Waves washed against the shore, gentle and rhythmic in the night. The salt spray filled Jean's lungs until he couldn't breathe anything else, could feel it zinging all the way through his body. The moon hung overhead, watching. "P-please…" He groaned, twisting in his sheets once again. The waves crashed harder and he arched off his bed, every muscle taut and trembling.

Come to me, pretty.

Jean ripped at the sheets with his hands, eyes still squeezed shut with sleep. All around him, he could see only darkness. The ocean crashed almost on top of him and he could feel the spray against his skin, each splatter a shock that left him crying out for more. He could taste it, feel it rolling down his chest and to his stomach. Unconsciously, he parted his legs when water rolled down his thighs, dripping lower.

Come.

Jean jerked again, so hard that it left his world in a blur and pain wrenching up his spine. The roll of water vanished immediately, leaving only the taste of salt in the air. He gasped again, then everything went silent, from his ragged breaths to the breaking waves. Absolute nothing swallowed him up. And Jean, he just went right along with it.

xXx

The morning light left Jean peeling open eyes caked in grime and salt. Salt…he bit his lip, even if he thought about a very different salt than tears. He rubbed the gunk away even as he felt a different stickiness between his legs. Shifting again, he looked below the covers and saw the evidence of his dream staining the cotton briefs he slept in. And the worst part? This wasn't even the first time. Ever since he fell into the ocean last week, his every night turned into an orgasmic mess. He could still feel that voice murmuring through his mind, tugging him away. Even without following the call, he knew exactly where it would lead.

Jean flung open his curtains to stare at the wide expanse of blue, glimmering so close he could almost reach it. The ocean rose above the stilt-legged homes and meandering streets, broken only by the tall stretch of the lighthouse. Jean grew up by the sea, but until now, he never found himself drawn into its rhythmic waves. It made him wonder if he went insane the second those cold waters closed over him.

"Ponyboy! You dead in there or something!?" Jean flinched as a pebble ricocheted off his windowpane. Looking down, he saw the shaved head of his best friend, another rock already poised in his hand. The fact that Jean hadn't noticed Connie and Sasha basking up the sunlight right under his window left heat rushing across his skin. Before Connie could launch the pebble, Jean shoved open the window, shouting down at their beaming smiles.

"Fuck off it! If you break the window, my mum is going to make you pay for it!" He paused. "How long have you been there anyway?" It was barely past dawn, though judging by his friends' appearances, no one would guess. Both were dressed in their swim gear, Connie's surf board propped against a tree while Sasha lapped at a popsicle. Her yellow and pink bikini cinched perfectly around her curves, a sign that she already got wet. He found himself flashing back to the dream so strong that the waves seemed to wash over everything and he was gone, fucking torn away from the shore too quick to even gasp.

"Jean?" Sasha tilted the popsicle away with both brows furrowed over her warm eyes. When he blinked his eyes back into focus, he could see both his friends looking at him with an almost infuriating intensity. Even Jean could tell he'd gone pale, breath hitching in his lungs. "Maybe you should go back to bed after all?"

Jean just shook his head though, so fast that it sent the sun-bleached strands of his hair bouncing. "I'm fine! Shit. I just…I haven't been sleeping well the past couple days." Which at least, wasn't a complete lie. It just gave the impression that his dreams didn't leave cum flaking against his thighs and stomach—and that whisper of dread, his mind reminded him. Sex and dread. They were two things he couldn't even begin to share with his two best friends. So he just flashed a smile like he didn't have a care in the world.

The pair perched under his window gave matching dubious looks, but Sasha shrugged after a second, returning to her popsicle. Jean dressed in his board shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, sandals clasped to his feet before he jumped out the window to join them, feeling just for a second like he was free falling. He landed on solid ground though and they ran off into the morning light like they so often did, dreaming of pancakes for breakfast and salt on their faces.

