Pidge tasted the blood in the water before they saw the shape sinking elegantly. The form was falling between the huge beasts of ships, leaving their shadows, ones Pidge usually hid under. In an instant, the tuft of white hair had Pidge intentionally going after a human, fighting any instinct they still had. They caught him under his arms and captured his quickly sinking body in their tail like a seahorse clinging to weeds.

The creature that had once been human held another creature that was still mostly human, but he was very large in their slim arms, and they were not as strong as they would've liked to pretend.

His eyes were closed, serenely unconscious, even as his emaciated arm bled into dangerous waters. The last bubbles slipped from his lips.

Humans needed air. Pidge remembered that much.

They looked up to the surface, well above them, marred with the shapes of humans far more dangerous than the one in their arms.

Shiro opened his eyes slowly.

Someone was kissing him.

No, not quite kissing.

There was a mouth pressed into his, but it was trying to force air through.

He realized, too, that his nose was pinched shut.

And then he saw through his open eyes, saw that he was underwater, saw the arms wrapped around him and felt the slow ascension as this person gave him air and tried to bring him to more of it.

Something in his arm stung sharply.

He blacked out again.

Pidge gave a scream of effort and frustration. Their gills hurt from abuse, their mouth was raw from breathing for the man, and their entire body ached from moving him, but they were almost there. They popped their head above the water once more. It was only a few more yards to the shore. They looked down at the man, still trying to assess his wounds. His arm had been bitten severely; Pidge could see bone through the exposed muscle and ceaseless blood, and it made them sick to remember the last time they had seen an injury so severe.

With a final heave of effort, they pulled the man out of the sea and onto the sandy beach of a long-forgotten island. He gave a weak huff; at least he was still breathing. Pidge brushed his hair away from his forehead and wiped the saltwater from his face. Weakly, he gave a pained sound. Pidge swallowed heavily and finally turned their attention to his wound. It was so much more real when it was not hidden by the red cloud.

They couldn't help it. They gave a choked sob.

Okay, they thought. It's going to be okay. I'll make you okay.

With a whimper, they turned away from his wound.

They slid back into the tide, returning with a small sack. The man gave a breath that wasn't a s strong as it should've been. Panicked, they ripped it open. Out tumbled a knife, a pair of cracked glasses, and a bottle alight with violet color. They lifted the knife, and their gaze fell to their own hand. They compared it to the size of the man's wound. It would be plenty.

Wait. That's idiotic. What am I thinking?

They stopped, blade resting on their wrist and hand over the missing chunk of the man's arm.

I'd be no use dead before I could even complete the process.

I'm sorry. You're going to be more like me than anybody wants.

Pidge choked back another cry as they tenderly lifted his hand and pulled it away from his body, stretching his arm at wide angle. They almost thought they could hear their own screams.

At least you're unconscious for this part. I wasn't.

They closed their eyes tight, lifted the blade above their head, and brought it down.