with sour expressions.

They watch you unwaveringly as you empty the wagon out all of the rocks and trinkets you collected, turning back to them with your hands on your hips. “I’m gonna help you, don’t worry!”

At your words, the two creatures crane back, not quite as hostile but still cautious. The Moon, especially, becomes vocal and rather swatty as you pluck the edges of the netting and carefully remove it from the injured merkid’s tail. You barely dodge a swipe that grazes the sleeve of your T-shirt, leaving a small rip behind. “Hey! I’m trying to help you-!”

Your response is a low hiss and a open display that he has no quarrels with doing it again, even the Sun, though not as hostile, looks ready to defend at any given moment judging by the tenseness in his claws. Not the best crowd to work with, but you fight with other kids your age all the time. You can handle a couple of rowdy fish boys. The netting comes off and is thrown to the side. You inwardly prepare yourself for the struggle. “Don’t attack me, okay? I’m helping.”

Silence settles between you three. The Sun (the actual one, mind you) was starting to dip further into the sky, and you were losing daylight.

“Helping.” You repeat, pointing to yourself, “I am-” You point to the wagon.“ Helping-” then you point to the fish boys. “You.”

Pointing a finger at their faces must be rude or something, because Moon makes a noise that sounds like water gurgling into a growl, and the Sun’s body is poised ready to lunge. If it wasn’t for the baby-fat oddly fitting on their faces and the obvious appearance that they were probably only a little bit bigger than you were, they’d be scary. Whatever.

As quick as a ten year old could, you lean forwards, hooking your arms underneath the Moon’s and hoisting him upwards. It’s difficult, and not because he’s thrashing and flailing and letting out horrid growls as stubbed claws swat at your clothing and hair, but because he’s much heavier than you thought he’d be. You can’t fully lift him off the ground, but you manage to hoist him high enough in a pseudo-hug to waddle him towards the wagon. “Calm down! I said I was helping-!”

Your words are useless, so you strategically stumble back towards the wagon and let the merkid’s weight sway you. A claw scratches your ears, face and shoulders, and you’re briefly reminded of the feral stray cat that you like to feed sometimes as you crane forwards and plop the creature into the wagon. Moon hisses at you with breath stinking of sea water, and you feel something puncture your leg as you lean back. “Ow!”

You glance down. Sun has pulled himself further onto the shore just to grasp around your legs with his mouth clamped down on the exposed skin of your calf. Their teeth are sharp nubs, not quite mature and not quite as dangerous as sharks, but damn if it didn’t still hurt. “Hey, quit it! That hurts!”

You shake the leg, but he seems clamped on, obviously in protest at the capture of his brother (at least, you’re assuming they’re brothers, you think) and doesn’t show any signs of letting go, even as a little bit of blood starts to dribble past his mouth.

Nose scrunching up, you crane down and hoist him up, and the Sun goes hissing, growling, clawing just like his counterpart, weight taking you off-balance and nearly toppling you to the sound before the creature crawls up your form like a movie horror, claws hooked into the fabric of your t-shirt and biting into your hair.

You take the opportunity to hoist the tail up under one arm, hunched but stable as you rest your other on the wagon’s handle. The Sun keeps a firm grip on you like he think’s he’s actually maiming you besides a couple of scratches, and the Moon unable to move watches and tries to swat at your when you come within arm’s reach.

What a sight you are: giving a piggy-back ride to a merman and about to wheel around another while looking like you got into a fight with a couple of alley cats.

Puffing your cheeks out, you blow a wet raspberry out into the air and don’t care if it makes the fish boy in the wagon flinch as you spew with sarcasm. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Ignoring the prickling sensation all over your body and somehow managing to piggy-back Sun and tug the immobile Moon by wagon alone, you start the trek back to your house.

They don’t like the movement, and they make that clear enough in the vocals alone. The noises don’t seem to stop but neither move from their spot; the Moon unable to dart for safety with an injured tail, and the Sun unwilling to leave his brother behind. Both are reserved to watch as the distance to the ocean grows by feet, to yards, till you’re carefully stepping over the rock formations and the hard sand, maneuvering the wagon so it doesn’t tip with the live cargo.

Eventually, the Sun’s stops nipping at your hair and sits tense and quiet on your back, and the Moon as coiled up around himself in as each look as the sand disappears into grass, and the sky becomes illuminated only by stars.

