Caught in the Fisherman's Bend [Benn Beckman x Fem!Reader]

Tarnished Treasure

An older version of this chapter can be found in my Misc ideas/One Shots book. But here it will be expanded upon into it's own story.

You stared blankly at the sodden post towering over your head.

The waves lapped at your legs, moving between your thighs and your ankles as the sea breathed in and out. The sand squished pleasantly between your toes. The slanting golden sunlight filtered through the cracks between the boards above, casting long bars of shadow under the dock and over your body.

The tramp of boots on the planks overhead shook some debris loose and you brushed the pieces of lichen and splinters of wood from your hair. The low voices of fishermen returning from the day's haul soon disappeared as they hurried home to their families.

You remained under the pier, staring up at the post.

Barnacles covered its lower half, the mass of small shells stopping at the high-water line. A section above that was worn smooth by the repetitive motion of the waves. And yet higher was the salt-stained portion that you had been glaring at for the past ten minutes.

The pale yellow of newly exposed wood stuck out against the weathered grey. The sun began disappearing under the horizon and the sky lit up with a brilliant red. The shadows cast under the docks grew and the contrast made the vandalism all the more apparent.

"How the hell did they even get up there?" you muttered under your breath.

It hadn't been like that this afternoon. You had come by at high tide, like always, and seen it. The crudely carved butterfly had been there just as it had been every day since your sister left; hidden beneath the farthest pier, tucked away in a place only she and you knew to look.

Her promise to return. Her oath to remember you.

And yet, with the water much too low for anyone to reach, someone had had the gall to climb up there and desecrate it!

Your fists clenched and you stalked over to the post. Your hand dove into a pocket of your two-sizes-too-large pants and drew out a length of rope.

With practiced movements, you tied a knot on one end and launched it up and over one of the support beams high above. The weighted end crested your target and then fell back down. You let the twine run through your fingers, long numb to the burn, and then gathered both ends in your hands and hoisted yourself up the pole.

The barnacles cut into your bare feet, but the thick layer of callouses from years of going without shoes protected you from the worst of the damage.

A rare evening breeze lifted the ends of your hair as you climbed, bringing with it the scent of smoked meat and brine from the Tannery down the coast. You breathed in the smell of home.

You reached the top of the post, right under the dock, and swiftly tied the rope around your waist and then to the beam above. With your body secure, you turned your frown once again on the marks carved into the wood.

The butterfly was poorly done; your sister had never been the artsy type. But it was your treasure. The area around the carving was extensively marked with little lines and dashes; each another day that had come and gone since you'd last seen her.

One thousand eight hundred and fifteen. You ran your fingers over the pole.

The last few tally marks, counting this past week, were fresh and yellow. But the sea worked fast, and your strokes lingered no longer than that before fading to dull grey. Which made the large X crossing off the newest lines stand out glaringly.

You scowled. What kind of person would bother climbing all the way up here just to cross out some marks on a post?! Your mind flew through the possibilities. The townsfolk weren't very friendly towards you, but no one had ever been actively hostile. Maybe the baker's son, he seemed to dislike you more than most. Especially after you'd accidentally dropped that cow leg on him last year...