Work Text:
a fountain pen, ink-splattered and rusty
It’s not the first time Dick’s sailed on a ship. Nor is it the first time he’s ran into trouble doing so. He’s weathered storms that could send the Kraken fleeing into the depths of the sea, withstood the turmoil of plenty a mutinous crew, found port even in the darkest of nights—salt in his eyes, sea-spray drenching his shirt, squinting through the churn of the waves for the safety of land. But pirates, he thinks faintly, clutching the bedpost behind him, are quite a different story.
“You’re a what—pardon?” he repeats again, incredulously, as if it will somehow change the man’s answer.
The man grins, red hair glinting in the lamp light. “A pirate.” He flourishes his sword again, for dramatic flair this time. Dick’s own sword had gotten lost in the tussle, and he backs up against the rough wood of the cabin, fingers grasping behind him for the dagger he has tucked in his belt. He tries to remember how he’d got to be in this position in the first place.
“Well, I don’t know about you lot,” Dick tells him, a little lightheaded—he had woken up in the dark with a sword pointed at his face after all. “But we run a civilized society here. And piracy is most decidedly not welcome.”
With a laugh, the man spreads his hands. He looks disarmingly easy-going for someone who had broken onto Dick’s ship in the middle of the night and taken most of the crew captive. Dick can still hear yelling outside, the ringing clash of metal on metal sending a nauseating feeling in his stomach – not unlike being seasick for the first time. “That’s the point of piracy, isn’t it? Always sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong. It’s not really called piracy if we get permission first.”
He nods at Dick with a self-satisfied cock of his head. “Besides it’s not all too bad being a pirate. Sure, we might flog you a couple of times. And we’ll threaten to throw you off the plank at least once a day, but the pay’s not bad. I think you’ll even grow to like it after the first few months.”
“Wait a second,” Dick says shaking his head and he tries to take another step, only for his back to hit the wall, “I am not going to be a pirate and join you guys.” He’d signed up to be deckhand, not a pirate. The thought of Bruce finding out makes him wanna curl up and die. He can’t even imagine the thorough talking to he’d get after that. Bruce had barely approved of him sailing the seas—as a legal participant. “So, if you could just gather your crew and leave— “
“Oh, stop acting like you have a choice in the matter. The second-best part of being a pirate is getting to order people to do things they don’t want to do.”
Dick finds himself staring down the point of a sword for the second time that night. He clears his throat and tries not to go cross-eyed while keeping track of exactly how close the sword is to lopping off his nose. He feels the man’s eyes staring at him amusedly.
“And the first?” he tries. No one’s tried to come and get him, which means the rest of the crew is either dead or captive. If he wanted to make it out alive, he’d have to fight his way out—no scratch that, talk his way out, since his dagger might as well be a toothpick in front of the ravishing silver cutlass pointed at his face.
“The loot of course. You don’t think we’re all in this out of the goodness of our hearts, do you?”
“Well you can’t blame a man for hoping.”
“Fair enough,” the man shrugs. He hefts the weight of his sword in his hands. “Now are you in? Because I’d really hate to get blood over these shoes. They’re new, you know? And Kori will kill me if I get another pair dirty.” He leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. “And I was kidding about the flogging if that helps. Though I was serious about the walking the plank part, I’m afraid. But we do need some help aboard our ship and I can’t let anyone walk out alive until we find it. We do have a number of select benefits, if you do choose to stay and work your way up the ranks.”
“I guess in light of the circumstances,” Dick says reluctantly, throat dry, still feeling a little dizzy. His fingers loosen around the handle of his dagger. “I could be persuaded to join your crew. I am an able seaman after all.”
“Excellent,” the man straightens up and lowers his sword. “I’m sure you’ll find us a surprisingly accommodating bunch.”
“And may I know who I have the honor of talking to? Captain— “
“Me? Captain?” The man throws his head back and laughs. “I think pigs would sooner fly. You’ll meet our captain soon enough though.” He sheathes his sword and extends a hand. “Roy Harper at your service. And yours?”
Dick runs through his list of names in his head, and decides to settle for one just close enough to the truth to be plausible if he’s discovered. There’s a reason he’s just working as a deckhand on this merchant ship even with years of sea experience to his name. The same reason why he avoids all Wayne Trading ships and has a list of unopened letters from Bruce tucked in his spare pair of breeches. “Dick,” he says finally. The man’s eyes flicker over him at the pause in his speech, but doesn’t question it any further. And for that, Dick is grateful.
“Dick,” Roy blinks. He contemplates the name like he’s savoring a warm cheese pastry and his lips curl up into a devilish smile. “Like the— “
“Spare me,” Dick groans. “I’ve lived on the sea for half of my life with a bunch of crude men with too much time on their hands and nothing else to do but come up with the foulest jokes. I’ve heard it all already. Believe me.”
Roy snickers. “Oh, I do. Now you’ll meet our captain soon enough. We’re just tidying up the rest of your crew.” He throws an apologetic glance at Dick that’s almost genuine enough to be believed. “Don’t worry, our captain’s a fair man.”