Your house is a beach house, not grand by any measure and more of a fixer-upper, but close enough to the water that you only have to take a dirt-path to the front door from the sea. The ocean being within sight distance is probably the only things to help with the creature’s nerves at the moment, though you were really just grateful that you didn’t have to lug huge fishes through the center of the village. Living on the edge of town really had it’s benefits, even if storms leaked through your ceilings and the air always smelled a tinge of salt.

Your folks aren’t home, unsurprienly. They never really were, but the fridge was always stocked and lights always on, so it didn’t really bother you much. Sometimes they left sticky notes apologizing for being busybodies, with instructions on how to heat something up in the microwave, and not to open the door for strangers, but you’re an expert on taking care of yourself by now (or at least, you think you are) and the neighbor comes to check on you every now and then anyways. You call him Gramps sometimes, and you remind yourself to return his garden wagon before the sun rises the next morning.

Both creatures are radiating anxiety as you cross the threshold of your home, barely managing to fit the wagon through the front door. They shrink into themselves, something that aches your bones as Sun has gotten much, much heavier in the timespan you’ve been carrying him, but you’re almost there. “Don’t worry! I’m gonna take you back to the ocean tomorrow!” You talk outload as if they could understand you. In a way, at least with your tone, you’re hoping they could try. “But tonight we’re gonna have a sleep over so you can take a nap and uh-, fix your tail? I have Band-Aids with fishes on them but I don’t know if you guys like Band-Aids-”

You cut yourself off as you kick open the bathroom door with your foot, coaxing a surprised hiss at the sound from both boys. They sound utterly defeated, exhausted and confused, and you don’t blame them. So you keep your smile wide as you twist and grunt putting Sun on the floor (He panics for a second, then stills, frozen as he’s plopped down). You’re extra careful to put him on the bathroom rug where it’s a touch softer, even though a bit of blood seeps into the carpet. “There!”

He coils in on himself, wide-eyed and out of place in the modern room. From the doorway, his brother does the same. You turn on the lights, missing the flinch coming from Moon, and scan the situation. The bathroom wasn’t luxiousis by any means, but the house came with one of those old-fashioned big-clawed bathtubs you always thought looked ugly, but it’s plumbing works just fine, and you’re never been more grateful for a big clunky bathtub.

Stepping past the Sun, you reach over for the knobs and turn over your shoulder. “You guys like hot baths or cold baths?”

Sun stares at you from the rug, back against the counter. Moon makes a low rumbling noise from the doorway, claws gripped over the sides of the wagon.

“I’m just gonna make it lukewarm.” You turn the knobs accordingly, hearing small sounds of surprise as water begins to sprout from the faucet.

Turning back to the pair, zero in on Moon first. He needed the most medical attention first. You’re not a doctor, but you learned from experience that salt never felt good on open wounds, and salt water can’t be that much different of a pain. Except you’re not a mermaid, so maybe it’s different for them, but you walk towards him regardless with arms out and palms open. “Okay, going up!”

You repeat the movement, picking him up by the underarms with as much strength as you can muster (man, you were going to be super sore later) and while he doesn’t outright attack you this time, he does hiss something loud and vile too inches from your face so you get a eyeful of teeth and a tongue that’s more lizard-like than anything human you’ve ever seen.

Sun’s gaze darts in-between the two of you as you hoist Moon. You use his weight to sway you towards the bathtub. Putting him inside without straight up dropping him takes a considerable amount of effort that turns your face a little red with the strain. “O-kay, there!” You turn to his counterpart. “Your turn-!”

The Sun moves before you can finish your sentence, dragging himself across the tile towards the bathtub, and you watch as the merkid claws over the oddly textured porcelain thing, climbing up the side and scrambling into the bathtub along with his brother until he was situated right next to him. The Moon, exhausted and who had tracked blood across the floor and the sides of the tub, eyes flit from his counterpart to you and back again. The Sun does the same, and you wonder if they have some sort of telepathic ability with each other, or are simply speaking at a frequency you can’t hear.

Cool! You’re going to have to clean up that blood trail though. Leaning over the tub, you turn on the shower. Both creatures shrink into themselves for a moment as the water starts to spray from above, before their shoulders lower and they look up at the faucet with apparent confusion. Blood and sand start to wash off their bodies and trickle down the drain.

You put your hands on your hips and talk loudly like it’s going to make a difference whether or not they understand you. “I’m gonna be right back, so don’t move.”

They stare at you. You can’t really read their expressions anymore, but you hurriedly leave the bathroom regardless.

