Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Shh, shh, now.” 

Scattered giggling rises up through the air. The children at Wilbur’s feet all shuffle around from where they sit on the floor, and Wil shushes them again, hoping to gain just a bit of peace. 

“Tell us a story, Mr. Soot!” One of them yells out, Wilbur huffing with a soft smile. He will never get an ounce of silence from these children. They’re too hyper and far too curious. It reminds him much of how he was when he was little, constantly running around, always needing to be told to sit down and sit still, lest he wander off right into the sea. 

He likes to think he was more well behaved then these ones, but he knows he’d be lying to himself with that one. He’s always been a headache ever since the day he was found on the doorstep, or at least that’s what the adults around him have always said. 

He takes the insult with pride. Better to be known as an annoyance rather than to have never been seen at all, in his opinion. 

A hand tugs at his boot, nearly undoing the laces. “Tell us the pirate one!” One of the children scream, and it sets off a wave of excitement, all of them chattering and squealing with delight. “Tell us about the terrible criminals on the sea!” 

“Oh, no, no.” Wilbur shakes his head, leaning forward and gently pulling off a tiny hand from his shoelaces. “Last time I did that, I…” He trails off, grimacing. “I got into a bit of trouble.” Locked into his room for a week straight, hardly any sun for days. Yelling through the door, kicking at his walls, it was all no fun. 

He wants to say that as an adult now, he’s free to not have such silly punishments, but his Aunt Cass will always insist otherwise. She’s always done what’s best for him ever since she found him as a baby, that’s what he’s been told, but even so, he can’t help but wish that she would fall down a set of stairs. He wouldn't be torn up if she were to break a leg one of these days, honestly. It'd be fitting karma for the unusual punishments she's given him. 

She says Wilbur’s her pride and joy, but with the amount of screaming she’s left in his ears, he’s not so convinced of that fact. He feels as if she may be lying to herself. 

“Just once more.” One of the kids whisper, eyes wide and full of wonder. “We won’t tell, promise! You’re the only one who tells us about pirates, Mr. Soot.” 

“My mum never says anything about pirates, no matter what!” One little girl whines, pulling at her hair with a frown. “She says if I mention them at the dinner table, I’ll curse the family.”

Wilbur snorts at that. “I don’t think a mention of pirates would curse your bloodline, but she has reason to be wary.” The children mutter anxiously at that, their giddiness still apparent. 

“My father says the only time I should speak of a pirate is when they’re sent to the gallows!” A boy speaks up, Wilbur’s expression souring a bit. “He’s always real angry, always saying ‘the only good pirate is a dead one!’ and things like that.”   

“But a dead pirate is a boring pirate.” One kid points out. 

“And a boring pirate means a safe sea.” Wilbur adds on quickly, to prevent the conversation from veering off to anywhere drastic. Time and time again he’s been told that. “You all shouldn’t be speaking of pirates. Is this what you’ve been questioning poor Miss Niki about lately? You know she’s got enough on her plate already.” 

“We haven’t, we haven’t!” The kids insist, shaking their heads, looking away in guilt. 

“She doesn’t know anything about pirates, anyway.” The same little girl from before says. “But you do! You know the commodore. So I bet that’s where you learn of the pirates.” 

A burst of excited chatter comes up at that, Wilbur rolling his eyes with fond exasperation. 

“I do know him.” He nods, not denying it. Him and Dream do know each other, but it’s not as if they are friends. They’re acquaintances, if anything. Dream more than often had ran after Wilbur when he was younger, Wil having been an overly curious child who always went for the ships on the docks. 

That’s the only reason they know each other. Wilbur grew up knowing the man’s name, harboring a slight grudge against his face, and Dream always had to wrangle Wilbur to get him back home, carrying out his civil duty in not letting a random kid fling himself out into the waves. It’s never been anything more. If he were to put it into nice terms, he'd label their relationship as an uneasy tolerance. 

Now if only he could convince the children of that. 

“So tell us a story!” The kids plead. “Tell us a pirate story! Tell us of the ones who escape from the gallows!” 