“Fair, huh?” Dick snorts. He’s heard many a story about pirates. About how they were the scourge of the seas. How they couldn’t be trusted even with their hands tied behind their backs and a gun pointed to their heads. How they’d give up their own blood and flesh for even just a chance of freedom. Roy doesn’t seem to be very dangerous, but Dick’s sure even he can turn on those around him at the drop of a pin.
“That’s right,” a new voice cuts through them. Startled, Roy drops his cutlass and scowls.
“I thought I told you to quit doing that, Cap” he says, although he doesn’t look very perturbed when he picks up his sword again.
The first thing that runs through Dick’s mind is that the newcomer, no captain, he supposes, is that he looks angry. The second thing is that he fills out the shoulders of his ruffled jacket very nicely, looking more like a nobleman than a pirate, despite the haughty set of his lips and wind-roughened skin. He fixes his eyes on Dick, dark and wild, and for a split second, a surge of familiarity rushes through Dick, before dying out with a shiver. The third thing is—
Oh fuck, he’s hot.
“You done yet, Roy?” the captain asks, still staring at Dick. Dazed, Dick admires the angled line of his jaw and the flat expanse of tan skin peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. As if catching Dick’s wandering eyes, the captain scowls, mouth pressing into a thin line. The room feels ten degrees warmer if possible and Dick feels a flush in his cheeks.
“Yeah, just finishing up. We got a new recruit,” Roy tells him cheerfully. I’ll check on the rest of the crew. By the time Kori’s gotten to them, I’m sure we’ll have at least another ten men begging for the chance to join.”
The captain shakes his head. “No, I think we’re good,” he says brusquely. He jerks a thumb at Dick. “Just him will be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, we took all the stuff they had in storage already. Get everything ready and we’ll be good to go.” He turns to leave, but Dick springs forwards.
“Wait, can’t I at least have the privilege of knowing the name of the captain who I’ll be serving under?”
The captain stills, but when he tilts his head back, there’s a smile playing on the corner of his lips. “He talks a lot doesn’t he?” he addresses Roy.
“It’ll be good for the crew morale,” Roy assures him. “They’ve been getting a little quiet these days and I think some fresh blood will do them good.”
“I’ve got to agree,” the captain laughs. And the sound of it sends a thrill down Dick’s spine. It’s like the creak of the hull, full and visceral, making something twist in his gut like the churn of a whirlpool. When he looks at Dick this time, Dick can almost see the sea thrashing in his eyes. “The name is Todd. Jason Todd. Although it’ll be Captain to you, do you understand?”
With a turn of his heels, he’s gone and Dick stares gapingly at the void left behind.
“You good?” Roy asks him.
Dick closes his hanging mouth and— “He can shiver my timbers anytime.” He blinks when he realizes Roy is staring at him. “Oh barnacle, did I say that out loud?”
Roy pats him on the back sympathetically and hands him a pen. “It happens to the best of us, buddy.”
When Dick looks at the pen and then at him in confusion, he shrugs. “You’ll need it to sign the terms and conditions of your contract. We’re not all savages, you know.”
a piece of wood, carved into a vaguely four-legged shape
“Why didn’t you tell me you were first mate?” Dick whispers to Roy in a vicious voice as they scramble with the rigging. Underneath them, the hull creaks ominously and he almost falls as the deck beneath them lurches suddenly. Todd is barking orders at the helm as they hunker down to brace for the incoming storm. He might not be a fan of pirates, but the Outlaws, is a beautiful ship, if Dick does say so himself, and it’s able to sail at a pace of twelve knots on a windy day, with billowing sails and sleek dark wood. Though even that might not be enough to outrun the incoming squall.
“Would it have made a difference?” Roy looks at him carefully and then shrugs. “You’ll quickly find that rank on this ship is more of a formality than anything. Look at Bizarro over there. He’s nothing more than a deckhand, yet nothing stops him from walking around acting like the captain himself some days.”
“And the captain—he doesn’t mind?”
Roy laughs breezily, hair whipping around his face as the sky darkens. The rope strains in Dick’s hands as the ship tilts dangerously to the side. “As long as the work gets done. And at the end of the day, we all know who to look to. There’s not a person on this ship who would dare disobey the captain’s orders. He’s done a lot for us.”
“Well I guess it is a small peace of mind that even pirates have some sort of misguided loyalty,” Dick tells him drily.
“Come on, we’re not all too bad.” Roy claps a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “More a bunch of misfits than anything.”
And it’s true. Dick had half-expected to spend his first night aboard the Outlaws in the brig. Instead, he’d found himself standing in front of a hammock slung across two wide timbers of wood, sleeping with the rest of the crew. There’d been hands slapped across his back, introductions made, and numerous offers to teach him the sea-faring songs—as long as he promised to buy a beer or two for everyone when they made port.
“And the thieving?” he raises an eyebrow. “If I remember correctly, you did take most of the goods on our ship—plus all ten barrels of rum to boot.”
“For a good cause, I promise,” Roy assures him with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Now, have you had a chance to meet the rest of the crew?”