You change first, putting on a T-shirt with pajama pants to hide the bite marks on your shoulder and leg so no questions would be asked. You run a wet rag over the frame of the front door so the blood droplets won’t look suspicious, and dab at any droplets leaving the bathroom, running it over the wagon and pushing the cleaned wagon outside onto the driveway. Then you head outside and running up the road to the one other house close enough to see you from a distance. Running, specifically, because you had two fish boys in your bathtub at home and you didn’t want to keep your new (injured) friends waiting forever.

Gramps opens the door on the fifth knock, and takes you in with a long sip of his drink. Behind him, you think you hear the news or sports narration on the TV. He’s still in his work clothes, overalls for a plumber or electrician, you think. You never really asked. “Sandals and pajamas?”

You blink, looking down. Maybe showing up at your neighbor’s front door at night in this attire wasn’t the best impression. “I’m the fashion genius of the decade.” You off-put, and speak quickly, practically running in place. “I need your first-aid kit. The one with the sewing kit part. With the needles and the-”

“Suture. You’re thinking about sutures.” Gramps takes a sip of his drink. “What are you doing to warrant needing stitches? Do I need to call your-”

“No!” You answer too quickly, and immediately regret it when his eyes narrow. “…I tore the curtains by accident. I wanna fix it before they get home and I don’t gotta a sewing kit.”

“Hmm.” Gramps hums. “Bring the curtain over ‘ere, I’ll fix it.”

“I want to do it.“ You whine, hands clasped behind your back. ”I’m grown up enough.“

He doesn’t look like he believes you for a second, and you think your about to be called out for your fib before he puts up a hand, tells you to stay put and disappears inside his home. You wave at his old cat sleeping on his living room chair in the background until he reappears with a small first-aid kit in hand. “It’s not a actual sewing kit, but it’ll do.” He hands it to you, and you refrain from bolting so as to not look suspicious. “Where’s my wagon, by the way?”

That was your cue to leave, turning on your heel and sprinting down the dirt road. “Borroweditforsomerocksandstuffthanksforthefirstaidkeybye!”

Your gone before he could question you any further. It’s not the weirdest thing you’ve done, so he’s probably used to your antics by now.

You exchange your sandals for socks when you come back, and enter the bathroom to find the two creatures right where you left them. One of them, however, is coiled up against the farther side of the tub, and the other’s eyes never leave your form from the second you walk in, smiles and energetic. “I’m back!”

There is no verbal response, obviously, but one of Sun’s fins twitch in place and looks to the first-aid kit in your hand with interest.

Walking closer to the tub, you spot the other brother, slumped and weak-looking. His eyes are half-closed in a way that someone looks when they are desperately fighting off sleep. He must be entirely spent. The glow from his body was dull in the bathroom lighting. Still, you reach over to turn off the shower and plug the drain so they at least have half a tub of water to slosh around in.

Sitting down on the bath rug by the tub, you reach for the injured end of his tail, the wound much more visible now that the sand and blood have been washed away. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this like a million times before, I’m like a doctor by now.”

Moon’s eyes widen at your touch, and the tail twitches away from you as he gives a weak hiss. The Sun is tense, but watchful, teeth poking out from his mouth whether in warning or exhaustion himself you can’t tell. They’re not nearly as energetic when you found them, and that’s worrying.

Taking the hint, you put the first-aid kit down and stand. They watch as you leave the bathroom, only to come back a moment later with a Tupperware container with contents you quickly heated up in the microwave. Left-over fishsticks that were in the fridge for you, but you weren’t hungry and you can’t think of anything else you could make quickly for them, assuming they can even eat it.

You sit back into place, open the lid and hold one out to the more awake brother. Sun cranes back from the offering immediately, eyes wide and confused. You bring the fish stick back and take a bite of it yourself (it taste bland and lukewarm) before chewing, swallowing, and holding it back out for show. “See? Food.”

He hesitates. For a moment, you think it’s futile, until he leans slightly forwards, testing the waters, and nibbles the slightest bit from your hand. There’s a moment where it’s quiet, both you and Moon watch for Sun’s reaction before the yellow merkid suddenly pipes up, nubby claws coming around your wrist and all but chomping down on the rest of the fishstick in newfound energy fueled by injury and hunger. You have to wench your hand out of the Merkid’s grip as he starts scarfing it down.

“Wow, you’re really hungry.” You muse, and Sun doesn’t even look at you. You pluck another fishstick and hold it out and that’s grabbed too. The speed that he’s eating them are a little funny, even if it is a little desperate, and you get another to hold out to Moon as well. “What bout you, buddy? You like fishsticks?”

