The Lowing

The water rolled off of Murdock’s auburn hair like water off a duck’s back at first, but then it soaked in.

He did not scream.

He seemed surprised. He lifted his face towards the tree stump in front of him in confusion.

“Guess you didn’t get any more human after all, bud,” Nelson said with a smile.

“It didn’t hurt,” Murdock told him.

“I know, I was there,” Nelson said.

“It didn’t hurt!” Murdock yipped, bouncing back up to his feet and grabbing for Nelson’s hands. Nelson gave them to him laughing.

“What’s happening?” Page mumbled to Steve out of the corner of her mouth.

“I have no idea,” he murmured back to her from behind a hand.

“I’m gonna touch it, cover me,” Page whispered like a fucking champ.

Steve wanted her on the Avengers. Stat.

Page was thwarted by her friends lunging forward shouting ‘DON’T TOUCH IT’ at the same time. Sister Margaret and Buck swiftly removed her from the fairy thorn’s shade.

Apparently, if the wrong hands ended up in that water, they could soon belong to a very cursed, potentially very dead, body.

Sam took notes on his phone.

The fact that Murdock stood now, neither dead nor cursed, was proof that he was still selkie enough to feasibly ask for his coat back. Living in human form for so long hadn’t changed the base of him enough to move the needle for him, so to speak.

This was good, Sister Margaret said, except for where it was bad.

“You have a job now,” she told her son sternly once the celebrations and panic had faded away. “What’s your job?”

“Don’t drown,” Murdock said promptly, like he and she had practiced this discussion.

“Don’t drown,” Sister Margaret confirmed. “Now, off with you. You know the way from here—AH. No. Nevermind, Franklin, you go first.”

They were going to climb down the cliff.

Steve didn’t recall free-climbing being mentioned before this point.

“It’s not free-climbing,” Nelson promised him, Sam and their visible concern. “There’s a path down, it’s just narrow. And not great for—Matty. Wait.—it’s a little unstable is what I’m saying. Listen ahead and step where we step and you’ll be fine.”

Buck wanted to roll right off the cliff. He thought that this would be far quicker, not to mention easier.

“Go on then, hound, see if we stop you,” Nelson told him scathingly.

Buck did not roll off the cliff. Buck complained for the entire half hour it took them not to fall to tragic deaths from the cliff face.

“This is fun,” Sam kept saying in a tone that was convincing no one, not even himself.

Steve didn’t know how Murdock hadn’t eaten shit yet. Sure, he was safely bracketed between his two buddies up ahead, and yeah, he had a stick and Nelson’s hand guiding him through the tricky bits of terrain, but man.

Even Steve didn’t quite know where to put his feet and he was looking right at them.

He cursed his mother for leaving him in Brooklyn with next to no cliff-hiking experience, then took it back because she’d lived in Dublin the first half of her life and then Brooklyn right beside him for the second half. She hadn’t done much cliff-hiking to start with. He hoped instead that she was watching him from the afterlife, cackling and cheering him on.

That was better, much better.

Right up until the stone underneath his foot gave way.

He didn’t fall.

Thank fuck, he didn’t fall. Bucky’s metal arm crushed into the skin around on his arm, though, even through the layers of wool and jersey there.

“Not today, Manannán,” Bucky growled down at the water. “He’s mine, asshole. You got a better offering headed your way. Have some fuckin’ patience.”

Oho.

Not comforting. Definitely not comforting. As far from comforting as humanly possible.

“Steve? You okay?”

He looked ahead to Sam’s furrowed brow.

“F-fine,” he stammered.

“I got him,” Buck said. “Big step, Stevie. ‘Round the asshole move. Careful now.”

It took a wider step and a whole lot of faith to get across the new gap in the deer path. Sam’s hands caught him on the other side, which brought a little wave of comfort.

Buck swearing down at the rushing waves was a little comforting, too.

He wasn’t scared of the sea god, apparently. And since Steve’s soul was his, he thought that he shouldn’t be either.

He took a deep breath and followed Sam’s cautious steps down the rest of the cliff.

They dropped off into driftwood, ancient seaweed, and sand. It smelled rank. The selkies didn’t notice. Page yanked her scarf up over her face in disgust. She asked Murdock if this was how he felt riding the train.

He said yes, but there was never any escape.

She told him that she’d buy him a drink when they were done there.

“Not gonna want a drink if all goes according to plan,” Murdock told her.

“How do we get to the lighthouse from here?” Page asked, squinting out at the tall white building.

“Well, sometimes you can walk,” Murdock said.

“Tide’s too high,” Nelson added. “We’re going to have a quick dip.”

Page dropped her scarf.

“You sealin’ up, Fogs?” she asked excitedly.

Nelson stared at her.

“No,” he said. “It’s two feet of water, Kare. We’re just gonna slog through it.”