It wasn't until the afternoon sun peaked in the sky that they found themselves collapsed under the awning of their favorite sandwich shop, Sasha ordering while Connie and Jean took up three tables between them with their legs and arms sprawled out in every direction. Jean had ditched his shirt at some point and instead draped it over his face for added shade. That was perhaps why he didn't notice Connie pull his chair closer as he sat proper, eyes boring into Jean's far too pale skin.

"Is it because of the pier accident?" His light touch sent Jean shooting up in his chair, heart thudding so hard that it made his chest ache, made electric shocks ricochet from their point of contact. For a second, Jean just stared at the other boy's hand as his shirt pooled against his chest. Had their skin tones always looked so different? Jean burned. He didn't tan like his friends, but the sunlight and Connie's hand next to his made him look like the bleached white shells that littered the beach. And honestly, he felt a bit like those shells, worn by wind, salt, and sun.

Jean managed a terse smile, shrugging off Connie's hand when the other boy looked just as startled by Jean's reaction. "It's nothing."

Connie narrowed his eyes though, placing his hand back on Jean's arm, higher up, near the shoulder. "You nearly drowned, Jean. It's okay to feel shaken by it."

But Jean really didn't think that night just over a week ago spawned dreams like his. He could still feel the waves rushing over his head though, pitch black seeping into his vision. The sharp cold didn't match the ocean at day, the storm throwing white froth into the sky. Something caught around his ankle and he'd wrenched hard, choking on a mouthful of salt. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of knowing he would die, and then hands pulled him out of the water.

When Jean had come to, Sasha had him propped up in her lap and Connie paced with tears in his eyes. When he questioned them later, he realized neither of his friends pulled him out, but by the time he'd expelled the water from his lungs, the stranger vanished. He never got to see the stranger's face, and really, it didn't feel fair at all.

"I'm fine, Connie." Jean blinked his eyes to take in the afternoon sunlight as he forced back down that inky memory of the dark. Connie looked determined and hesitant and so unlike his usual flamboyant self that Jean found himself fixing the other boy in a stare. "It's not your fault."

Connie dropped his gaze, red rushing into his face before he stammered out an apology. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard. I didn't think you'd fall, and then…" He shrugged, helpless. But Jean just shook his head. He didn't blame Connie for the accident. Even though it still haunted his thoughts and he hadn't stepped foot in the water since then, he thought he managed alright. After all, that wasn't what kept him up at night.

"I'm okay."

The two boys shared a long look before Sasha careened onto the patio with a tray of sandwiches and drinks tucked under her arm. "Sorry for the long wait! Man, you wouldn't believe what happened at the soda fountain!" She paused, looking between her two friends. "What? Did I miss something?"

Jean managed to regain his smile first and patted the seat next to him. "Nah. Just afraid I'm getting sun stroke. You remember my pickles this time?" When Sasha waggled her eyebrows, they settled back down with laughter, not minding the way the waves seemed to crash louder, almost thundering over the tiny sandwich shop with a single whispered word.

Come.

xXx

That night, Jean felt the darkness wash over him the second he closed his eyes. It pressed down, even as it swaddled him close. Cotton soft against his skin, the feeling made him relax despite the voice in the back of his mind that felt disturbed by this. He shouldn't like the feeling of cool water smoothing against his skin, shouldn't like the voice that whispered against his ear.

Baby. You feel so pretty. Come on, won't you show me all of you? Been wanting you for so long.

Something almost like hands ghosted along Jean's thighs. Even though he didn't understand the compulsion, he found himself parting them like he had the night before. Prickles ran up his spine as if someone stared, though he couldn't see them, couldn't quite decide if the cool touches on his body came from hands or the ocean spray. Maybe those two were the same though—ocean hands, ocean eyes. Jean arched his back, wanting more despite himself.

Just relax. I'll lead you away. You'll be safe with me.

The voice nearly purred and Jean couldn't help but believe it. He felt so safe here, even though the darkness scared him. Even though something cool and wet wrapped around his dick. He tried to shift, not sure if he wanted more of this touch or needed it to stop. Either way, the touch stayed firm on his skin. He dropped his head back and felt, rather than saw, the ocean rising up all around him. Salt spray licked his arms, splashed against his ankles and bare feet. Why was he always naked in his dreams?