Moon’s gaze has darkened, eyes now a red color instead of white, and tired. Pale pupils dart from his eating brother, to you, to the offering in your hand before turning away and laying slump against the tub with his face half-settled in the water. He has no interest in the fishsticks, just looking like he wants to sleep but not safe enough to do so. You let put them rest back in the Tupperware container. “Guess not.”

This time, when you lightly grab for the tail, there is no flinch, though both brothers watch you with zeroed in focus and partial curiosity. “This might hurt for a little bit, but I think it’ll help you heal much faster. You don’t want to get any gunk in your tail or bacteria and stuff.” You disinfect the needle with an alcohol swab, and gently run the same pad over the wound with careful hesitation. Moon doesn’t tense up like you thought or hiss at you, but his eyes do narrow, and you wonder if he even has the energy to be angry anymore. You smile anyways. “I’m gonna fix you up and throw you right back in the water, promise.”

The stitching process is quick. You’re not an expert, actually. You’re ten. But you weren’t lying when you said you’ve done this before, and the job comes out decent enough that you’re satisfied with the results when you’re finished. The whole time Moon has a low rumble in his throat, not quite a growl but indecipherable regardless. Sun is not entirely friendly, but the hostility has faded, and he looks to your motions with rampant attention as you tend to his brother.

When you’re finished, you let the tail fall back into the water, and Moon stares at the sutures among the scales. “See? All done.”

He tests it. Not easy to do considering the small space, but he moves the appendage around a bit, nearly smacking his brother upside the head in the process and seems apparently satisfied with the results. Exhaustion still is evident though, and he sinks further into the water, once again refusing the offer of fishsticks as he settles into place. Guess he wasn’t hungry, but at least the wound was taken care of.

The Sun’s gaze has rested on his brother’s now treated tail, before lifting to yours. His fins around the head flicker for a moment, and then settle. You expect some sort of reaction, but he’s just...staring. Not hostile, not even cautious anymore, but just looking at you. Confusion, maybe. Curious.

He doesn’t seem as tired as his brother, but you’re starting to feel the affects of your own eventful evening. You leave for a moment afterwards, gathering blankets and a pillow to drag to the bathroom. Sun watches with a tilted head as you fold one comforter down besides the tub to lay on, set one pillow up for your head and another blanket to keep you warm for the night. “We’re gonna have a slumber party! Like friends do, and then I’ll take you back to the ocean tomorrow, okay?” You settle comfortably, resting your hands on the edge of the tub and your head against them. “Do you have any friends waiting for you?”

Sun’s head tilts.

“What about family?” You press again. It’s strange to only hold one-sided conversations, but maybe with a little perseverance you’ll find something substantial. Practice and trial and error. “Are your folks all fish too? Or is it like, your ma is the fish and your dad is the human? I dunno how mermaids work.”

He opens his mouth like he goes to speak, then closes it. Something small rumbles in his throat, a sound that doesn’t feel like a warning, but an attempt. Testing the waters, testing the vocal cords. Sun makes a noise in-between a growl and a chirp in a funny way, and it feels like an attempt at conversation. It was something.

“Do you know any human words?” You try to ask, excitement growing. “Can you say ‘hello’?”

“Food.”

You blink, gaze turning to the speaker just as Sun does. Moon has sat up, if only for a moment with tired eyes, blinking dully at you. He raises a single claw, pointing in your direction, and speaks with a voice that sounds alien to your ears, repeating. “Food.”

You blink, and turn to grab a fishstick from the Tupperware container, holding it out to him. “This?”

Moon’s face turns sour and opens his mouth to speak again, but a hand comes up and lightly smacks him in the scales. Sun’s chubby hand pushes his brother back down into sleeping position, his counterpart grumbling and turning away until his face was facedown in the water and away from the two of you. You raise a brow as Sun turns back to you and makes a odd noise, the semblance of an awkward smile on his face.

You set the fishstick down, head tilting. “Wha-?”

He does it again. A strange sound, a little more coherent than the last.

You try to follow his lead, mimicking the noise with your own mouth to try to understand. It doesn’t work, and you almost spit all over yourself in your attempt to do so.

“Fren.” He speaks again. He must have seen recognition in your expression, because he repeats himself with a little more energy. The colors on his body seem to flair, like fireworks, or a sunrise. It’s pretty, and maybe even a little blinding. “Fren.”

“Friend!” You laugh. “Yeah, I’m your friend! We’re friends!”