Wilbur groans, leaning his head back as little hands begin to grab at his boots, yanking the laces undone. He’s starting to think he needs to get different shoes whenever he visits them. They always untie them when he’s not looking, but he never tells them to stop. 

“I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.” Wilbur shakes his head, only furthering the children’s determination. “Why not have a story of this one merchant I heard of? I heard, once upon a time…” 

“No!” The kids refuse, cutting him off and drowning him out. “Pirates!” They demand. “Tell us about pirates!” 

“I don’t know anything of pirates!” Wilbur denies, lifting his hands in surrender. “That last story was the only one I knew.” He lies, hoping that’ll make them give up. 

“Surely not!” The kids whine, in despair of not getting their story. “You have to know something!” 

“Do you know of the Pink Delilah?” One girl asks, her hands yanking at his shoelaces. Wilbur blinks. He knows of her. A pink haired pirate known for a gentle smile that only hides a quick blade to one’s heart. A deadly-- yet kind-- soul, that is the sort of pirate she is. “I’ve heard she’s beautiful!” 

“I’ve heard the same.” Wilbur agrees. “But that’s all I’ve heard of her.” He lies, giving a shrug.

“Or! Or, have you heard about the, the-” A boy leans in close, hushing his voice into a whisper. The kids settle down into a hushed anticipation. “The Blood God?” A low oooohh spreads throughout the room at that name. 

“Let’s not speak about him, yes?” Wilbur quickly dismisses. “He is not a good man.” 

Of course he knows of that pirate. It's impossible not to. The man’s title is well earned, and Wilbur has heard the stories of how he’s brought entire fleets to rest at the bottom of the sea. He is dangerous, on water and on land. Wil hopes for everyone’s sake that he never comes near their shores. 

“But he’s cool.” Someone says, and Wilbur shushes them gently. The room has grown quiet now, with the mention of that certain pirate, and Wilbur hopes to take the chance to steer them onto another topic. 

Except the children then give one more name. 

“Do you know of the Golden Traitor?” A boy from the back yells, and Wilbur goes still. 

He jerks his head up with a surprised expression, and the kids explode in excitement, taking his sign of weakness and offering not a scrap of mercy. 

“You do, you do!” They yell, bouncing with joy, nodding their heads, ready for a good story. “Tell us about him, tell us!” 

Wilbur closes his eyes in a moment of suffering, slumping down in his chair with a long sigh. The kids practically scream in victory. 

“Okay, okay!” He yells, trying to get them to calm down before someone comes running to ask why it sounds as if the children are being murdered. “I need quiet, you all must be quiet or else no story at all.” 

And all at once, the kids hush. A good few slap their hands over their mouths. Wilbur holds back a snort at the sight. 

“Alright.” He breathes out, heart heavy. He knows he should not tell them anything more about pirates, not with the way Aunt Cass had reacted last time, but he’s a weak man. He’s always had a soft spot for that childlike curiosity, that constant hunger for knowledge. It’s something he still struggles with even today. 

Surely just a bit of a story won’t hurt. Just a little something, something harmless. Just what little he knows. 

The children have reason to want him to give a story. It is fun, he’ll admit. He knows it won’t end well, but the Golden Traitor has always been one of his favorite pirates to think about.

“It is said that out at sea, over the ruthless waves and past the thick, thick fog, you will find an old, creaking boat. A giant ship with cursed runes carved into its side, with pitch black sails that nearly look like the dead of night.” 

“What’s that gotta do with the pirate?” A kid asks, huffing with impatience. Her friend beside him smacks him in the arm. 

“He’s creating ath- aft- atmosphere!” She struggles through the word, but still nails it, looking up at Wilbur with pride. Wil gives a little nod of approval. The kids go quiet again. Wilbur goes on. 

“It is said that this ship belongs to the most deadly pirate on the seas. The most ruthless, the most deadly, the most wild soul that’s ever sailed out on the ocean. He has more than a few names, with his reputation, but the one that you know is the Golden Traitor.” 

The kids lean forward with attention, Wilbur smiling wide. 

