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Bruce slipped the mask down over his face and gave Clark a thumbs up. Clark checked the equipment one more time, nodded to Diana, and shot Bruce a confirmation thumbs up.
With the all clear, Bruce tipped himself backwards into the water. Bubbles clouded his view, then cleared, and Bruce took a breath to check that everything was working right before he turned around and started scanning the ocean floor for the trapped mer.
Two amateur divers had spotted a mer, trapped, according to them, in some net or fishing line caught in the rocks somewhere in this stretch of water. They couldn’t agree on much else—exactly where they had seen the mer, how deep it was, roughly what time they’d seen it, how tangled the mer was, or even roughly what size the mer was. One said that the mer was only around three feet long, the other said six feet at least. One said that the mer tried to attack them but was held back only by the fact that it was caught, the other said the mer had been trying to swim away from them. Neither had been dumb enough to try to free the thing alone.
Regardless, they had at least called the Coast Guard, who’d forwarded the information to Bruce’s team. Clark, Diana, and Bruce had been the only ones on call. At this time of year, the waters were too warm and crowded with humans for most mers and such to come so close to the beaches and fishing waters.
The divers had reported the mer an hour and a half ago. Whether the mer was even still alive would have a lot to do with how the net was positioned on its body and how long it had been there. Adult mers could hold their breath for twelve hours at a time, but an adolescent mer, just striking out on its own, could only hold its breath for three or four at most. If the mer was caught under the water and the gills were covered, then the mer could very likely already have drowned.
Bruce turned his head from side to side as he swam parallel to the beach. The flashlight on his mask was on full, cutting straight through the hazy water to the rocks below. He could definitely see how a mer could have gotten stuck in the first place. The ocean floor was littered with fishing line, rope, beer cans, two fishing poles, glass bottles, and nets. A fishing hotspot for humans would also be a fishing hotspot for mers. They’d need a team to come down and clear this all up before this could happen again.
Still no mer, though.
Bruce swam for ten minutes before he finally caught sight of the mer. It was so small that he nearly missed it entirely, but there it was, nearly motionless on the ocean floor. Bruce had been expecting an adolescent mer, not a child.
Mer pods were ruthlessly protective of their children. The last child mer their department had come across had been ten years ago when poaching had been at its worst. Poachers didn’t want the little ones, though, since they didn’t have enough meat on their bones for freaks who still ate mer flesh.
Bruce growled. If the poachers were back, Dick wouldn’t be able to go out into the bay anymore. He was big enough to eat this time. They were going to need to start getting creative again.
Bruce circled above the mer once, twice, trying to get a read on the situation. Was the mer boy trying to pull sluggishly against an invisible tether or was its body floating in the current, still tied down by the human debris that had trapped it? Either way, haste wouldn’t help. Even young mers had razor sharp teeth and claws—unfortunately, better suited for gouging than for slashing through nylon and wire. Bruce still had the scars from his haste trying to help the little mer boy trapped in a tide pool. Of course, the wetsuit offered significantly more protection than his tee shirt had, and he wasn’t just stumbling across the mer this time without preparation, but flailing claws could easily take out Bruce’s mask or flippers.
Bruce tapped the button on the side of his mask to alert his team that he’d spotted the mer, and he dove down toward the mer.
As he got within roughly fifteen feet of the mer, it suddenly twisted and stared straight at him before panicking and swimming frantically in the opposite direction, but the translucent fishing net tangling the lower half of the mer’s fins and tail snagged it before it could get more than a few feet.
When it realized it was still stuck, it spun around again, only further catching itself up in the net, so it could flare its free fins and bare its teeth at Bruce. When Bruce swam a little closer, it didn’t back down, which let Bruce get a good frontal look at the boy and the situation.
The mer was a young male, around ten to twelve, and he was definitely in very bad shape. The boy was emaciated and covered in cuts and bruises that could have come from anything—other mers, prey fighting back, being caught in a tide too harsh for a small mer to fight against it and thrown against the rocks…
The net around the boy’s deep red tail was anchored firmly between two rocks, too stuck for even the panicked pulling to dislodge it. Worse, the net was half-constricting his gills. Bruce could see the way the gills flared, so the boy could still breathe, but not well, and a bit more thrashing could cover the gills entirely. An adult mer could have shifted the rocks themselves, though it would still be hampered by the net around its fins. Bruce didn’t see any evidence that the boy had any pod to protect him, though.
With slow, nonthreatening movements, Bruce reached into a side pouch and withdrew a syringe. It was a muscle relaxant, not a full sedative. They’d found that mers who were sedated between the ocean and the rehabilitation facility were significantly more stressed when in the facility. Muscle relaxants would keep the mer from being able to significantly hurt itself or anyone else while also allowing the mer to be conscious of the changes to its environment and the fact that the humans were helping it. It was terrifying, certainly, but the lesser of two evils.