Your reaction must be a good thing. Fins raise up and seem happy, and the Sun looks rather pleased with himself, smiling with two rows of sharp teeth. You have the childish urge to stick your hand in his mouth like how some people do when their cats yawn, but refrain when you feel a yawn of your own accord coming up, and you do so. The Sun blinks at you while you yawn, and you miss the Moon peeking his eye up at you through the water.

With a sigh, you stand from your spot and walk over to the light switch. “I’m gonna sleep. Lugging you guys up here took all the energy out of me.” You flip it off, leaving the door open so the hallway light floods in just enough so you don’t trip and fall on your way back to your make-shift slumber bed. Settling in under the covers, you watch as Sun’s fins seem to dampen, shrinking back over the edge of the tub and into the water, suddenly tired. “You too, huh?”

As if the light disappearing sapped the energy from his body, Sun yawns too. You catch another glimpse of a maw of inhuman teeth before his tail comes up to coil around his body, back against his brother. Said brother does not move from his position, though you think you see a pupil glaring at you from underneath the water.

“Tomorrow, ocean.” You promise again to the silent room. “Good night!”

You settle against the make-shift bed (not entirely comfortable since it was just a comforter between you and the cold tile, but you’re not keen on leaving your new friends alone if you go sleep in your real bed) and try to go to sleep. The excitement of the day was still running in your system, but the exhaustion won in the end, and you fall asleep to the sounds of slight sloshing water and quiet breathing a foot away from you.

You wake up not long after to something wet dripping onto your face.

Your eyes open first before you move, processing that it was still night judging by the lack of light coming through tiny bathroom window, with the overhead lights still shut off. It takes a minute for your vision to adjust to the darkness, rubbing at your eyes as if it’ll make it go faster. You’re still half-asleep, if not more, so you don’t process the sight in front of you as you flip onto your back, facing the ceiling.

When you do, your breath catches in your throat.

Moon’s face peers over the edge of the tub, claws gripping the sides. His eyes have changed again, though this time they’re black with the darkness, red pupils zeroed in on you as you slept. The lighter parts of his body from before, tail and fins, glow in the dark now that you’ve adjusted. Bioluminescent, and it looks like stars against a dark canvas.

The boy must not have wanted you to wake up, because his mouth parts open slightly in displeased expression, sharp teeth illuminated by the lowlight. “Food.”

You blink up at him. With one hand, you grope in the darkness for the Tupperware container left out somewhere until you feel it, grabbing a fishstick from inside and holding it up in-between you to. “…You like midnight snacks?”

He doesn’t grab it like you thought he would, instead, Moon continues to glare.

“I get hungry at night too, sometimes.” You say. “I hide gummy bear stashes in my room for snacks.”

Silence. Something in the fish boy’s face twitches. Red pupils dart from fishstick to you, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he didn’t like his food cooked. Maybe that’s why his breath was always so meaty smelling.

You’re about to get up and see if you can find anything raw from the fridge when a clawed hand comes out and plucks the fishstick from you, holding it thoughtfully for a moment before taking a bite. He doesn’t react like Sun did, instead his mouth scrunches up like when you give a baby something sour, but he takes another bite and continues to eat it with reluctance. You smile up at him. “You feeling better?”

With a mouth full, Moon’s eyes narrow down at you. Some water from his fins dribble down onto your face, and you wipe it off before continuing. “You seem like you have a lot more energy now. Told ya naps could make you feel better.”

He stares at you. A clawed hand comes down to pluck another fishstick out from the Tupperware container, and begins to chew on that one as well. He must be hungry, but at least he was busy. You’re still tired, needing to regain the strength to take them back down to the shore tomorrow morning. Judging by the silence and the unmoving tail from your angle, Sun was still asleep, leaving only his brother to glow at you in the dark at night.

You smile up at the fish boy’s weird eyes and habits, and sink back into your make-shift bed. “Nighty night.”

Minutes pass in the quiet of the dark, and you’re asleep by by the time it happens, but Moon attempts to mimic your words, and sinks back into the water when it comes out less than comprehensible.

You know that you’re going to miss your new friends as you’re lugging them down to the ocean shore the next morning.

You get up extra early, just in case so there’s likely of a chance anyone will be out there. You didn’t want your new friends to be treated like what they do to new creatures in movies, taken away by the government and experimented on in top-secret facilities, or any other horror story your ten year old brain could think of. Having a some-what private beach near your house had it’s benefits, though not all the locals and the newcomers followed that rule, it was safe enough. The sun rising over the horizon gave you just enough light to guide you back down to the beach.