“That name holds a specific story. Particularly one from his past.” Wilbur wags a finger at them, watching their eyes follow it with interest. “Now you see, the Golden Traitor wasn’t always a pirate. He was once a part of the Navy, just like the commodore. He did well in his role, and rose up the ranks with ease, becoming a well-known officer at a rather young age. It was said that he knew the sea like no other, and whatever boat he sailed, it flew through the water like the wind.” 

“However, that role he was in? It did not last. One day, without warning, he turned against his crew, betrayed his duty as a sailor within the Navy, and turned to a life of piracy. Hence the ‘traitor’ part of his name.”

“But where does the ‘golden’ come from?” One of the children asks, everyone nodding along. 

Wilbur lowers his head with a grin. “I knew you’d ask that. There’s more than a few things that might’ve given the golden part. It’s said he has golden hair. Blond and yellow like the color of a golden sunrise.” 

“Like mine!” One girl exclaims, pulling at her ponytail. All the kids around her stare in awe. 

“Yes!” Wilbur nods. “It’s also said that he’s got a liking for gold. Nearly obsessed with it. Why, on the day he betrayed the Navy and became a pirate, there’s a rumor that he had gone and stolen one of their ships, with the cargo itself being piles and piles of gold. He took it all for himself, and sailed away into the sea, beginning his story there with a giant pile of loot.” 

“Pirate.” Someone says, but it is not cruel. Only an observant fact, a title given with an amazed look. 

“Pirate.” Wilbur repeats, his voice soft. “Even today, he still sails the seven seas, forever searching for more treasure, more adventure, and more danger.” 

The children make noises of wonder, imagining themselves a nearly heroic picture of a man at sea, a captain who travels the waters as he likes and does what he pleases. It’s an incredible thought, Wilbur will admit. There’s a reason he himself was so curious about pirates at a young age. Even now, his curiosity leads him to track down stories like these, rumors and tales passed down from the passing folk in town. 

Now he passes these same stories onto the youth. 

Which, in hindsight, might’ve not been a good idea. 

“Now- uh, I do want you all to remember, while a pirate does sound ‘cool’, they are very dangerous and not to be trusted.” Wilbur quickly says, trying to force a sense of scolding onto his tone. “The Golden Traitor may be rich in loot, but he is also a wanted, deadly criminal. And we all know where the criminals go.” 

“To the gallows!” A child screams, and the room is enveloped into chaos once more, Wilbur entirely losing control of their attention. They’ve gotten their story, now they speak to one another and begin playing pirates, the girl with blond hair from earlier insisting she be captain. 

Wilbur winces a bit at being the cause of all the excitement, knowing full well Niki is going to be left with the mess when she comes back. And speak of the devil, as he looks to the door, he finds the woman standing there, arms crossed over her chest with a fond sort of exasperation on her expression. Wil gives a sorry look, and stands from his seat, moving across the room filled with hyperactive children. 

Niki’s been a familiar face around Wilbur these days. She only just got the job of looking after the children a few weeks prior, and in those weeks, they’ve grown to be good friends. Enough so where Wil covers Niki’s shift in the moments where she has something urgent to attend to. 

Wil doesn’t know everything about her life, but from what they’ve shared, she often has to run home to look after a sickly little brother. She works to keep them both afloat, but worries at leaving him alone, so when the opportunity presents itself, she will run off to check on him, and convince Wilbur to stay in her spot. 

Wilbur never minds it. He’s glad to do anything for her, especially if it means he gets to have fun with the kids for a good hour. Niki always says she’ll pay him back somehow, but they never do get to that part. Wilbur supposes one day he’ll cash in the favors for something big. Maybe he’ll force her to buy him a drink. He would enjoy some free drinks. 

“What did you tell them now?” Niki asks, tilting her head to the side, a bit of her bangs falling through the bandana wrapped over her head. She lifts her hands up to adjust it, pulling back that pitch black hair with a careful touch, as if she’ll ruin it if she keeps her hand against the strands for too long. “You’ve got them all riled up.” 