Page huffed and tossed her arm through Murdock’s.

“We’ve been here for 18 hours and there hasn’t been a single seal,” she grumbled.

Murdock was baffled.

“There’s been four seals,” he said.

“Real seals, Matthew. Real ones. With fins.”

“Flippers,” Murdock corrected.

“Fins.” Page lamented. “Not a single fin among these people. Not so much as a webbed toe.”

Murdock didn’t know what to do for her.

“I’ll catch you a fish?” he tried.

“Ugh. No, Matthew. Clearly we’ve got a slog to do. God. Come on, man. Why do I even bother?”

Murdock let her go ahead of him. Sister Margaret then let her fall right into the water that covered the sandbar to the lighthouse.

It wasn’t two feet deep, it was more like two and half and it was freezing cold. Pretty, yes. But freezing. Steve’s fingers hurt and they’d only been wet for a few seconds.

The selkies gave not a single shit about the clothes they wore. Nelson and Sister Margaret gave no sign that they even felt the cold.

The other side of the sandbar turned into a pebbly beach. The shells and rocks underfoot crunched and hurt like hell until Steve got his shoes back on. The selkies, he noted, did not put footwear back on.

Bucky looked up at the lighthouse.

It stood towering and lonely.

“You used to live here, Red?” he asked without dropping his gaze.

Murdock hummed.

“It was cheap,” he said. “My dad cleaned the place up and maintained it for the village and they let us live there.”

“Must have been a lot of work,” Buck said.

“He thought so,” Murdock said. “It was the biggest place I ever lived, back then and even now, that’s for sure. Feels so much colder now.”

Steve couldn’t imagine it as anything but cold, honestly. But he thought that maybe, for a scrawny little  kid with big dreams, it might have seemed more like an adventure than an ivory tower pushed away by the village that owned it.

“Won’t stay that way for long,” Sister Margaret said. “Jack? Come on out now. You’re home.”

Murdock perked up.

“You’re putting him back up there?” he asked.

“Going to need some light to get back here,” she said. “Time can get heavy where we’re going.”

Steve didn’t like the sound of that.

He jumped when Sam swore at his right.

“Man, what the hell? Where’d you even come from?” Sam asked the man suddenly standing behind the three of them, staring up at the lighthouse beside Bucky.

Buck took a step away from him.

He was tall. And broad and—

Hold on.

“This is my mate, Matthew’s father,” Sister Margaret introduced. “You may remember him from him trying to fight the god of storms.”

This fucker had tried to pick one with Thor.

This guy.

But how could Steve see him now? Before, he’d just been a blur of movement and now he was a bulkier version of Murdock over there with hooded eyes, a crooked nose, and a thicker jaw.

“You take me out of one cage just to throw me in a taller one?” Murdock’s father asked in an accent broad enough to lay on.

Steve decided abruptly that he didn’t care anymore.

He loved this man, regardless of his empty head. He sounded like home. 1930s home. Home before the war, with its sweltering streets and thrown open windows and smoking on the fire escape, begging for a breeze.

Steve hadn’t heard an accent like that coming out of a guy so young in what felt like a lifetime.

“They can see you now, Jack,” Sister Margaret said. “I dropped the glimmer.”

Jack finally noticed Steve and Sam and Bucky staring at him in shock and awe.

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Hi.”

“We’re going to need some light,” Sister Margaret said over Buck’s little wave.

“You got a mirror?” Jack asked smooth as sin.

Page melted. Sister Margaret didn’t even acknowledge the compliment.

“Real light. Big light,” she said. “Think you can get the rust bucket turning again?”

Jack didn’t take the brush-off to heart; he considered the lighthouse, rubbing at his hard jaw.

“Maybe,” he said. “Depends on how bad the wiring is. If I can’t, I guess I can figure something else out. How far out are you going?”

“Far,” Sister Margaret said.

Jack’s chill evaporated.

“How far?” he demanded.

“I just told you,” Sister Margaret said.

“’Far’ ain’t a measurement.”

“Do I look like I’ve got a tape measure on me?”

“I dunno your life, Grace.”

Sister Margaret’s flat face said that he damn well did and she was not interested in entertaining him being a blockhead at the moment.

“Far,” she repeated. “A couple miles, probably.”

Jack didn’t like that. The corner of his lip said that for him.

“That’s too far. Matty’ll drown,” he said.

“I ain’t gonna drown,” Murdock snapped.

“He’s not going to drown, Jack,” Sister Margaret said.

“I didn’t agree to him drowning,” Jack maintained.

“Dad, I’m not going to drown,” Murdock said.

“I will not let our son drown. I swear,” Sister Margaret said like it pained her. “Now go fix the light. Take the hound with you. He’s already making us more visible than we need to be.”

Steve respected how unwilling Jack was to let this argument go. He did. If he had a blind kid, he wouldn’t be thrilled about sending him out to sea either.