The problem was getting close enough to inject the boy. As soon as he went for the tail, the boy would attack, and if he went for the torso, the boy could dart out of the way. Bruce was far bigger, but mers were far faster underwater.
Bruce made his decision and kept a close eye on the boy as he paddled himself slowly toward the base of the net. The boy tried to yank his tail free, but it didn’t work any better this time than it had before.
Bruce grabbed the net with a firm hand, planted his flippered feet on the rocky ground beneath him, and started to reel the boy in.
As soon as the little mer realized what Bruce was doing, he panicked. He writhed savagely, blood and scales drifting away as the wire dug into the boy’s flesh. Bruce’s hand touched his tail, though, the mer switched tacks and shot straight for Bruce’s throat. At the last second, Bruce let his feet slip out from underneath him. The vicious claws shot over his head as Bruce let go of the mer’s tail and let his momentum carry him forward enough that Bruce could use his superior size to tackle the mer. He wrapped his arms tightly around the mer’s waist and held on. Little claws dug into his shoulders with bruising force, but the armor held and it would be harder for the boy to do significant damage from that angle.
That didn’t mean Bruce was going to give him the choice.
Bruce let go of the boy’s waist with one arm and grabbed onto the boy’s shoulder instead. With that grip, he hauled himself up the mer’s body. As soon as his body was draped over the boy’s, Bruce brought up his other arm behind the boy’s back and pinned both the boys arms to his sides while protecting the mer’s back from the rocks as they fell together to the ocean floor.
A vein shot would get mean quicker results, but he also needed to be able to more securely restrain the boy. When they hit the bottom, Bruce brought his legs around the boys’ waist and arms to keep him pinned.
Bruce glanced up at the mer’s face to make sure it wasn’t in great pain, but all he saw was heart-stopping terror on the child’s face. Bruce wanted to be able to let him up or cut him free and release him, but that would only lead to the boy’s death. He was going to have to be the bad guy.
Bruce took one of the restrained arms gently but firmly, careful not to let the boy up as he freed the arm. Using one hand to steady the boy’s arm and the other to hold the syringe, he was able to slip the needle into the boy’s vein and inject him with the muscle relaxant.
He used only a small amount; the dose was based on the average adult, not a boy, but he vaguely remembered how much they’d used on Dick when he first arrived and they needed to stitch up a few gaping wounds from stray harpoons.
The drug took effect quickly. Within a minute, the boy’s struggles turned to trembling, then to utter stillness. Bruce let go of the boy’s hand, pulled off his glove, and felt for a pulse to be sure. There was one, strong and very elevated. Bruce’s gut twinged with guilt at how scared the poor thing was, but they couldn’t just leave him, and there was no way to convince a wild mer that they meant no harm. They couldn’t even communicate.
Bruce tapped the button on his mask twice, telling his team to come get him. Then he got off the boy and swam down to the net, keeping his movements slow and easy to follow. He pulled a knife out of another side pouch and easily sliced through the cords of the net.
The little mer twitched his tail slightly when the pressure went slack, but the drugs kept him from swimming away. Bruce forced down the stinging guilt as he gathered the boy up, making sure to keep the boy’s arms pinned regardless of how immobile the boy was.
In a moment of self-loathing, Bruce let himself look at the boy’s face. The child’s features were twisted up, sobbing without making a noise. Without fully meaning to, Bruce stroked a hand gently over the boy’s hair the way Dick found comforting.
Once they’d made sure that the little mer wasn’t sick or carrying any bacteria that could harm Dick, the older mer might be able to help the little one feel safer. Dick might be to communicate with the little mer and find out if it had a pod it had been separated from. If it did, they might be able to track the pod down. If not…
If not, then they could not safely release the mer back into the wild. Mers couldn’t live without pods, and pods weren’t known to accept other mers’ children. The only reason mers left or joined different pods was for mating. Not to mention the fact that, without the education that a pod would provide, mers orphaned in childhood did not have the abilities needed to live in the ocean. Some rehabilitation facilities existed, but they only had limited success, and there weren’t enough orphaned mers who made it to land for the facilities to have much experience.
Dick always enjoyed the company of other mers when they would allow him close. Maybe the two children would be good for each other.
A rope dropped into the water by him, and Bruce grabbed hold and wrapped it around his arm a few times before giving it a tug. A moment later, Diana started to reel him in.
Hands reached down into the water as soon as they broke the surface, taking the mer from his hands and pulling the boy into the boat. Bruce let go of the rope and climbed up into the boat.
“It’s a kid?” Clark was very observant.
The little mer was positively dwarfed by Clark’s huge frame as he lay draped in the giant human’s arms. Even though he could barely move, the boy twitched and tossed as he tried to escape. When all his efforts were thwarted, the boy slumped with a resigned, mournful keen.
Bruce pulled off the mask and the heavier diving gear. “Let’s get that net off his tail and get him back to base.”