“Well, technically, I didn’t mean to.” Wilbur stands beside her, looking out at the chaos of children running around the room. “They were just so persistent to hear about pirates, and they knew I had a story, so…” 

“So they weaseled it out of you.” Niki says, and Wilbur’s shoulders droop as he mutters out an apology. Niki only laughs. “It’s alright. Gives the day some energy, I suppose. Which pirate did you tell them about? The Prophet? Foxglove?” 

Wilbur barely manages to keep his face neutral at the names, trying to not let her know that he’s heard plenty of stories about those titles and the pirates who they belong to. 

“The Golden Traitor.” He says, quick and simple. 

Niki gives a noise of appreciation. “The Angel.” She speaks as if the man might be a saint, even though Wilbur knows for a fact that the tales say otherwise. 

“Angel of Death.” He corrects, a near bitterness on his tongue. Niki glances at him with something amused. He keeps his eyes firmly on the children playing pirates. Part of him wishes so badly to speak of the Angel’s crimes, his kills and his reputation, but he knows that’s not exactly a normal topic to bring up out of the blue. His talk of pirates is only something he’s allowed to do in passing with travelers he will never see again. 

“Went for the big one, did you?” Niki chuckles. “Oh, they’re going to be talking about this for weeks.” 

“That is what I’m afraid of.” Wilbur mutters, only just realizing the consequences of his actions. “My aunt will be furious...” He holds his hands to his face, dragging them down his cheeks. 

“I don’t like your aunt.” Niki declares, turning towards the hallway and having Wilbur follow her out. They hover by the doorway like that, in view of the kids, yet still having some semblance of privacy for a conversation. “Every time you speak of her, it's like she's only gotten worse. Can't you move away from her?” 

“I want to.” Wilbur hums. “She’s unpleasant to share a house with." 

“I think it's more than that.” 

“She's terrible.” 

Niki’s lips curve into a smile. “More than that?” 

“A horrid bitch.”

She laughs, Wilbur laughing with her. 

“I do want to go. Find a place of my own. I just don’t know where to head off to.” Wilbur confesses, leaning his back against the edge of the doorway. “I’m finally of age to travel the world, and yet I haven't got a clue of where to even start.” 

Niki makes a thoughtful expression, looking at Wilbur with narrowed eyes. 

“You could travel with my friend.” She says, very softly, so quiet that Wilbur nearly does not hear it. 

Wilbur blinks. “...sorry?”

“My friend.” Niki repeats, a little more confident. She gives a happy sigh. “He’s more of family, if anything. I know him well. He’s meant to arrive here in town fairly soon.” 

Wilbur raises his eyebrows in surprise. “So sudden? That's convenient timing.” 

“Well, I asked him to come help me with something weeks ago.” Niki admits, lowering her head in a nearly shameful way. Wilbur assumes it is surrounding her brother and his condition. He presses no further. “He’s only just arriving, but he won’t stay long. You could go with him. You should. He’s always liked traveling, and I trust him with my life. You'd be safe on his ship.” 

“Hm.” Wilbur considers it for a moment, the idea sailing out with a near complete stranger, despite not having a single clue of how to sail or even live at sea. He’s never even been on a boat before. His aunt says it’s bad luck, so he should be discouraged at such a suggestion. But the idea of something so new is thrilling. Interesting. A grand difference from the dullness this town holds.

Wilbur has always had his escapes from dying from boredom. The first was chasing down talk of pirates at sea, soaking in their tales of bloodshed and crime. The second was meeting Niki, sharing those very same tales with her. This just might be the third. 

“What’s his name?” Wilbur asks. 

Niki pauses for a second. “Tech.” 

“Tech?” 

“It’s a nickname.” She explains, a loving smile spreading on her face. “There are stranger names out there, don't be rude.” 

“There are.” Wilbur agrees, shrugging one shoulder. “I suppose I could go meet this ‘Tech’ when he gets here?” 

“I’ll introduce you.” Niki nods. “He'd like you. Meet me by the docks in the morning three days from now. He should be there by then.”

With that, Wilbur nods back.

