Chapter Text
Stede gently knocked on the door to his former cabin. There was no answer. He glanced uncertainly over at Frenchie, Ivan and Fang, who simply shrugged in unison. They had all encouraged the newly returned Stede to try and talk to Ed—Izzy had NOT—but they had also warned him that Ed was...not the same. Some dark things had gone down since Stede's departure. Things he could barely believe. Of course he had known what Ed was capable of; had occasionally seen it himself. But still...it was disheartening to say the least. To know that he had driven Ed so far from the man he had become in the brief time they had known each other.
He tentatively knocked again, a little louder this time. Then, when there was still no answer, he threw on a brave face, squared his shoulders, nodded stoically to the crew, and strode through the door.
On the other side, he found himself engulfed in darkness. The switch from light to dark was disorienting enough that he stopped in his tracks, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When he did he had to suppress a gasp at what he saw. His beautiful cabin was laid bare. All his furniture gone. His art, gone. He stepped hesitantly further into the room, eyes searching for Ed in the dimness, and then he did gasp out loud. His bookshelves. Empty. All his beautiful books… The crew had mentioned some...remodeling, but this… Stede almost wanted to cry.
He suddenly heard a creaking noise and whirled around with a very brave, yet very startled yelp. The secret door to the auxiliary closet had swung open and someone was standing in the doorframe. Stede could just make out the matted hair of the dark silhouette, but the face was completely in shadows. Still, he would know this man anywhere. The shoulders. The stance. The presence. It was Ed. His Ed. Or was it?
The figure stood motionless in the dark. Stede could feel eyes boring into him though, blazing like the hot coals of the imagined Blackbeard of stories and nightmares. He stayed still as well, for an uncomfortably long time he felt. Finally he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Hello Ed. I'm back..."
A bit of an obvious opener, but...
The figure said nothing, and after a moment retreated further back into the shadows, silently shutting the door behind him. Stede hovered in the dark cabin, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, trying to decide what to do next. He'd known this would be a difficult reunion but he really hadn't anticipated it being this…anticlimactic. Or dangerous. This felt somehow dangerous. Though the pirate had said nothing, anger and wrath had radiated off of him.
Frankly though, Stede had been expecting more of a reaction. He wasn't exactly sure what. Fury. Heartbreak. Questions! Just...more. What he had gotten was…confusing. He had been imagining every possible way their reunion could have gone for weeks. Ever since he had set off in that dinghy searching for The Revenge and his crew. He had ruminated on tearful reunions, angry arguments, maybe even some violence. (On Ed's end.) And then when the remaining crew had told him what had transpired since he had left, well... His worries were magnified. But Ed not acknowledging him at all; simply slinking back into the shadows. That had been a surprise.
Maybe the man was simply processing. Maybe he had been too surprised to say anything. Or maybe he was in there right now, sharpening his sword and plotting Stede's demise. And for that, Stede wouldn't blame him, couldn't blame him. It was what he deserved after all, for leaving him without a word. He had a lot to make up for. After talking to the crew though, he was starting to realize this would be a more uphill battle than he had even imagined. Because apparently he wouldn’t be reasoning with Ed. He would be trying to get through to Blackbeard. To the Kraken.
****
Stede was sitting in the galley sipping his tea, trying to come up with a plan. After further discussions with the crew, it seemed that Blackbeard hadn’t actually been seen by any of them lately. In fact, he hadn’t come out of his cabin in at least ten days. After weeks of violence and terror, he had retreated back into his room and no one but Izzy had seen him since. And Izzy wasn’t talking. The man was a shell of his former self, hobbling around with a cane and refusing to talk about Blackbeard or anything he saw behind closed doors.
A reclusive Blackbeard was a less frightening Blackbeard, but no less troubling to Stede. In fact, if he had retreated away from the rest of the men it most likely boded even worse for his mental state. Stede needed to go back in there and speak to the man. He had to set this right. The trouble was he was frightened to. There was a slim chance of bodily harm. No, strike that, a fairly high chance. But more than that, Stede was afraid to see Ed like this. Afraid to see the broken creature he had created. When pressed, all Izzy would say was that the captain was himself again. But Stede could see in the man’s expression, in his shifty eyes and hunched shoulders: he was lying. This wasn’t the Blackbeard that Izzy had known. This was something much worse.
And now Stede had to face it. With one last gulp of tea for courage and a deep breath he stood and headed to the prow of the ship. He knocked sharply on the cabin door and after a moment’s hesitation pushed his way in. It was just as dim as before, the only light filtering in through the drawn curtains. He paused while his eyes tried to adjust, glancing around in the shadows for Ed. Once he was satisfied he was alone, he slowly took a stroll around his former room. Stalling? Perhaps. There was a single table and chair in the middle of the space. All his things were indeed gone. The bedclothes were strewn about as if a wild animal had been tossing and turning in his old bunk.
Stede turned with a sigh and headed for the far side of the room when he noticed something on the wall. It was his lighthouse painting. It sat where it always had. Stede’s heart stuttered at the sight. So Ed had not gotten rid of everything. He had kept that one item. Perhaps, Stede thought, his heart leaping with hope against his will, Ed was not too far gone. Perhaps he could still be reached.
This was the sign he had needed. With renewed purpose Stede strode across the room towards the secret lever. Then he heard a soft thump from the direction of the washroom. He stopped, cocking an ear but heard nothing else. Nevertheless, he started down the hallway. When he got the end he listened again, then ever so slowly pushed open the door and peered around the edge, unsure of what he would find inside.
Ed was curled up in the bathtub, wrapped in a blanket, gazing dully into the middle distance. The scene looked so familiar that Stede’s heart squeezed, physically tightened, from the memory. He slowly inched his way through the doorframe and paused just inside. He waited for Ed to look up, afraid to make any noise or sudden movements. The air hung so heavy and still that he felt if he opened his mouth and spoke, something might shatter. Maybe that something would be Ed. So he didn’t move and he didn’t speak. He just stared.
Ed’s hair hung limp around his face. There were smudges of dark paint around his eyes and on his jaw line. The good beginnings of a new beard were evident as well. He looked a bit slimmer than when Stede had last seen him. There was a certain gauntness about his frame that hadn’t been there before.
After what felt like ages, Ed slowly turned his head and looked at Stede. And there was where the biggest difference was. Those weren’t the eyes Stede knew. Stede had fallen in love with those big, dark eyes. They had been wide, open, yearning. They had never looked at Stede with anything but love. Oh, he felt so loved when those eyes were on him. But here was where the change was most evident. Here was where Stede felt real fear for the first time. Because these were not Ed’s eyes. And they didn’t look on him with love. These eyes were haunted and vacant and cold. These were the eyes of the Kraken.