Dick thinks of all the hands he had shook, all the names he had exchanged, everything passing in a blur of horror and incredulity that this was actually happening, and shakes his head. “I met Artemis, I think. And Bizarro. Maybe Sasha, although I don’t think she liked me much. And I had already met you and the captain.”
Roy hums thoughtfully, hands tying the ropes down deftly as wind gusts around them again. With a careful look at the sky above, Dick deduces that it won’t be long before the storm catches up to them, although neither Roy nor Todd at the helm look too worried. “You should meet Kori next,” Roy says. “I think she’ll like you.”
“Kori?” The name sounds familiar.
“She’s our sailing master.” A wistful grin appears on Roy’s face. “We’ve never gone wrong with her at the map. It’s like she has a sixth sense with the sea or something. She was the one who warned us about the incoming storm, in fact.”
When Dick makes a noncommittal noise, Roy continues with an easy smile. “Don’t worry, she likes questions. Just don’t ask her where she came from. That’s not a question you’ll get out of most of the crew in fact.” He taps his head with his finger. “Bunch of misfits, I’m telling you.”
It startles a laugh out of Dick. “Even the captain himself?”
“Even the captain himself.” Roy’s voice drops enough just to be heard over the sound of the rushing wind around them. “They say he just appeared one day, ship and all. That he made a deal with Davy Jones himself.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“You don’t look like a pirate. Your teeth are too nice, for one. You also don’t eat like one. Never the first to drink. Always careful with plates as if they were made of porcelain rather than pewter. Napkin carefully folded at the end. If I didn’t know better, I’d say your eating habits wouldn’t be too far off from those of noblemen,” Dick lists off.
“And what would a lowly deckhand know of the eating habits of noblemen?” Roy teases.
Dick flushes, stomach dropping. It wouldn’t do to be exposed now of all times. “At sea, you pick up a lot watching the officers eat meat and stew, when all you’ve had is bread and cheese for the past couple of months,” he says lightly instead.
“Fair enough. Guess you’re not too far off,” Roy says, running a hand through his hair. He gazes out beyond the railing, to the gathering clouds in the distance. A few droplets of rain begin to splash down, but he doesn’t wipe them away and they settle like freckles scattered across his skin. “Maybe I was once.” His eyes are far away, looking towards the distant horizon.
“Made one business deal too many and spent the next few years drinking myself out of a barrel. Tried to off myself one night, but—“ he breaks off with a shake of his head. When he turns to look at Dick, his lips twist in a self-deprecating grin. “After that, I joined the Outlaws. I have a daughter you know. She’s waiting for me somewhere out there. And I can’t let her live like that, with the shadow of a failure of a father looming over her. But one day, after I’ve made my way with the Outlaws, I hope I’ll be able to go back. I just hope it won’t be too late.”
“I—“ Dick clears his throat. “I had a father like that. Growing up, I never saw him around. It didn’t mean I never missed him though.” He offers a weak smile. It’s not too far from the truth, but it still makes him fidget uncomfortably. It’s also the first time he’s mentioned Bruce since their falling out. He thinks about if for a second, and is surprised to find that— “It’s never too late, you know?” His throat closes up.
“Told you, we’re just a bunch of misfits,” Roy tells him, ruffling his hair. “You’re one of us now.” He stops to dig around in his pocket just as a crack of lightning slices through the sky. “Here, it’s a good luck charm. We’ve all got one. I’m not the best at carving, but hey, better than nothing.” He offers Dick misshapen piece of carved wood.
“And what exactly is this supposed to be?” Dick chuckles, turning the rough chunk of wood in his fingers dubiously. A peal of thunder sounds in the distance.
Roy lets out a short laugh, jabbing his elbow into Dick’s chest. “It’s a cat. Or well it’s supposed to be. Don’t make me regret giving it to you” He tilts the brim of his hat upwards and peers into the rumbling sky. “Now I’d get down below, if I were you. It looks like we’re in for a whooper.”
one doubloon, corroded and bent
The pub air is warm and sticky with the exuberance of celebration. The crew had successfully raided another ship earlier in the week, and though Dick hadn’t been allowed to participate in the fight itself, he’d been there for the aftermath when Roy had whooped loud enough to scare the seagulls and rolled another couple of barrels of God knows what on board. He’d been followed by a line of other crew members, carrying swaths of cloth, crates of tobacco and other goods successfully won. Dick remembers a woman laughing with him, tossing her dark red hair back, lifting a pretty little chest of treasures over her shoulders
The euphoria had carried over the entire week. And now, loose-limbed with the taste of rum on his tongue, Dick can see why. He’s been to pubs with friends, gotten drunk with his crew on merchant ships, but nothing compares to this. Handles of ale and rum exchanging hands like money, boisterous singing coming from the corner where Roy and Bizarro are huddled, and Todd, carefree and laughing with the rest of the crew as Artemis dances a jig on the table.
He looks young like this, Dick thinks, knocking down another drink. Maybe even younger than himself. He’d changed into a plain white shirt for the occasion, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks good. Like I’d-climb-you-like-a-tree kind of good. Although maybe that’s just the rum talking. Dick shakes his head and goes to find Roy—he’s too drunk to be left alone with his own thoughts.
