Chapter Text
Prologue
The ocean is quiet. Not the kind of quiet that means the absence of sound - the ocean is full of sound, clicks and calls and waves whipped up by the wind, the occasional hum of a boat overhead. No, the ocean is the sort of quiet that means serenity; a sense that every day is the same, that one is safe and loved, cradled in the cool embrace of the water. It is knowing one’s place in the world, being certain of one’s destiny.
For Bucky - as he thinks of himself, a human approximation of the clicks and whistles that make up his name - his destiny is the same as it has been since he was born; to live and die in the ocean, surrounded by family. His pod is the only one of their kind for many leagues, small and close-knit. They have not left the water in years, not since Bucky was a child and marveling at his pale skin and fragile body, wiggling his toes in the sand. It is too dangerous, his mother says. Humans do not respect the ocean anymore. They have forgotten the old ways, forgotten the wisdom the Orcans give. It is better to stay in the ocean, where it is safe.
But even the ocean is no longer safe; it's never truly been, for them. Most of their kind and their cousins, the orcas, have been slaughtered by humans, reviled and feared. Even though the killing has abated, the state of the ocean is worse than ever. There are tales of whales captured, never to be seen again. Sleek dolphins torn apart by boat propellers. Turtles strangled by plastic, birds drowning in oil. Pollution. Devastation. Death. Humans.
They hear the boats first, a steady thrumming of motors. Nothing unusual - humans are always out fishing, or exploring. But this time, as the pod swims, fins slicing through the waves and puffs of air spraying up from blowholes, the humans follow.
There are more boats, circling around them to cut them off. Something lands in the water, exploding. They swim faster as more explosions go off, forcing them towards nets, the sound waves deafening and disorienting them. The nets are dragged tight around them, cutting off their escape as they circle and screech in alarm. Bucky and his parents surround Becca, the youngest. His parents are old, and slow, and it is down to Bucky to protect them all.
There is a stick, and a loop, aiming for Becca, and Bucky clamps his teeth around it, yanking it from the humans’ hands.
Bucky knows the humans’ language enough to recognize the shouted instructions.
Get the young ones. Kill the others.
A swish as harpoons are fired, striking their parents. Blood stains the water red. A wire is looped around Becca’s body, dragging her towards a boat as she cries out for him.
Bucky squeals, tail slapping at the water as he uses the limited space to pick up speed and launch himself at the boat dragging her in. He crashes onto it, the nearest humans falling into the water with screams. More come running, and a net is thrown over him, tightening. He struggles and screeches, thrashing. Above him, Becca is being hauled up by a sling. The scent of blood is thick in the water, his parents’ bodies floating lifelessly.
The humans are still in the water, mere feet away, and Bucky lashes out, throwing his restrained body forwards with a powerful flip of his tail. He lands on a human, pushing him under the water, grabs the other with his teeth and crushes. Blood spills in his mouth. There are screams, human and Orcan alike.
Forget it. Get him away!
Someone throws something his way. It hits his left side, and then all is pain as it explodes, water spraying high with the force. Bucky shrieks, thrashing in his net. Blood streams from the stump of his left pectoral fin, a ribbon of red that follows him down as he starts to tip and sink. The net pulls tight around him, hindering any movement as he drifts dazedly.
Just leave! He’s dead already, he’s no use. The Guard’s on our tail.
Distantly, he hears the sound of a boat engine starting. His eyes seek out the sound, fixating on the back of the boat as it pulls away, Becca’s cries still echoing across the water. The last thing he sees is the logo emblazoned on the back of the boat.
A skull and tentacles, dripping red with blood.
Chapter 1
The phone rings twice. Steve sets down his bucket of fish and strips off his gloves as Sam answers it, leaning against his desk.
“SHIELD Marine Rescue, how can I help you?”
Steve watches as Sam straightens up, expression going serious.
“Where?”
“One’s alive?”
“Christ.”
“Yeah, we’re on our way. Thanks.”
Sam hangs up the phone, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“What is it?” Steve asks. They’ve seen a lot of injured animals, but Sam looks even more affected than usual. It must be something bad.
Sam’s lips press in a thin line. “Pod B. Traffickers, they think. Two orcas dead, one badly injured. Human bodies, too. Coast Guard is dealing with them.”
Steve’s stomach swoops. “Three orcas? Where’s the fourth?”
“Don’t know. Whoever it was probably got it.”
“The traffickers? You said there were bodies?”
“Yeah. Got stupid and fell in, I’m thinking. It’s a good lead. We see who they worked for, we can trace it.”
“Yeah.” They’ve been fighting against an elusive group of traffickers in the region for a while, known only as Hydra, who capture sea animals and sell them to the highest bidder - usually aquariums. Steve has no sympathy for the ones who got killed.
“Let’s load up,” Sam says.