He heads home soon after that, leaving Niki to the rest of her shift in watching over the mess of screaming children, who are convinced they are the best pirate of the seas. (Even despite never having sailed at sea at all.)

Wilbur leaves the daycare and heads through the town, running quickly to catch his own shift; a job at the local fish shop, gutting and putting away fish bits. 

It’s not a desirable job. It certainly wasn’t his first choice. But it’s a good chance for money, and that’s all he really needs. All he needs is a chance.

He’s been saving up for the past few months, collecting it all in a satchel tucked underneath his mattress back at home. When the time comes, he’ll take that satchel with him and make a run for it. It’ll be a heavy weight on his shoulder, no doubt, but it’ll fund him for a new life somewhere else. Or at least, that's what he hopes. Quietly, he knows he's never had the courage to really go for it. 

His aunt has always been stingy regarding any money he’s made. She’s always been condescending on his dreams, kicking at his goals with a cruel, stern sense of reality. She says that the money he makes could do them both good somewhere else, rather than silly dreams on the sea, and she takes it for bills, for money, for food, for medicine, the list goes on and on. The more it happens, the more Wilbur knows it’s only an excuse for her to take what he’s made, to set him back a step. He never argues, though. Screaming back at her never did him much good, only hurt his ears and throat. 

Instead, he's learnt to bide his time. Instead, he’s tucked two coins away from every piece of profit he’s made, letting it pile up into a saving grace. He lets his aunt take the rest, spend it all on whatever she deems it necessary for, but the little he gets, he adds it to the satchel. 

And that satchel is going to be a ticket out. 

Wilbur hears the loud bellow of his boss calling for a new basket, and he drowns it out with a chop of a knife against a cutting board, the smell of fish sticking to his fingers. The day goes on, and Wilbur works with quiet plans within his head, and small, racing hopes always living on in his imagination. 

When Wilbur was younger, he was told that he was too much of a handful to deal with. 

Apparently, he had a habit of running off. Away to the docks, away to the shore, it happened nearly every single day, without fail. His aunt had to lock him in the house more often than not, but he always somehow slipped out, one way or another. He’d break the window, break the locks, tear up the floor and dig a hole through there, and then he’d always return back to the sea. 

It was quite a problem. Part of the reason why his aunt feels she has to be repaid for her work. He never stayed still as a child. As he grew up, he learnt to settle down and stopped running off to the beach, but as a kid, he definitely gave his aunt more than a fair share of headaches. 

To be fair, Wilbur just loved the sea. He loved the sight of it, the smell of it, the noise of waves crashing down again and again like the rhythm of a heartbeat. Even now, in the spare moments where he can make his way to the docks, it still feels familiar, and it still gives him that same fond emotion. As if just by staying in the ocean, he will gather enough courage to achieve anything he desires. 

There on the shore, when he was little, that is where Dream had always found him. That’s where they met. 

He thinks it was a chance encounter, really. Dream is hardly that much older than him, only a few years, but as a child, the difference was apparent. He was a teen returning a lost kid back home, and they both thought it’d be nothing more after that. 

But then, it always happened again. And Dream, having joined the Navy young, with his mother being a high ranking officer, always found him at the same spot by the waters. So he continued doing the same, and always went to return Wilbur back to his aunt. 

That’s not to say Wilbur ever made it easy for him, though. More than once he remembers being chased across the sand, Dream screaming his name and trying to tackle him so he may drag him home before sundown. Things shifted a bit as they both grew into their own, but the routine always sort of stuck. He’d always be escorted back, time and time again. 

It started as a teen hauling back a kid. Then it was a man dragging back a stubborn teenager. It became an officer bringing back a foolish man, then a commodore walking a tired soul back home, who always went with just a bit of grumbling, now, rather than entire dramatic escape attempts. 

They have their routine, and everyone’s gotten used to it. No one else goes to get Wil on the shore, only Dream does. And Wilbur always returns back home, one way or another, even if he is bitter on the way back. 

It’s not as if he’s got anywhere else to really go, honestly. The only house he has is his aunt’s and she’s settled in where she is. 