They’d get him fixed up, then put him in a quarantine tank for a few days to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything and to give him a break from the terrifying presence of humans. Hopefully, Dick would be able to make this a little better for the child.
Bruce watched from the edge of the pool as Dick drifted slowly toward the little mer. He was ready with a tranq gun in case the smaller mer attacked Dick. He was more worried that Dick would hurt the younger mer too much while trying to defend himself than he was of whatever damage the small mer could do.
The baby mer watched Dick from his position curled up on the rock in the middle of the pool where he’d been sleeping. Whenever Dick raised his head above the water, ever closer to the boy, the little one would bare his sharp teeth and hiss in warning.
Dick kept his approach slow but undaunted. When he started to raise himself up onto the rock, the little mer slid off and swam a few yards away. Dick calmly slid off the rock and swam toward the mer.
They continued the dance around the pool for at least twenty minutes. It was a large pool, more a habitat than the quarantine pool the little mer had been in, and there were plenty of little caves and rocks for the little mer to hide in.
Finally, the little mer must have decided that Dick wasn’t a threat or just gotten tired of trying to get away, and he let Dick approach him. Bruce watched as Dick swam in loose circles underwater around the smaller mer, getting closer and closer as the little mer stayed still.
He couldn’t see through the ripples to know exactly what was happening, but there was no blood, and their movements were slow and tame. Bruce holstered the tranq gun and sat down to watch.
A few minutes later, Dick swam up to the surface and right to the edge. Bruce walked over and knelt down in front of his son.
“He’s really scared, B,” Dick explained. Dick, like Clark, was observant.
“I noticed. Have you been able to calm him down?” Bruce glanced over at the mer in question, whose glaring eyes hovered just over the water lapping around his face.
Dick shrugged, planted his hands on the edge of the pool, and lifted himself out so he could sit down. Bruce sat next to Dick, barely noticing the water seeping through his jeans.
“Well,” Dick started. “His name is Jason. He tried to tell me that he has a very scary pod who would eat me and my whole pod if I came any closer, but he doesn’t really have a pod at all. I could tell, and he finally stopped lying when he decided I wasn’t going to eat him.”
…well. Bruce had heard about cannibalism between mer pods, but to hear his son discuss it so casually was a tad…disturbing. The confirmation of his suspicions did mean that they were likely going to have to keep the mer with them.
“Did Jason tell you anything else?” Bruce asked.
“He thinks you’re keeping him like a turtle shell,” Dick said, shaking his head in sympathy.
“…what?”
“Like a turtle shell,” Dick said again, brows drawn together in confusion. “A…what’s the human thing? When you want everyone to know you’re strong and good at fighting?”
“A trophy?” It was the closest Bruce could guess.
Dick wavered his hand. “Kind of. He thinks you’re going to kill him and eat him and leave his bones in the sand so no one will come in your territory.”
Bruce was definitely going to need to write that down for his researcher friends. He’d often wondered how mer pods knew where the boundaries of their territories were. He’d assumed it was based on landmarks of some kind, but that made a lot more sense.
“Did you tell him that we won’t?”
“Oh yeah,” Dick assured him. “He’ll understand soon. He’s just a baby, though, so he needs someone to take care of him or he’s never going to feel safe while he’s here.”
Bruce hesitated. How would Dick take to the idea that they would have Jason with them permanently? “We…might not be able to release him. Ever.”
Dick nodded his understanding. “I know. He’s like me. He needs a human pod.”
Bruce’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Good. You like him?”
Dick beamed. “Yes! It’s going to be so much fun! He can swim and talk underwater! We can play hide and seek, and he won’t even drown! And if I bite him, he won’t be a wimp about—I mean, he won’t bleed so much.”
Bruce’s heart twinged. His son should have had this kind of socialization all his life. His son existed in two worlds, but they could only exist in one for very long, what with their lack of gills and their weak human skin that tore and scarred at Dick’s loving nibbles.
“I’m glad. Do you want to go back to play with him now, chum?”
Dick nodded and slid back into the water. “Yeah. He’s still scared. He shouldn’t be alone.”
Bruce watched as Dick swam over to Jason and gathered the boy up in his arms. He swam to the surface and tipped backwards, letting himself float belly-up with Jason on his chest like a mother otter with her baby. Jason must have been tired; mers held their young like that to let them breathe air with their lungs when they were young and their gills were still developing. Bruce had spent many nights sleeping on a pool float with Dick sleeping on his chest to help ease the boy’s loss.
Soon, Bruce hoped that Jason would trust the rest of them like that. If he truly was miserable in their care, they would see if any rehabilitation facilities could take him, but Bruce wanted to keep Jason with them, where they could be sure he would be loved and cared for.
Until then, though, some space was warranted.
Bruce stood up and walked away, leaving his sons to each other’s company.