Halfway through his fourth bawdy ballad, Roy’s arm draped warm and heavy around his shoulders, Bizarro’s rough voice crooning over his right ear, he breaks off from the group and finds himself in front of the bar again, fingers digging into the pocket of his trousers for his last couple of coins. His fingers only close around a small ball of lint, however, and with a groan, Dick resigns himself to a rather dry rest of the night.
“Penny for your thoughts?” A smooth voice slides through the sound of Roy starting another round of singing. The sound of a coin clinking onto the varnished table makes Dick’s head jerk around to come face to face with a very amused face.
He blinks at Todd, hair messy, eyes gleaming, and tries to scramble the last bit of his thoughts together. At his nod, the bartender takes the coin and slides over another handle of—ale? Beer? He can’t tell anymore.
“I’m pretty drunk already. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to take advantage of me, Captain,” Dick says with a salacious smile, feeling reckless with euphoria.
“Like you weren’t trying your best to get another drink by yourself,” Todd snorts. He leans casually against the bar top, toying idly with the ties of his shirt and Dick’s mouth goes dry. “I wasn’t paying for the drink anyways.”
“Unfortunately for you, my thoughts are worth more than a penny,” Dick teases. He raises his mug with a wink. “I’ll gladly take the drink though. Cheers.”
“And pray, tell me how high that price might be,” Todd tilts his head. A raucous cheer goes up around them as Artemis and Bizarro take up a drinking contest. Dick has to suppress a smile and instead clasps a hand to his chest.
“Well, what might a captain want to know from a lowly deckhand?”
“Lowly deckhand? You might have most of the crew fooled, but not me. Just a lowly deckhand, yet you know how to navigate a ship just fine, already having the map of the stars memorized like the back of your hand, no hesitation when calling out orders almost as if you were a captain yourself. And with the way you disguise yourself, I’d almost think you were running from something.”
Even through the haze, something icy trickles down the back of his neck and Dick swallows hard, offering a brittle smile. “I assure you I am what I say—and whatever it is that you want to know, the price is too high for what you have to offer.”
To his credit, Todd doesn’t blink and he instead hums lowly, dropping another coin between them. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. How about I up the price a little?” He leans in, so close that when Dick’s eyes flutter close, he can breathe in the scent of smoke and sea. “Perhaps you might be persuaded?”
It’s harder than it should be to pull away. “Oh please, I wasn’t born yesterday,” Dick scoffs, even as his hand closes around the golden coin. “Although I heard you had some secrets of your own.” He props his head on his hand, curiosity gnawing at him like hunger. “Maybe I can be persuaded to swap a secret for a secret. Although I do think I’ll need some more convincing.”
Todd frowns, but he makes a noise in his throat that implies he isn’t entirely dissatisfied with the way things are turning out. “And what secrets am I accused of harboring?”
“Something about Davy Jones and his locker.” Todd’s gaze snaps to his, eyes burning with an incomprehensible emotion. All of a sudden, Dick’s collar feels too tight around his throat and he worries at the collar, tugging it looser; with a small satisfied feeling, he notices Todd’s eyes flickering to the small motion. “They say you made a deal with the devil of the seas. Is that true?”
“There’s no more truth to it than the rumors of you being something more than a deckhand,” Todd says tightly.
“Oh come now, that’s not fair,” Dick complains. “What must I give for the full tale? My dignity?”
“You’re doing a fine job of giving that away already with the way you look tonight,” Todd says roughly. He blinks, as if surprised at his own words, and then flushes. Dick abruptly realizes that maybe Todd is just as drunk as he is, but oh, nothing could have prepared him for the way his heart jumps at that.
A delighted laugh bursts its way out of his mouth. “And shouldn’t you be doing something about that, Captain.”
“Jesus don’t say it like that,” Todd says hoarsely, calloused fingers wrapping around Dick’s wrist. Aware of the warmth on his skin, Dick can’t resist leaning in again. He thinks he can hear the siren’s call in the rushing of his ears.
“Like what?”
“Captain. Like I could just—”he breaks off and shakes his head. “At least call me Jason then.”
“You told me not to, remember?” Dick says hoarsely. He smiles, teeth bared, and stumbles forwards, bravely loping an arm around Todd—no Jason’s—neck. “Captain.”
Jason closes his eyes briefly as a shiver seems to go through him, hand coming down to settle at Dick’s waist. “And whose fault will it be when the ship runs aground because I can’t keep my head straight around you,” he mutters.
“I’ll take full responsibility for that,” Dick laughs. He sucks in a small breath as the room spins around him slightly. They’re pressed so close, it’d be easy to kiss him, Dick thinks. He loops a finger through the braided necklace hanging from Jason’s neck and pulls him in closer. There’s a reason they call alcohol, liquid courage, he realizes. And the next couple words stumble off his tongue, desperate and clumsy. “You know, I’ve wanted this. Ever since I first saw you.”