Jean just let the sound of the waves and the rising water overcome him as the cool touch continued to ghost along all of his most sensitive spots. His throbbing member, clenching stomach, then lower again, over his perineum, and then finally over his entrance. He felt too lost in the sensations to tense up. When something slid inside him, he arched, moaning until water suddenly pressing into his mouth. He choked for a second, but realized it swept down his throat without pain, without constriction.

Good boy. Take it just like that. You want to follow me now, don't you? Feel more of this?

Whatever pressed into him slid in further, shorting out every last circuit in Jean's brain. God, he felt impaled from both sides. Even the flow inside his throat seemed to press him open just a bit wider, as if in anticipation for something more. Jean nearly choked again, but something that felt very much like cool hands smoothed down his sides, leaving goosebumps blooming all across his body.

The hands moved lower, until they clasped underneath his knees. With the utmost care, they pressed down until Jean felt his body burn with how open he'd been forced, legs wide apart and bent against his sides. It left him gasping, writhing, and growing hotter by the second. Oh, hot. How had he not noticed how hot he felt compared to the cool water risen nearly over his chest now? He felt so hot and vulnerable that it terrified him. And yet, he just pressed back against the burn, silently begging for more.

A low whine went through the air as Jean felt himself go completely immobile underneath the stranger's touch. Couldn't or wouldn't move? The whine got louder so that it filled his head, like a thousand wasps took up residence there. The cool water and the hands on his body snatched themselves away, leaving him suddenly bereft and lost in a sea of darkness. Tears prickled at Jean's eyes, but he couldn't fight against the sudden feeling of sinking. Panic welled up inside him, choking his lungs, seizing his limbs. Oh god, he was drowning, he was-

Jean!

Jean's eyes snapped open to stare at his bedroom wall. He didn't see that though, his mind still stuck on the single image left seared into his mind, the first he'd seen in any of his dreams—storm colored eyes. He couldn't describe them any other way. Green, with streaks of teal banding out from the dark pupils, they looked vibrant, but shifted, like a storm. He could see the clouds of passion roiling in those eyes. But in a second, they had been gone and he sat in his bedroom with darkness still coating the walls.

He needed to get out of here.

Almost before he recognized his intent, Jean had the bedroom window thrown open and his legs swinging out over the open air. The backside of the home sat on solid ground, but facing the ocean, stilts propped up the eastern side so it sat level with soft grass and sand rolling up underneath. He let himself fall without a second thought.

The sand bit into Jean's knees, even through the cotton of his pajamas. He felt glad he slid on pants this time, but the breeze left his bare arms shivering. Apparently a tank top and plaid bottoms didn't suit the pre-dawn air. Or maybe he still felt hot from his dream, compelled to seek something far cooler. Like the ocean. The thought had him stumbling with purpose onto the abandoned streets and then, to the sandy dunes that separated the homes from the rolling waves. He could hear them, even before he wove through enough buildings to come face to the face with the massive body. It glimmered with city lights, the sky too dark to make the journey easy on him. But still, Jean's feet seemed to know the way better than his eyes. In the back of his mind, he could still hear that voice calling.

Come baby. Come to me.

Jean's vision crossed, but still he hurried forward, not even noticing when his bare feet slapped onto pavement once again. That was, until a horn blared through the nighttime air. He jerked back, watching as a car whipped past and left him absolutely dazed in its wake.

What was that? Jean blinked his eyes, realizing for the first time that he wandered through the streets like a madman, in his pajamas, following some kind of phantom call. The thought made his stomach churn so that he stumbled away, dropping down next to a bush. He clasped a hand over his mouth, almost praying for sickness. Being ill sounded better than being insane.

"Shit. Shit, fuck, shit!" He gagged, but only managed a horrible, retching noise. His stomach continued to churn, his hands shaking, and fuck! It felt cold outside. Too chilly for this kind of outfit, and definitely too chilly to want to plunge into the ocean before even the sun woke. Just what the fuck had he been doing? Jean reeled against the sandy ground, just lost as the minutes passed.

