Dark Waters Rising

Gills

Wesley couldn't breathe, but it wasn't because he was underwater. It was because he was panicking.

Valentine guided the merchant's fingers across a series of ridges that had sprouted beneath his ears. They were stiff and sharp and completely alien to what Wesley expected to feel when touching his own neck. At first, he wasn't sure exactly what they were, but when he realized he could not only feel them, but feel with them, he finally made the connection that they were a part of his body.

Wesley felt sick almost immediately. He could feel everything. The foreign sensation of water filtering through the new crevices was nauseating. Though he knew they must've been gills, all his brain could conjure were images of horrendous lacerations that had peeled his topmost layer of skin away from what laid underneath, leaving the stretched skin loose enough for water to flow through. Wesley was sure his skin had turned a ghostly shade of pale when the water around him suddenly felt like ice. Black dots swarmed his vision for a second time and he tried to move. He needed air, but Valentine was still holding him in place.

Wesley opened his lips and tried to speak as Valentine had, but all that came out was the last of the air bubbles that still occupied his lungs. He made the mistake of inhaling then—differently than he had been—through his nose instead of his gills. Briny water greedily filled the empty space in his lungs, causing his entire chest to burn from the inside out.

Wesley's vision went completely black and a sound like sifting sand started overpowering his hearing. He lost feeling in his limbs, and before he could completely pass out, he managed to push a worried Valentine aside and clumsily stumble to his feet. When his head broke the surface, he tried to suck in air, but faced a problem when his lungs were already full.

Valentine's head popped out of the water almost immediately after Wesley's did. Wesley could tell he was trying to speak, but he couldn't understand any of the muffled words as they were drowned out by a high pitched ringing.

In a panic, Wesley exhaled. Water gushed unpleasantly through his nose, his mouth, and his flaring gills. It felt like throwing up but so much worse. An involuntary spasm had his lungs partially fill with air. The combination of air and water that remained made sickening sloshing and gurgling sounds inside of him. Wesley coughed violently, each convulsion dredging up more sea water and giving him the sensation that he was continuously drowning over and over again without relief.

He felt Valentine place one hand firmly on his chest and the other on his back. He was speaking again, but Wesley still couldn't understand him. When Valentine applied pressure to his chest, Wesley exhaled again. He could feel the water climbing up his throat, spilling from his nose and mouth, and judging by the way the water didn't fall back into the recesses of his lungs every time he spasmed or coughed, Valentine was using his gift to help him.

When the last drops were expelled, Wesley sucked in air greedily. It rasped through his throat and stung his tender lungs. In pure exhaustion, Wesley slumped forward, grateful that Valentine caught him and kept his head above water.

The more he breathed the air, the more the world returned to him. He could feel his feet dragging against the sand bed as Valentine pulled him back to the beach. He could feel the hot sun on his bare skin and the cold tide on his legs as Valentine managed to pull him part way out of the water. When the siren realized he was too weak to drag the merchant any farther on land, he collapsed down on the merchant's chest, clutched him in a tight embrace, and placed his ear over the man's heart.

Wesley could tell Valentine was muttering to himself, and when his hearing finally decided to fade back to normal, he could decipher the sounds.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Valentine repeated frantically through what sounded like tears.

Some of the feeling returned to Wesley's limbs and the darkness receded from his vision to reveal the golden glow of sunlight hiding on the other side of his eyelids. He waited a while longer before daring to move. Gingerly, he reached up a hand and rested it against Valentine's head.

Val's lavender eyes snapped up to his face. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking. I should've warned you. I should've explained. I didn't think. I'm sorry. I-"

Wesley cut him off by pulling him down for a short kiss, mostly to shut him up since he was starting to get a massive headache.

When Valentine's tears fell down his cheeks and dripped from his chin onto Wesley's, their lips separated.

Tortured lilac irises looked down at Wesley as long midnight hair spilled around his face.

"I don't want to be in Hell anymore," Valentine whispered brokenly.

"I-" Wesley tried to speak but his throat ached. Swallowing thickly, he tried again. "I told you. . ."

His voice gave out before he could finish, but Valentine understood.

"I know," he said softly, eyes teary as he brushed his fingers over Wesley's cheek. "But I'll never know for certain. This could all just be a long drawn out trick designed to utterly destroy me. You could just be telling me what I need to hear to fall for it."

Wesley's own eyes started tearing up again.

"I want to believe you," Valentine said, placing his forehead against Wesley's. "I want to believe you more than anything. But hope is such a dangerous thing."

Wesley wanted to say so much, but his throat was too tender.

"If I'm not careful, I'll dare to hope and you'll be ripped away from me again. I don't want to watch you die. Not again. I can't."

Valentine pressed his face into Wesley's neck, hiding his tears against his skin.

Wesley wasn't sure how to feel at yet another confirmation that Valentine's version of Hell—his worst nightmare—was seeing harm come to him. He couldn't recall a time in his life when anybody had felt that strongly for him. Even in his childhood, most of his mother's love and worry had been directed at Waverly. He couldn't blame her for that, since even he spent most of his time worrying for his little sister. When his mother died, Wesley had lost the last of his familial bonds, and for years he could think of no one who cared about him as more than an acquaintance. But Valentine. . . Valentine cared for him with every fiber of his being. So much so that it was painful. This magical, broken, beautiful man cared about Wesley far more than anyone ever had, and that made Wesley feel like. . . he belonged in this world.

He couldn't say all the words he wanted to, but in that moment he thought three might suffice.

Three words he'd been toying with for months now.

Three words he knew were true despite how much he tried to resist them.

"I love you," he whispered.

Valentine cried harder.

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A/N

If you had a superpower, what would it be?

Hope you all are doing well.

See you Tuesday,
-Mora Montgomery