This time, the two boys come easier. There’s no biting and clawing, no hissing and scratching, but Moon still whines something incoherent when you plop him back into the wagon, and you have to mentally and physically prepare yourself for hoisting Sun back up on to your back to make the trek down to the beach. At least this time he doesn’t claw through your shirt or shorts, instead lying quietly against you as he looks to the daylight stretching over the horizon.

You talk, mostly to yourself, on the trip down there. It’s only a few minutes, but the dirt path feels so short and you’re at the edge of the ocean before you know it. “We’re here!” You smile, though it’s through strain as an ache in your back thrums against your spine as Sun starts to lean forwards towards the water, and it take a considerable amount of effort not to tip over. “Just let me-”

It’s when your gently lowering Sun to the shoreline does the sound of wracking hit your ears. You turn to see Moon has tipped over the parked wagon, clawing through the sand and dragging himself over into the water. He’s back in before you even fully let go of Sun, who joins his brother in quick succession. The two are rapid and swimming out to the deeper parts of the water where it comes up over your head, far from the shore where you watch with a smile. Judging by their faces and movements, they seemed happy and relieved, full of life again after one nights rest. Well, that was easy.

Saying goodbye to the sea air feels more like a formality. You turn away from the merkids to right the wagon back over, fully expecting them to have swam out and away by the time you turn back around. It’s within your inner musings that you feel cold water splash against your legs, and you look up back towards the water.

They are closer, no longer ‘froilicking’ and still in the water, but only in the shallow part, close enough where Moon can splash water up at you to grab your attention. Which he does again, this time a little harder, and you kick sand up in his direction in playful response. “What?”

The Moon stares at you. Sun, next time him, lowers his body further into the water, face half-submerged. A noise coos from the both of them.

You have absolutely no idea what they’re saying, but you approach the water regardless, leaving your sandals on the sand and walking further into the ocean until the water came up to your knees, a few feet from them. “Saying goodbye?” You lean down with a smile, brightness in your expression and lighthearted. The boys fins flutter. “It’s okay! You don’t owe me nuthin, just don’t get caught in a net again-”

One of your legs is swept out from underneath you, your balance toppling and you feel the world spin as you’re plopped on your butt. The water comes up to your shoulders now, but steadily increasing as a clawed hand wrapped around your ankle is rapidly dragging you into deeper waters.

You feel heartrate rise as Sun’s hand pulls you further into the ocean, the Moon swimming content besides him as the both carry lighthearted smiles. You panick, and kick at the water, fingers digging into he sand right as the water comes up to your neck. “No, STOP!”

They do. You’re not sure why you were scared for a second that they wouldn’t but they stop, though Sun’s hand remains locked around your ankle, head tilting. Moon stops swimming out to deeper waters, though his face narrows with something akin to confusion and impatience.

You pull yourself backwards a few inches, taking a deep breath and pushing yourself upwards until the water was back around your shoulders, sitting in the sand. “I can’t play with you out there!” You speak, loud and clearly as possible as if its going to make any difference. The latch around your ankle doesn’t falter, even when you tug away, but neither of the fish boys try to pull you further, watching your face. “I don’t want to go.” You try again, leaning away. “I’m not a good swimmer. I can’t breathe underwater like you guys. I can’t play with you.”

There is a moment of quiet. The Sun blinks at you, while the Moon sinks lower into the water was the actual sun starts to rise in the sky higher. Then, he lets go. You pulls your legs up to your chest and watch as the two boys swim further into deeper water, glancing at one another, back to you, and slowly drift away from the shoreline.

You stand up from the water, where it reaches your hips. With a smile, you give a soft wave.“…Bye.”

Two pairs of eyes stare back at you, then disappear. Their tails fly up for a moment before sinking underneath the water, and you are left staring at the spot where your friends once where for five minutes before trekking back shoreline, and returning your neighbor’s wagon before he questions you again.

---

A decade later, you think back to your imaginary mer-friends as you face the rocky waters below.

You told Gramps about them when you were still ten years old, disheartened by their leaving and maybe trying to make conversation outside of the obvious question of what you were doing with his wagon and why you were out so late at night and early in the morning, but he chalks it up as the ramblings of a lonely ten year old with absent parents and too much free time on their hands in the summer.

They didn’t leave anything behind, you realize. No scales, no blood, no pictures, not that you were really worried about any of that at the time, but outside of your own memory of what they looked like, and the empty Tupperware container by your bathtub, there was no real evidence that those creatures existed. Even the net that was left where you found them had washed away, if it was even real.