Finally, when the sun peeked over the ocean waves, he stood and walked back home. He felt in a trance, though a far different one from what dragged him out onto the road. Numbness spread across his body, cold and slow, until he couldn't even feel rocks cutting the soles of his feet. The pain wouldn't stop him anyway. He should go home. He should sleep or maybe eat eggs and fruit and the sort of meal he'd been skimping out on lately. But most of all, he should avoid people.

What would they say to him, after all? His mom already hovered with a frantic sort of energy. Sasha offered him drinks from her tea and more hugs than usual. Even Connie started to scrutinize his every move. Jean couldn't blame the guy either. He just nearly turned himself into road kill. What the fuck was up with that?

Jean pushed his way through his front door, scattering sunbeams and dust, and grabbed two bananas from the fruit bowl. When his mom wandered into the kitchen thirty minutes later to find him making eggs and hash browns, the first thing out of her mouth was, 'You look like shit.' When he heard that, he knew he'd fallen deep. He just hoped he couldn't fall anymore. He hoped for rock bottom. And even more than that, he hoped his mom would stop looking at him with those tired eyes, but then, he didn't have much room for hope.

xXx

The dreams never stopped. They dragged Jean under, getting more intense and detailed with each progressive night. He found himself struggling to differentiate between waking and dreaming as the lines blurred. Walking in his sleep, the dream voice murmuring while he ate, alone at his kitchen table. He didn't know how to face his friends after Sasha yanked him off the beach in the wee morning hours, his ears deaf to the world, though he moved like someone awake. Or perhaps like someone possessed. Conscious, but unconscious; dreaming, but awake. He didn't think he could deal with the growing tension any longer.

I love you, baby. Why are you making me wait? Come. Come, please.

Jean slammed his wrist into the kitchen table, shivering so hard that his vision whited for a second. It took everything in him to not stagger straight for the door. The compulsions got harder to resist. So little of his conscious hours felt entirely in his control. Even during the daylight, he found himself sometimes getting lost on the streets, walking toward the pier when he meant to walk to the grocery store for milk. Just how many days had he lived like this already? Three? Ten? He couldn't even begin to guess.

Come to me, pretty.

"..ean. Jean, baby. Are you listening to me?" He blinked his eyes, finding his mother at the stove, peering over her shoulder and looking at him like some delicate vase perched on the the edge of a shelf. Like he was half a second from falling over the edge. Wasn't that the truth?

"Oh…I-" He sucked in a breath, brows furrowing. "Have you been there long? My bad." He let out a nervous laugh because his mom was obvious as she heated fruit preserves in a pot. The smell permeated the room, but the blackberry scent only hit him then. Sharp and tangy, but sweet, he let himself get caught up in it before, almost as if natural, it turned salty under his nose.

Jean blinked his eyes, snapping his gaze back down to his cereal bowl. He hadn't bothered to put milk in it and it wasn't even morning anymore. Not that he slept through the morning or anything. He'd stumbled in with the morning sun and sat himself down like it was as normal as the sand on the shore. Which, now that he thought about it, felt grainy between his toes.

After twirling his spoon a few times, Jean set it back down, just in time to focus back in on what his mother was saying. "Honestly, I think you should go see the doctor that Mr. Smith recommended to you. This isn't healthy, sweetie. It's like everything I say goes in one ear and out the other," she tutted, but despite her conversational tone, a terseness colored her voice that made Jean feel even worse. He didn't think that was possible, but here he was, feeling like a madman and the worst son in existence. He knew his mother tried her hardest, but the whole near-death-experience and PTSD, or whatever, had her out of her element. Did PTSD whisper, please drown yourself in the ocean again, though? Or at least, he was beginning to think that's what his dreams wanted out of him. Why else did it always draw him back there?

"I…" Jean deflated. "She won't know how to help. And even if she does…"

Come to me.