“Fine,” Jack finally said. “I’ll fix your fancy flashlight. Don’t kill my kid.”

Oh, ownership discussions now.

Exciting.

“I’ll work on it,” Sister Margaret said, “We need to leave. We may be gone for a while. Karen will stay with you. Teach her how to sing for the sea. Stíofan and Samuel will come with us, but they’ll need calmer waters. Foggy will stay with them until he is called for.”

Nelson saluted Steve and Sam with a hand and a wink.

“Maidiú, say goodbye to your father and Karen. Then come with me, we’ve got a ways to go,” Sister Margaret said.

Red gave Karen and his dad a hug. He pressed his white cane forward into Jack’s hand. Jack told him to avoid sharks. And whales. And fishing nets. And fishermen. And propellers—and actually, just boats. Avoid boats. Unless he was drowning, in which case, maybe avoid them slightly less.

Red told him to relax. He left them to follow Sister Margaret through the rocks that guarded the shore; he stumbled a bit on the shells and pebbles, but he didn’t fall.

“That’s our cue,” Nelson said. “We got a cave to find.”

Nelson took Steve and Sam stumbling between rocks for what felt like almost half a mile. Only when Steve looked back over his shoulder did he realize that they’d somehow made it back onto the other side of the sandbar again. He hadn’t even noticed what with all the tidepools he was trying not to fall into.

Sam caught his shoulder to steady himself and looked back to see what he was looking at.

“Are you serious?” he grumbled. “We could’ve just sloshed back through the water?”

“Not touching the water yet,” Nelson said behind him. “It’s not safe. We need to let Sister Maggie go ahead first.”

Okay, but like, why?

“She’s favored by the island,” Nelson said. “It will feel her intent and guide her and Matt where they need to be. She’ll call for us and then we can meet them there.”

Fun.

Hey, quick question: How the hell were Sam and Steve supposed to not drown on this adventure?

“Oh,” Nelson said. “That’s step three.”

Step three?

What the hell was step one and two?

“Find the cave,” Nelson said, counting off his fingers. “Put on the coat. Then step three.”

Coat?

WAIT.

Coat?

Nelson was going to seal-up right there in front of them?

Nelson’s lip curled in disgust.

“I need to keep you all away from Karen,” he said. “You’re bad influences on each other.”

“That is not answering the question, sir,” Sam pointed out.

Nelson scoffed.

“You’ll see,” he said. “Stop lagging.”

There was a cave a ways away from where they’d touched down from the cliff-face. Its mouth was half-sunken under water but the inside was spacious and tall. There were old sticks jammed horizontally between the closest two walls, climbing up to a couple of feet above the sandy floor of the place.

A damp set of sneakers spun listlessly back and forth from one of these sticks.

Nelson took off his backpack.

“Suit up,” he told them.

Nelson had been very specific with packing instructions back in New York. He’d said to bring a wetsuit. One for some serious cold water.

Having splashed through some of that now, Steve was not excited about the journey ahead. The only relief was that the wetsuit in his bag was drier than the clothes he was wearing at the moment. Nelson said that they could hang their clothes on the wooden lines above.

They wouldn’t dry, he said, but they wouldn’t have to go into their bags to soak through the rest of their things.

He did not put on a wetsuit.

Steve didn’t turn around his way right away out of politeness, but when he did, boy, howdy.

Now that was a coat.

Sam whistled.

“Could see you from miles away, Fogs,” he said.

“Yeah? Guess who else can: whales,” Nelson huffed.

Well, that had taken a sharp turn.

“That a problem for you out here?” Sam asked a little hesitantly.

“Not right now,” Nelson said. “It’s after pupping season, they’ve already moved on.”

Oh. Lovely.

“Relax,” Nelson told Steve. “Most whales are super chill.”

That was not comforting. Did he seriously think that was comforting?

“Give me your hand.”

Hell no. Fancy coat or no, Steve wasn’t chancing those teeth.

Nelson dead-eyed him.

“Give me your hand,” he repeated.

“You gonna bite it?” Steve asked him.

“Cap. Give me your hand.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Nelson sighed.

“You can’t hold your breath for long enough and deep enough for where we’re going,” he said. “The Sister and I need someone to stay with Matt while we go up to breathe and check for nets. It’s going to be a while. Give me your hand.”

He was actually going to bite it. Holy shit. Everything in Steve screamed not to move, not to unzip his suit enough to show skin.

But a deal was a deal.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged.

Nelson laughed.

This asshole had some fucking chompers. Good god.

“It’ll heal,” Nelson promised Steve and Sam through their suffering.

“It burns,” Sam snapped. “Do you brush those things?”

Nelson held out to them two green, leaf-wrapped bundles barely the size of a pinky knuckle.

“Press it to the wound,” he said.