“Imaginary.“ He said, while brewing you a hot chocolate one winter when the power goes out at your house, your folks are somewhere at work and he had a nice fireplace and a really furry cat that likes to sit on your lap while the two of you play monopoly together. You still think about them, telling him details over your monopoly game together, though it’s been months since your meeting and that little slumber party you had together.

You tell him about how Sun had scales that looked like the sunrise, yellow and bright and seemed to glow, with a tail that was flashy and big, fins all around his head so he looked just like the sun in the sky, or at least the ones you draw in yellow crayon on paper. You tell him about Moon, his weird eyes and the way he didn’t like the fishsticks, the dark color of his tail and the navy shine it had to it, how at night certain parts were lit up like glowing fish you’ve read about, and how his head was shaped like there was a permanent nightcap on it.

At first, Gramps laughs about it. “You used my first aid kit on a fish? My wagon too?”

He scratches at his beard with a chuckle as you practically down the entire cup of hot chocolate so you don’t have to answer. Then, he tells you a story; a legend about the sea and it’s waters, of monsters and omens and rules that sailors must follow if they wish to survive the currents. of luck with fishing, and bad luck with sinking ships, and how the color of the scales, and day turning into night could mean life or death for some pirates out on the waters, or for any poor soul caught in the waves when they shouldn’t be.

“Sirens.” He calls them. “They’re not real, if you don’t believe they are. Just folk tales n’ the like.”

Your ten year old self liked the stories though, so you sit and pet his cat (affectionly named ‘Screwdriver’) while he continues.

“Siren of the Sun is a good omen.” He starts, rolling the dice for the monopoly game though neither of you are really playing anymore. “Tales say if ya spot em, your ship will sail safe and you’ll catch lots of fish, but only if you don’t break any of the rules.”

“Rules?” You ask, non-chalant slipping monopoly money into your pocket for later.

He pretends not to see it. “Rules for the sea. Be nice to it, have manners. Don’t go littering in the ocean or taking too many fish than you need. Don’t bully, don’t be rude, sail only during the day and not at night, pay your respects…” He moves his piece on the board before leaning back. “Or you’ll find punishment from the Sun siren, or worse, the ‘bad omen’ instead.”

You repeat yourself. “Bad Omen?”

“Siren of the Moon.” He answers, and suddenly the gears are turning in your head, because you knew the names you had chosen were so fitting for a reason. “Sailing at night, you run the risk of seeing it. If ya do, yer gonna sink.” Gramps whistles, bringing his hand down to emphise his point. “Down to the bottom, where it traps ya and eats ya and doesn’t leave not a single bone behind. It eats people for fun.”

You’re quiet as you process his words, so Gramps continues with a jest. “Yer probably safe though. They’d spit you right out. Me, though?” He points to himself. “I’m a fine star meal.”

That raises a snicker out of you. “Gross.”

You continue to play until you win the monopoly game, and you still stick around the the hot chocolate and stories even when you see your lights come back on in the windows of your house far down the road. Gramps is kind, gruffed old man that doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t even drink hot chocolate, and you’re certain he just keeps packets above his fridge for when you come knocking at his door nowadays. So you tell him about your friends, about how you miss them, again.

Even then, with a weathered old smile, he states. “It’s not really real. You made up two imaginary friends based off of legends you probably already heard about, and didn’t remember that it was just fairytales, because you’re a lonely kid. That’s alright. It’s okay to imagine.” He makes you a new cup of hot chocolate, and sets up the board for a second round. “It’s alright to imagine, kid. I’m sure wherever your friends are, they’re fine.”

You didn’t think they were imaginary, but didn’t have any proof otherwise. So you sip at your hot chocolate and don’t tell him about how you have a much easier time finding pretty rocks and seashells at the shore, left by the edge of the water in a way that doesn’t feel natural.

That was when you were a kid. You’ve grown up now since then, and it’s a memory you look back fondly upon.

Your folks left town for bigger job opportunities and left you the house. It’s not as shabby as when you were younger, thanks to your work, but all yours. They were never as much as a sea-side person as you were, and were perfectly fine letting you stay on your own. Sometimes they call you, or send a letter, but they are as usual, absent in most areas of your life. It’s not in a bitter way. You had Gramps to take care of you to teach you how to change a tire, and you teach him how to work a smart phone eventually, so it works out either way.

You don’t need a lot for money since you make no payments on the house, your folks are attentive just enough to wire you funds for groceries or other necessities, but you still get a part time job at the retail shop in town where you sometimes work weekend, and all-in-all, it’s a pretty mundane, calm ten years.