He leans in, eyes closed, but Jason’s hands come up to press against his shoulders gently. When he opens his eyes in confusion, Jason’s already pulling away.
“You’re drunk,” he says to Dick gently, even as his hand grips Dick’s arm firmly. The softness of it stings more than any hard rejection would. Jason rubs his forehead wearily. “You don’t know—fuck—wouldn’t remember—“
“Right.” Dick tugs his hand out of Jason’s grip, battered pride and all. “I don’t know.” He turns his heel on Jason’s bewildered face and totters away to go find Roy instead.
a glimmering piece of thin glass, almost like a fish scale
There shouldn’t be anyone in the hold of the ship in the dead of night, yet as Dick draws closer to the small pool of light spilling between the cracks of two barrels, he can hear the splash of water and a soft, sweet croon. It seems like he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep that night.
He’d woken up with a startled gasp, sweaty and panicked, twisting in his sheets, with the screams of a fifty seamen in his ears and the lingering sensation of seawater in his lungs. It wasn’t the first time he had a nightmare, although it was the first time on the Outlaws, and he’d taken to wandering the ship until the ghost of sleep came back. But if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the vestiges of the nightmare haunting him. Bruce’s accusatory stare, a bone-wrenching crack, and the mizzenmast coming down like a giant log of timber. He’d thought he’d worn the nightmares off, as their occurrences dwindled from nightly to weekly to monthly. And yet—
He shakes his head and creeps closer to the light source.
“Hello?” he calls. He wonders who it is.
The sound of splashing water and singing stops. When Dick peeks out from behind the cargo, he can see long, dark red hair, glinting golden under the lamplight, and tan arms lounging over the edge of a large tub.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says with a small wave. “Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude, but I’ll just be on my way—“
“Oh no, do feel free to stay,” sounds the amused voice. There’s a lyrical quality to it that reminds Dick of ancient sea-faring songs and the whip of the wild sea long before she had been tamed by men. “Dick, right? You can call me Kori. I don’t believe we’ve formally met yet on this ship.”
“If you insist,” Dick tells her. “Guess you couldn’t sleep either?” He makes his way to the side of the tub and sits down gingerly, avoiding the puddles on the ground.
Kori offers him a soft grin, shaking the water out of her hair. “It happens. Midnight baths always do make me feel better though.” She heaves herself up from the water so that she’s balanced on the edge of the tub, spraying water droplets everywhere.
Something sparkly around her hip catches Dick’s eyes, and he freezes, remembering what Roy had said. It’s like she has a sixth sense with the ocean. He should have known. The scales decorating her skin from waist down glimmer iridescent in the light, and it leaves him breathless with wonder. When he glances at her, she winks at him, and he thinks he glimpses a flick of a tail from the depths of the tub.
“A bunch of misfits indeed,” he murmurs in awe. “And how did you end up here on the Outlaws?”
Kori shrugs her slim shoulders, twisting around so that she can rest her head on her crossed arms, peering at Dick just as curiously. “You should be careful asking that sort of question around here. Ask the wrong person and you might find yourself taking a dip in the ocean instead.
Dick wrinkles his nose. “So I’ve been warned. But indulge me. I think you’d be willing to make an exception this time.”
“So confident,” Kori says with a small laugh. “But you’re right. I guess I can make an exception this time.” She rests her chin on her hand. “My tale, as most tales do, starts with loving a man.”
“Of course,” Dick mutters under his breath.
“He was a good man—I thought I loved him. After all, I did pull him out of the ocean with my own arms. And I gave up the sea for him.” Her eyes are soft, mouth curling into a wistful smile. “We were happy for a couple of years. But he was a sailor in the navy who loved the call of the sea more than those waiting for him back home. And me? I grew to realize that maybe it wasn’t the man that I loved, but the land he represented—the freedom of having two feet and everything that came with it.”
“And his name?” Dick whispers, heart pounding so hard, he can feel it in his throat. He thinks abruptly of the first time he’d almost drowned. He’d been seventeen, having lost hold of the rail, pitching overboard headfirst as thunder crashed above him like a tumultuous battle. He doesn’t remember much about what came after. But he remembers this. Two hands wrapped around his waist, tugging him upwards, and fine strands of golden-red brushing his face, like blooming fire in water.
Kori peers at him with pale green eyes, sunlight shining through seaweed forests, and tilts her head. “Richard Grayson. Although I believe he goes by the name Dick on this ship.”
“Oh.” Something like relief crashes through his heart like a wave that’s spent far too long at sea. He reaches out and feels Kori embrace him in return, not even caring that his shirt was getting soaked and he’s going to smell like brine and salt for days. “God, Kori. I’ve always wondered what happened to you after you left. I’m sorry, you know?”
“It’s alright,” she laughs. Dick can feel the vibration of it through his ribs. He feels a pang in his chest as he flashes back to a time when she'd answered to the name Koriand'r not Kori and her smile had been all he'd needed. “We were both young, weren’t we? We thought we knew better than the world. But I’m happy here—with the best of both worlds. Now, I have the sea at my fingertips. And when I get tired and crave the steadiness of shore, I can have that too.”