Jean's vision blurred, leaving the rush of ocean waves against his ears, salt against his tongue. He could hear his heartbeat against the sudden backdrop of silence as everything fell away. He couldn't even feel the wood grain of the table against his hands. All that existed was the ocean. The ocean and those eyes. Jean realized he could see the stormy orbs that had been haunting his dreams more and more. They were framed by dark hair, a sun-kissed face and what must have been a smile. He could almost focus on the details, but still those eyes drew him in, made it hard to notice anything else. Entire oceans existed inside of those eyes.

Jean cut off his mom in the middle of a rant about how not okay he was. "I'm sorry. I think I'm going to nap for a bit. Reiner's coming over later and for once, I want to be awake enough to see my friends." The sharp words left them both stunned. Jean didn't let that still him for long though. He shoved back his chair and left the cereal bowl behind, stomping back to his room. As soon as the door slammed shut, he shoved on his sandals, pushing open his bedroom window. It was selfish, but god damn, he couldn't stand this place any longer. So, with his arms stretched wide at his sides, he slid over the edge.

The streets buzzed with people, all engaged in their own little worlds. Some of them stared at him, gave a wide berth, or even made a beeline straight for him. He'd become something of a sensation in the small town and his mother put out notices no doubt, extra eyes to watch over him. He avoided anyone that looked like they wanted confrontation though. Let them say what they wanted. He needed to see the sea.

When Jean reached the pier, he felt oddly out of breath, despite the way his heart thudded with excitement. It left his breath constricted, but a smile on his face. He belonged here. Jean knew that without a voice whispering in his head, or a surfboard under his arm. He knew that even without swim trunks on. He belonged by the sea.

For a long second, Jean just stared down into the blue water, watching shadows shift deep below and the occasional silver flash of a fish. He'd stopped two feet from the end of the pier. It gave him a view of the deeper ocean, rather than the white-crested swirls around the wooden legs and boulders beneath.

So close, pretty baby.

Jean shuffled closer, encouraged by the voice. But even half a step forward left his knees knocking together. Cold seeped up through the wet boards of the pier. The sky seemed darker, filled with a thick haze, despite the fact that the sun still shone overhead. He knew that, but the late afternoon felt far away. Even the voice murmuring against his ear meant nothing, the words indistinct and muffled against the rush of the waves.

Another half step forward. Jean gasped, his vision blurring in a sudden rush. He didn't know if he stayed on his feet, but he thought he did, still struggled to step forward. In place of visions of the ocean and pier though, darkness swallowed him up, the sparkle of lights above the only sign that the surface world still existed. Oh, he was drowning again.

…ᴎɒ..ɘႱ…!

The world sharpened, the ocean turning brilliant under his vision just for a second. He could see fish everywhere, their eyes dark, but their scales reflecting a thousand colors at once. It left Jean sucking in a breath, then surprised that the breath came so easily. He could feel the water all around his body, knew he was still sinking deep, but all of a sudden, the water slid down his throat like air. He struggled, finding himself choking on the water as soon as he acknowledged it. Oh god. Was he going to die like this? Had he fallen into the water and not even noticed it.

Or jumped. He knew better than anyone that if he fell, it would be from his own actions and now he regretted following this compulsion so much. He regretted loving the ocean and Sasha's face when she danced in the waves, and walking away from his mother, and-

Jean! Baby, breathe. You need to breathe!

And just like that, he sucked in a huge breath of air. The world around him hazed, then shifted, revealing the pier once again. He'd staggered to the very end, but he still stood firmly on dry ground. Though the air felt too thick for his lungs, he still managed to gulp breath after breath of it until he felt like something resembling a human. This was strange wasn't it? If that voice wanted to drag him under, then why did it care so much about his panic? It made him want to follow even more, but still he hesitated. It had to be a false comfort right?

Almost as soon as he thought those words, Jean felt cool touches along his sides and back. He forced back a tremble at them. Until now, whatever haunted him never touched him when awake, and he felt sure he didn't fall asleep. The sun sat far above, warm rays not quite touching his skin, but there. The ocean stretched out wide in front of his eyes rather than beneath his back. It didn't rise up to consume him. It just sat there like it always did.