Steve nods grimly, already moving. In twenty minutes they’ve gathered the rest of their crew and are on their dingy rescue boat, speeding out across Puget Sound. Aside from Sam and Steve, the two main marine biologists, there’s Natasha, another marine biologist, Bruce, the marine veterinarian, Thor, a zoologist with a concentration in marine life, Tony, the aquatics engineer, and Clint, Peter, and Shuri, their volunteers. Peter and Shuri are both high schoolers hoping to go to school for marine biology, while Clint is a friend of Natasha’s who happens to love animals. The Rescue is small, kept afloat by donations alone, but Steve loves the work they do and loves the people he works with. They’re making a difference, one animal at a time.
But it’s times like these when his faith in humanity wavers, despair creeping in; when he sees the scene of the attack, the water red with blood, lifeless bodies bobbing in the waves.
Who could do this to such beautiful creatures? he wonders. He has always loved orcas, loved their intelligence and playfulness, their deep emotional bonds that so closely mirror humans. To do this to them, he thinks, is unforgivable.
The boat idles, pulling up next to the Coast Guard’s ship. Their radio crackles as the Guard fills them in, pointing out the orcas in the water. Two are clearly dead, while the other is wrapped in a net, keening every so often in distress but unmoving. It sinks down in the water dangerously, its blowhole barely above the surface for it to breathe. Another hour and it would suffocate to death.
They’ve never rescued an orca before, but they have to try. It’s too big for their small boat, which is usually used for turtles and dolphins and sea lions. They’ll just have to try to get it through the water to their center, which has natural enclosures consisting of netting strung across portions of the water surrounding their docks. There’s nothing there now, only some sea lions that hang around the docks, and it’s the only place they have to keep such a large mammal.
Natasha steers the boat close to the injured orca as Sam and Steve zip up their wetsuits, pulling out the inflatable sling they use for strandings. It has a long inflated tube on each side, with a sling in the middle for holding the whale. They slide off the back of the boat with it, swimming toward the orca carefully. The water is cold but the waves are low, the sound of water lapping at the boats mingling with the cries of the orca. Its tail moves in the water, and it squeaks and clicks as they draw near and reach out to lay hands on the netting covering it. Steve, on its left side, can see the mangled remains of his pectoral fin, the bleeding slowed but not stopped.
“Alright, let’s get this under him,” he says calmly, one hand on the raft. “On three. One, two, three-”
They slip the sling under the orca’s head, pulling at the netting to try and get his body all the way in. The orca flaps his tail again, like he knows what they’re doing, propelling himself up into the sling. His weight pulls it down, but the inflation helps him stay afloat, suspended in the water. Steve lets out a sigh of relief. He pulls out a knife and starts to cut the netting on the orca, freeing him as Clint throws out ropes to them and Sam ties them to the tubes. They take their places in the rear, a hand on the orca’s side, and give Natasha a thumbs up.
With a muted roar, the engine starts and the boat begins to pull away slowly, tugging the sling with it. For a moment, it seems as if the sling will slip free, but the orca beats his tail and then they are floating smoothly along, gently pulled by the boat.
The journey is long and slow, and they stop to rest many times before they finally reach the center. Peter dives off to undo the barrier net and the boat pulls into the enclosure, bringing them as close to shore as it can. They detach the ropes from the boat and pull the orca towards shore, stopping when it’s just shallow enough for it’s belly to hit the rocky sand. Nat swings the boat back out to deal with the dead orcas as Bruce comes over with medical supplies. Steve deflates the tube on the orca’s left side, exposing the injury. He rubs a hand on the orca’s smooth flank, and glances at his head only to see an eye looking back at him, a startling blue the color of the ocean. There is pain in the gaze, and heartbreak, and there is no doubting the intelligence reflected in those blue depths. Steve’s breath catches as their eyes meet, something unnameable passing between them.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
The orca lets out a puff of breath, misting in the air.
Footsteps sound, and the moment is broken as Bruce kneels down next to Steve, tools at the ready. Steve moves to the orca’s head, holding it still and petting him in what he hopes is a reassuring way as Bruce irrigates the wound and inspects it for foreign material. Antibacterial ointment is daubed on and porous tape patched over the ragged stump and small cuts that litter the orca’s side.
“What do you think did this?” Bruce asks.
Steve squints at the damage. “Seal bomb, maybe. But they had to have thrown it right on him. I’m surprised they didn’t just capture him.”
“Too old, maybe?” Sam suggests, from the other side. “He’s about twenty, based on our records. Too old for an aquarium attraction, if that’s what they’re going for. They take them young.”
“Yeah.” Steve runs his eyes over the whale, the closest he’s been to one of the pod even though they’ve been tracking them for years. The orca is on the small side, like the rest of his pod, and though the records indicate he’s twenty he looks much younger. It may be that his pod has long lifespans. The adults were well into their forties and still fit. The young female, at twelve, must have been the only one taken. So much death, and for what? Money?
“They said one of the dead guys had bite marks,” Sam remarks. “The other drowned. You think he got them?”
“I hope so,” Steve replies, voice hard. “I’d kill them myself if I could.”
The orca whistles and clicks. Steve pats his side.
“Yeah, me too pal. Me too.”