She pauses. “Now, what are you doing here?”
a spent bullet, gnarled and bloodied
The smell of gunpowder, foul and acrid, spills across the deck like spilled oil. Smoke rises in the distance, and the sound of the steel clashing against steel makes Dick's ears ring. He'd picked up a sword, having ran out of bullets long ago, pistol lying lost somewhere in the chaos of dying men and flying metal. But even then, he can feel himself slowing, muscles burning with the ache of fatigue, breath coming in shorter pants.
"I never realized you lot were such a cannibalistic breed," he yells, parrying a thrust that comes his way. "Don't you pirates have an honor code or something? Like don't attack each other?"
"We do!" Roy waves his cutlass. "Some bastards just choose not to follow it." He blocks a swinging sword that most definitely would have caught Dick on the arm and groans, waving in the general direction of the helm. "Like this guy for example."
Dick glances at where Jason and a masked man are sparring at the helm. "Him?" He ducks under a blow that barely grazes his head.
"Yeah, they call him the Black Mask. You'll never see him without that mask. I figure it's because he's too ugly to show off what's actually underneath it. He's such a bother every time he shows up honestly."
On the other side of the ship, Dick can see Kori fighting off several men, grin sharp, sword sharper, as she whirls around with the grace of a hurricane. "Well, I don't know about you, but I don’t think we'll be able to hold on for much longer." He finishes off the last man with one last thrust of his sword, but the reprieve won't be for long. He can already see the next wave of men spilling onto the Outlaws. The deck is slick with blood and it makes his stomach churn.
"Me neither." Roy shakes his head.
A hoarse yell comes from Jason's direction and Dick doesn't even have to look at Roy, before Roy's pushing him forwards, stepping back himself to deal with the incoming group of pirates. "I got this, you go." And Dick's scrambling across the deck, heels slipping across the planks, slippery from blood and seawater.
"Shove off," he tells the next man that crosses his path. "I'm trying to save my Captain." He dodges the blow aimed for his rubs, and is lunging forwards with his sword, when the bullet hits him. The man, not much more than a boy really, freezes, eyes wide, gun smoking.
The force of it knocks Dick to the ground, burning pain exploding in his shoulder. His mouth opens in a soundless gasp, hand instinctively flying to the wound. When they come away, his fingers are sticky with blood and his head spins dizzily.
"Oh son of a—" He raises his arm futilely bracing for the final blow.
But the boy crumples in front of him, and when Dick looks up, Jason's standing in front of him instead. He's panting slightly, sweaty and stained with blood. Dick thinks he's never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
Jason's lips press into a tight smile. "What happened to all your fancy sword work?"
"He cheated. He had a gun," Dick groans, trying to stay afloat above the ebb and flow of the burning pain in his shoulder. "What happened to the Black Mask?"
"He got away," Jason scowls.
"I was supposed to come sword a-swinging, guns a-blazing, and save you, you know?" Through the haze of pain, Dick wriggles around until he's pulled himself up comfortably against a cannon. He tilts his head back until he can feel the cool metal behind him. "Guess it had to be the other way around."
"You—" Jason shakes his head. He kneels down besides him, regardless of the blood pooling around his knees, fingers grasping at Dick's arm. They slide up to cup his cheek and Jason sucks in a faint breath, fingers surprisingly soft as they then move to check Dick's shoulder. The realization hits Dick abruptly.
"Hey," he says indignantly. Startled, Jason's gaze snaps upwards and Dick gestures weakly at Jason's hand. "You have no right to do that, you prick. You can't just come here and make my feelings go all haywire when you were the one that rejected me in the first place."
"I didn't reject you," Jason frowns. When Dick glares at him, he scratches his head awkwardly. "Oh fuck, maybe I did. But I didn’t mean to. You were drunk and I was drunk too. And I didn't want you to regret it—"
Dick curls his fingers around Jason's collar, shoulder be damned, and pulls him down for a kiss.
a rolled up piece of paper, words elegantly written
They see the other ship right after the crack of dawn.
"It's heading our way, but it's not a naval ship," Roy announces, peering through the lens of his spyglass, and half of the crew sighs in relief. Dick has to agree. The Outlaws had barely made it out of the last fight, tattered and limping, and was in no condition to take on any conflict until they had the chance to make port and undergo repairs. His shoulder aches with every movement he takes and he's not the only one with an injury either.
"Let me take a look," Kori says. There's a bandage wrapped around her arm; when she passes by Dick, she nods at him with a quirk of her lips. Roy hands her the spyglass and she holds it up to her eye with a frown. "It looks more like one of Wayne's merchant ships more than anything. Though they have a flag raised. Do you think they want to parley?"
A feeling of dread settles in Dick's stomach. It's exactly what he had been trying to avoid, what he's been running from all these months.
"I dunno what they'd want with us. But it's up to you, Cap." Roy looks towards Jason. And Dick too, looks at him, holding his breath.