So it was like this huh? He finally lost the rest of his mind—not that he cared so much right now. The ocean looked pretty below him and he almost thought he saw something far larger than a fish flitting in the distant waters. A brilliant flash of teal, then emerald bright spines, and shimmering gold. It vanished under the waters if not quite from his mind.

Huh.

Very carefully, Jean leaned back into the gentle touches and let his eyes slip closed. If he was going to lose himself regardless, he might as well embrace it. As soon as his eyes closed, the feeling of cool hands on his skin intensified. Running all the way from his chest, down to hips, and back up again to splay over his beating heart. Jean wasn't even surprised that the voice matched the sweet touch of the hands perfectly.

Don't be afraid. I won't let you get hurt like that anymore. I promise. I'll keep you safe, even from the ocean.

Jean moaned, shifting back against the cool touches, almost begging for more. They didn't answer his desire, but stayed steady on his hips, grounding him rather than sending him higher. But that was fine too. It still sent electricity up his spine, left him shivering and gasping and oddly satisfied.

Won't you come to me?

Jean blinked his eyes open again. This time, he had no doubt that something flitted closer to him through the water. It didn't matter if a few tourists pattered about on the same pier, or if they never saw the approaching green and gold shimmer. He saw it and he knew it came for him.

"Yes," he whispered, answering the voice for the first time. Although it didn't speak back, he felt something like a grin against his neck. Then the hands slipped away, one sliding down his arm to finally tangle fingers with his. It tugged and he didn't resist. He didn't even think to try.

Rather than dragging him the last half step over the edge of the pier, the hand led him back toward solid ground. As soon as he could reach the sand, he veered off into it, walking back under the pier and toward the water's edge. As soon as Jean realized it, he made his way without encouragement, though the hand never slipped away from him. He felt it guiding, reassuring all the way to the edge of the lapping waves.

Far beneath the pier, the water rolled like something out of a dream. So gentle and quiet, the roar of water turned into something isolated, a private song for his ears. He could hear the rhythm deep inside his chest, rising and falling, then murmuring away just like that voice always did. Jean found himself studying the water with something akin to awe. Had it always looked so blue?

Before he fell off the pier, he thought about the ocean the way all people raised beside it did. Both beautiful and ordinary, he never thought hard about the blue color, just accepted it like people accepted the sky. He took it for granted until he learned to fear it. The ocean turned black in his memory from the second it closed over his head, currents holding him down as the sky grew grey overhead with storms. It froze, it constricted.

But that wasn't what he saw in front of him. Soft sand itched his feet as he undid the sandal straps and tossed them aside. The water looked as blue as the turquoise stones sold in tourist shops down by the strip. When it lapped against his toes, it felt cool in a pleasant way, not at all like the freezing abyss that tried to swallow him up. Had he really forgotten just how beautiful the ocean was? Jean swallowed hard, but he was done hesitating now.

Stepping forward, he let the water wash over his toes and them up his calves and knees. He could see the whirlpools created around the pier's legs now, but a song rung out to him from the ocean's waves. He felt no fear, only a rising warmth and excitement that let him duck his head under the waves where a technicolor world awaited him. He belonged here. He belonged, he belonged like he'd never belonged anywhere before. The truth rippled through his limbs as he dragged in a big, water filled breath that slid down his throat so perfect.

And suddenly he was there, skin as sun-kissed as before and more vibrant than the ocean around them, eyes like storms, eyes like passion. Hands steadied against Jean's hips as something smooth wrapped around his legs to pull him out deeper into the water. Jean couldn't focus on that though, too entranced by the ocean eyes and the sudden flash of a smile before the stranger leaned forward to kiss him with shocking warmth. Jean melted into it, melted into the stranger in every way.

"Welcome home, Jean."

Then he was pulling Jean down further, to a place where even the dark of the ocean felt warm, felt like home. And Jean, he didn't even think to resist.

A/N: EreJean Week day 6: Pirates and sirens/insanity