Then, one of the other neighbors decide to move out of town. Small family, you think, with a little bit more money than you do, but they owned a decent set of assets including a small houseboat, something you’ve thought about getting yourself one someday if you ever had the savings to aquire one.

They were ditching town. Decided they didn’t want to be anywhere near the ocean or any body of water at all. Had a scare in the water, you think, at least that’s what the rumors spoke of, though in-person the husband tells of a different story, more detailed than the common fear of drowning.

They were the superstitious type. They took their boat out onto the water for a little party, like a backyard barbeque except in out at sea. They set sail at night so they could shoot off fireworks for pretty lights, drinking and having the time of it. Kinda fancy if you think about it, but the look in his eye tells you it’s not something he’s ever going to entertain the thought of doing again.

“Monsters.” He says, nervously fidgeting to himself while you make small talk in the marketplace. The smile on his face looks forced. “Just…monsters, you know? Maybe sharks, something in that water. I don’t think it’s right whatever is down there.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t push it. Some people just didn’t have the taste for the sea and that’s fine, it’s not for everyone, so you smile and nod and give your stranger comforts as what’s expected. The interaction is common and plain, until he offers you the houseboat at a price that feels way too low to be real.

Apparently, they really wanted away from the water as soon as possible.

In a moment fueled by sheer impulsiveness, you scrap up your savings and buy the houseboat from him. It’s small, kinda beat up, but it’s enough for you. The family moved out that weekend before you can get back into contact and ask how the damn thing is supposed to be sailed, so you run a couple crash courses on online videos to walk you through the whole thing.

It’s exciting. Finally, you have something that’s yours, not a gift but yours entirely, and  the ability to go out to sea. You even had a pool put in! It faces the sea from your backyard, and it was really put there as way to practice swimming without the threat of being swept out to sea when you go boating. You took one, maybe two swimming lessons to get the basics down, but you’re not going to be jumping into the water anyway. The boat is cleaned up, and you follow the instructions you laid out for yourself to set sail. Most of the day you spent preparing and keeping tabs on your own nerves, so you set sail only an hour before sunset with the light already dipped low in the sky.

You won’t be out here long, anyway. Just a test run.

And that’s how you ended up here; your life practically flashing before your eyes as the anchor line you set up not long ago wrapped around your ankle, way too heavy for you to pull back up without the crank, and dragging you down into the water below.

Turns out, you’re terrible at this whole sailing thing.

The water stings as you hit the surface. You took a gasp of air right before you submerged but it still nearly knocked the wind out of you, and you’re being pulled downwards by gravity and the weight before your brain fully processes that yes, you are under the water, the pull is too heavy, chains digging into the skin of your ankle even if you try to shake from it, and oh god you were going to die.

You are going to die. Drowned by your own stupid impulsiveness.

This is…oddly not a surprising way to go, for you.

It’s cold and suffocating. By human instinct you struggle and instantly regret it when you accidently open your mouth, water rushing up your nose and causing an immediate headache, letting out a bubble of air. The pressure was starting to thicken as you sunk deeper where the sunlight became less and less apparent through the waters. There is no fish around you, nothing but the deep expanse of salt water. Your death is going to be colored light blue to dark to blackness as you are pulled under.

It’s useless, but you clasps your hands over your mouth and nose like it’s going to make any difference, and hope that the shock from the cold takes you out before the drowning really settles in.

Something moves in your peripheral vision.

Two sets of eyes-you think they are eyes, at least- peer up at your from the darkness of the abyss, and they are coming closer. Close enough you’re seeing dark shapes that much longer than you, much bigger, with smaller fins the length of your arm and bodies with sharp points and sharper teeth.

There is no more light coming down from the surface to illuminate them, but they glow their own colors with enough intensity, and you are way too deprived of oxygen to make out faces. Fish shouldn't have faces, not wide expressive ones like that, and not narrowed eyes and fast moving limbs like people do.

They are not sharks, but they circle you like ones all the same.

You wonder if not knowing about the legends would have made this any less terrifying than it already is, if ignorance would have saved your burning lungs anyway.

Well, you think, at least you won’t die alone. Maybe being eaten will be faster than drowning, anyway.

An arm hooks around your torso as your vision begins to dim around the edges, the last of your air bubbling out of your mouth, Sun-bright fins at the corner of your vision. Before it goes, you see the darker one take the anchor’s line in two hands, snapping the chains apart before the world goes black.