Jason shields his eyes and looks to the pinprick in the horizon. His jaw is clenched, an incomprehensible expression crossing his face. It's silent for a moment before he says, "We'll wait. Whatever they want, we won't be able to outrun them like this."
They roll up the sails and wait, adrift on the open sea. As the ship draws closer, Dick can make out the sleek figurehead and painted windows. It's too familiar for his comfort. And it's like something is stuck in his throat—an awful feeling that he just can't shake off. He's not the only one that feels apprehensive. Roy paces up and down the deck while Kori watches in quiet solemnity. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife.
Jason sits to the side, deep in thought with an indecipherable expression on his face. Dick has to resist the urge to run his fingers through his hair and smooth away his frown, but in the end, the nervous flutters in his stomach prove to much to overcome, and he buries his face in his hands instead to prepare for the inevitable.
The ship pulls up besides them, close enough for Dick to make out the gold lettering on its side—the Robin. A rowboat is lowered into the water and two small figures clamber up the side of the Outlaws, onto the deck. They stand, fearless, in face of the crew that circles them.
"Tell me, what a Wayne merchant ship would want to do with a bunch of pirates?" Roy asks, hand tight around his gun.
"I wish to speak with the captain," the smaller figure demands. "I heard he was here on this ship."
"And under what name should I pass on your message?" Roy frowns.
"Damian Wayne." A restless murmur spreads throughout the crowd. Dick can understand why. Bruce Wayne had several sons that helped out with the trading company, but they were hardly seen outside the country—let alone at sea.
"I'm here." Jason steps out from the crowd. "What did you want to say?"
"I have a message from my father to my brother," Damian says with a scowl. He digs into his pocket to pull out a rolled up piece of paper. "One of our ships picked up a sailor lost at sea last week and he said he saw him here on your ship."
"And what reason might a Wayne have for being on this ship" Jason snorts.
Damian's eyebrows furrow, mouth crinkling into a frown. "I don't know," he admits, fists clenched. "He hasn't been around for months. But I have a message for him. He wouldn't just leave like that. I know it."
"I assure you he's not here. Even if he was, under what obligation would I have to hand him over to you?" Jason scoffs.
"You don't understand," Damian crosses his arms. "I'm not leaving until I find him."
Jason's eyes harden. "Unfortunately, we have places to be. I haven't seen any Waynes on my ship. And I can't exactly give you free reign to search for him, even if he was hiding somewhere."
"I don't think you quite understand the situation." The taller figure steps forwards this time, ignoring Damian's hiss of I don't need your help, Drake. "Your ship will barely make it to port as it is. But we have supplies we're willing to share if you can help us out. And as for a refusal, we do have you outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Piracy is still illegal and it wouldn't be out of line for us to enforce the law."
"If you think I can be so easily intimidated—" Jason begins. But Dick pushes his way through crowd and wraps his fingers around Jason's arm.
"Wait." He turns to look back at Jason with an apologetic glance. Jason doesn't look surprised, however, and Dick stores that information away to reexamine later. Instead, he wraps an arm around Dick's waist protectively, expression turning mutinous. "I'm here."
A sound of surprise ripples through the crew, and Dick thinks he can see Kori behind them all, looking at him with an unreadable look in her eyes.
"Grayson!" Damian exclaims. Dick offers him a wan smile and takes the proffered roll of paper.
"Yup. It's me."
one letter of marque, unopened
"I wasn't actually a deckhand," Dick confesses at night, when the waters are so still, he can make out the giant pearly reflection of the moon cast over the sea. He rubs his head, trying to stave off an oncoming headache after arguing with Tim and Damian for several hours straight. The night breeze runs through his hair and he lets out a sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.
"Well," Jason says, stretching his arms out with a yawn. He props an arm on the deck railing and turns to look at Dick with a wry smile. The ship rocks gently beneath them both, like an ancient lullaby. "I can't say I wasn't expecting that."
"How did you know?"
Jason shrugs, fiddling with the necklace around his neck. "Secret for a secret? I'll tell you how I knew and you tell me how you got to be here. Although I think I have my suspicions already."
Dick thinks for a moment. Heck what does he have to lose? There's no running away anymore, not when Tim and Damian are watching him with hopeful eyes and Bruce's note is in his pocket, crumpled but read. It turns out, in this day and age, the sea is only so big, and even Dick, with his penchant for sneaking his way aboard foreign ships and uncanny disguises can only hide for so long. "Alright. I promise."
"I mean, even if we looked past your surprisingly brilliant moments of competency for a mere deckhand—"
"Oh, I wasn't that bad at hiding it," Dick interrupts.
"Only to those looking for it," Jason says with a grin. "You wore it well, the disguise. Your hair looks good like that, all messy and falling around your face. Better than the awful wigs those officers have to wear." He makes a face and reaches out to catch a couple of strands that fall across Dick's eyes. The action makes Dick still, barely breathing.
"But you were looking for it," Dick presses. "Why?"
"Imagine my surprise when I go to check on Roy, expecting to see some cowering deckhand below deck, and I see Richard Grayson instead. The son of Bruce Wayne working at sea like a common boy on the streets—" Dick opens his mouth to ask, but Jason shakes his head. "No here's the thing. I recognized you before you even stepped foot on the Outlaws."