Inside the bundles was a powdery substance. It was black like soot, but somewhat gritty. Sam prayed for his hand aloud as he rubbed the stuff into the blood.

“Keep the leaf on your palm when you put it back in your suit,” Nelson said.

They did. A little awkwardly. It felt wrong. A little sticky.

“What was that?” Sam asked Nelson when both his and Steve’s suits were zipped back up. Nelson fiddled with a bluish pearl caged in gold hanging down from the front of his coat. The coat overlapped over his chest. It was hard to see how it stayed that way. There didn’t seem to be anything on the outside besides that little gold cage and the blue glass bead that sat on top of it, so maybe there were clasps on the inside?

“Oh, you know,” Nelson said demurely. “Just a little bit of hair.”

What.

What kind of hair?

Nelson beamed at them.

Selkie fur.

They’d rubbed burned selkie fur into their open wounds.

“I’m going home,” Sam said. “I’m flying home right now. Soon as I get outta this cave, I am flying or swimming across the Atlantic. None of y’all can change my mind.”

Nelson could not care less; he was alternating between listening intently to the mouth of the cave and fastidiously combing bits of his coat with his hands.

Sam huffed at him and turned his fury onto Steve.

“JB better be miserable,” he said.

Steve hoped so too.

This was all in his name, after all.

It was another ten awkward minutes or so of Nelson pointedly refusing to answer any seal questions or to rise to any seal-jokes when he startled to life and scampered hurriedly over to the edge of the cave’s sand. He listened intently.

“Come on,” he said. “She calls. I can hear her.”

Steve, for some reason, thought that a selkie shifting would be an event of some kind. Like the cover of one of those Animorph books Sam’s nieces were obsessed with.

It didn’t occur to him that it would look like a splash and that was it.

There was now a white seal at the mouth of the cave looking back at him and Sam with black, liquid eyes like they were holding it back.

“Efficient,” Sam noted.

Nelson jerked his head towards the mouth of the cave impatiently.

“Is it Timmy?” Sam asked.

Seals were much more vengeful than dogs and much better at throwing water with a vengeance.

The upside was that being soaked by a selkie’s fury meant that getting into the water wasn’t as horrible as it could have been. The downside was that there was no turning back now.

Nelson was much bigger up close and, as a seal, had many fewer boundaries. He came up and bumped against Steve constantly, nudging, nudging, nudging, until he shoved back and then nudging, nudging, nudging at Sam until he took a breath and went under.

Steve barely caught his own breath before he was dragged down.

Panic was his first feeling.

He had a thing with water.

He had a thing with not being able to breathe.

His nightmares liked to put those two things together with ice.

It was a great time.

The ice didn’t come this time, though, and after the first couple of seconds, nor did the contracting lungs.

The nudging returned and Steve was shocked to open his eyes and find that he could see Nelson, glowing white, underwater. He was very insistent.

He rolled a bit and made an awkward waving gesture with a bony flipper. He rolled the other way to make the same gesture at Sam and then flattened himself out with purpose.

They failed to catch on.

Nelson noticed this and made the gestures all over again: Point, point. Point, point. Turbo-seal.

It was very cute. It was not the appropriate situation for being very cute, but it was still pretty fucking cute.

Sam suddenly flailed in understanding and kicked forward a bit to wrap an arm around Nelson’s thick neck.

Oh.

He wanted them to grab on.

Oh no.

No, no. Steve wasn’t ready for this.

Seals swam fast, man.

Probably even faster with motivation, which Nelson certainly had.

He also had a sense for when Sam and Steve needed to breathe and took them all rocketing upward to break the surface for a couple of gasps through choppy water before they went back down into the dark. He did that a couple of times.

If they hadn’t been in such a hurry, Steve might have called the dark blue heaviness they moved through peaceful. They soared around a glittering school of fish, then right through the middle of another. They pressed forward past an enormous, bumpy, slightly terrifying dark shape that speed eventually revealed to be an honest to god whale.

Its eye was like nothing Steve could have ever imagined.

They broke surface not long after passing the whale and Nelson looked around in every direction before barking. It was an alarming noise. Sam threw hands over his ears reflexively.

Nelson ducked back down into the water when he was done and waited, letting it lift and drop all three of them. It was much calmer out where they were now than where they had been before. The rush and shush of water was still loud around them, but the waves didn’t throw them every which way or try to choke out their breath.

A bark called back to them.

Nelson went wild and hopped up, barking with more vigor.

Then he shut up and waited again, looking almost bashful with such round eyes.

A single bark came back.

Nelson went still, listening hard.

No bark followed that one.

A slightly larger wave crashed over his head and suddenly, Steve was looking at a white face. A human face.

Nelson tossed his long soaked hair over his shoulder and turned black eyes like marbles onto Sam and Steve.

“Something’s wrong,” he said.