"But how?" Sure, Jason might have looked just a faintest bit familiar when Dick first saw him, but it was impossible for him to actually know Dick. Surely, any familiarity might just be chalked up to coincidence. Dick has had his occasional clashes with pirates in his years at sea, but he thinks he would have remembered a face like Jason's. How could he forget?
Jason cups Dick’s face with his hands and leans in, eyes darker than the deepest trenches of the ocean; Dick thinks he can drown in them. "Just try to remember. You weren't that much older than fifteen, I think, when I saw you for the first time."
Dick closes his eyes. It's all a bright blur. He'd still been living in the Wayne manor at that time, Dick supposes—before Bruce adopted Tim and Damian came along. He thinks of lonely nights in the dining room as Bruce shut himself in the study. Alfred's comforting hand on his shoulder when all he craved was just a shred of Bruce's attention. Running away to the docks and watching the ships leave with a crazy, wild thought that just what if he could find freedom aboard those white-colored sails when the four walls of the manor proved too stifling to bear. It wasn't hard, he remembers, to sneak into the stable, borrow a horse and—
He freezes.
"You," he breathes. His hands come up to grasp Jason's. "You were a stable hand, I remember." A shock laugh claws its way out of his chest. "You couldn't have been taller than my shoulder, but you were always there helping me when I snuck out." Dick brushes his fingers over the small scar that chips across Jason's eyebrow. He's taller now, even taller than Dick. "Then one day, Bruce sent you on an errand and you never came back. We looked everywhere, but all we found was your bloodied shirt. He never forgave himself for that. What happened to you?"
"Came across some bad men, I guess," Jason says. "They took me to the harbor and forced me to work on their ship. Then we hit a reef and everyone ended up drowning—including me." His hand flies to the necklace hanging around his neck, and for the first time, Dick can examine it closely. It's a green gemstone that glows eerily in the moonlight, bound by a leather cord. "As for the rest," he follows Dick's gaze to the pendant, "You can probably guess."
"And the price?" Dick asks. He knows the stories just as well as any man that's spent more than a couple of weeks at sea. Davy Jones doesn't just let someone walk back to the land of the living without paying something in return.
"Does it matter?" Jason shrugs. "I'm here, I'm alive. And that's all that matters. I’ve got enough years left, at least." He smiles thinly. "Now, how about you hold up your end of the deal? Last I remembered, you were still living it out lavishly in the manor."
Dick bites his lip. "It's not as exciting as your tale, I'm afraid. I joined the navy soon after you disappeared. Bruce wasn't the happiest about it, but what could he do? And it's easy, rising up through the ranks, when you're Bruce Wayne's son." A bitter taste fills his mouth. "I was Captain by the time I left."
"Was?"
"Technically, I'm on leave right now. They think I'm somewhere in Paris on a much-needed vacation. I don't know what they would do if they found me here in the company of pirates instead." He frowns. "There was a freak storm that hit us a couple of months ago and I was the only one that survived."
By all means it should have been a simple expedition. A couple of weeks out in the sea before returning back to port. When the storm hit, none of them were prepared. He can still hear the screams of his men ringing in his ears. It's why he can't go back to land, not yet—even when his superiors had put him on leave to recover. The perpetual rush of the sea when he's sailing is enough to drown out his ceaseless nightmares. And he likes it here; no one out on the sea really recognizes him, and that realization is liberating.
"So what now? You could stay with us, you know? Roy's taking a liking to you and it'd be a shame to see such a talented crew member go. Hell, I think even Sasha would miss you."
"I was talking to Tim and Damian about it," Dick says, fingers wrapping around the note Bruce had sent him in his pocket. He wonders how long it's been since they've actually talked. He thinks of what he had said to Roy. It's never too late. And truly, it never was. "As much as I have grown used to the pirate life, I'm not sure if it's the one for me.” He pauses. "No, I think it's time I head home. There's amends to make and business to discuss yet."
"Alright, I didn't want to say it," Jason frowns, red creeping up his cheeks. "But fuck I'll miss you too."
"You could always give up the pirate life and come join me," Dick offers.
"Oh hell no."
"I figured. But I'll miss you too. The seas are smaller than you think." He grins, fearless and bold, and looks to the stars. He hasn't felt this way in a while. "Next time we meet, it'll be on very different terms. But I think we can make it work."
Dick reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. "That reminds me, Tim managed to wrangle Bruce into getting a letter of marque if you so wanted. I figured I wouldn't be able to persuade you to stop your looting ways, but this would you give the license to do so legally."
Jason blinks. "I'm flattered, but I couldn't really call myself a pirate if I accepted that," he snorts. "It takes all the fun out of it when you're doing everything legally." He shakes his head, growing grin on his face wide enough to match Dick's own smile. "Nah, better to keep the excitement in it. I won't be so merciful next time we meet. But you're gonna have to catch me first, Captain."
"I'll take you up on that," Dick laughs, and he pulls Jason in for one last kiss.