He’s asked her before why they don’t move anywhere else, maybe even farther from the sea if he really did give her such a headache on constantly breaking out to go see it. The only answer he got to that was that the house that they live in is paid by her husband. She cannot afford to go anywhere else, so that’s why they stay. And besides, if they are being paid to live here, why move at all? Why leave? 

She insists to Wilbur that he should stay, too. That he should take on the house for her, take care of her for all she’s done. For the kindness she showed in taking him in, he should repay it, when she’s older, and watch over her for the rest of her days. 

As grateful Wilbur is for her not letting him drown off in the waters when he was little, and for taking him in when he was just a child on her doorstep, he refuses to ever let his future result to just being that. 

Quietly, he hopes for something a little more- 

Daring. 

Sometimes, his curiosities towards the sea and all the dangers it holds causes him to yearn a bit. Sometimes, when he’s giving earnest questions to passing merchants, he gets to hear of the pirates out in the ocean, battling curses and finding treasure, and he can’t help but wish to have a piece of that too. 

It’s crazy. That, he knows. Pirates go to the gallows, and criminals have no place amongst the world. But even so, he can’t help but imagine. 

What would it be like to have that sort of freedom? To travel the world as he wished? To go out into the sea, to raid and pillage, to be wild and unconstrained for the rest of his days?

He knows that pirates are not good people. He is a good, honest man, that’s what he tells himself, so he also tells himself that he could never be a pirate. 

But it never stops the thoughts. It never stops him from wondering, from searching, from still sneaking out to the sea. 

Sometimes, he wishes he was pulled into that sort of life. Given an excuse to snap, given a reason to live a life at sea, a life full of only danger and adventure at every turn. 

But just as soon as he wishes, he comes to his senses, and realizes his place. He is not a pirate. He’s a young man in a simple town who lives with an old wretched woman who took him in as a baby. He’s a normal civilian, with a soft singing voice and just an unusual strong love for pirate stories. 

He is simply just human. 

Pirates can be anything but. 

Pirates, the most well known ones, can be something a little less human, over time. 

Now those are less known rumors. Those are passed whispers that Wilbur can never quite fully hear, never quite fully believe. From the quiet tales he’s been able to catch, he’s been told that some of the men at sea are not men at all. Rather, the sea changes them. Their way of life, their routines of constant danger, it changes them. It is a blessing or a curse, depending on the point of view. 

Wilbur doesn’t know if the rumors hold any truth, but sometimes, when he is bored, he likes to let his mind wander, and he goes to think of pirates with glowing eyes and echoing voices, their souls being one with the sea. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d be one with the sea as well. Ruthless, daring, and free. 

(He’s always been too curious for his own good. 

He’s always loved a good story.)

The days pass easily enough. 

Wilbur wakes and goes to the sea, only for a quick visit. He watches the boats sail in and sail out, and he leaves to visit Niki, finding the entire daycare to be a mess of children playing pirates. Miraculously enough, despite all of them causing such chaos, his aunt hasn’t heard a single thing of it. He’s glad for it. 

(Unbeknownst to him, Niki made all the children swear a ‘pirate oath’ promising they will only play as pirates within the daycare. She’s given the bribe of having Wilbur around more often if they keep the oath, so the secret is well kept.) 

Niki stays at her shift this time around, and they both watch the kids, Wilbur being pestered to give yet another story, and eventually cracking to the pressure of the children’s excitement and to his own. 

This time, he tells them of the Pink Delilah. 

He tells them of her signature bright pink hair, of her travels at sea, and of her tales of being a spy within illegal pirate markets. He tells them what he’s been told, and from what he’s been told, the pirate is an expert at slipping into towns unnoticed, and has a reputation for bringing down rival crews from the inside out. It’s part of the reason for her name. She appears kind and sweet, like a flower. Until she puts a knife into your back and steals what treasure you’ve got. 

“Pirate.” A kid says, with a wide smile on his face. 

“Pirate.” Niki repeats, laughing a little with the word. The kids then play on that day pretending to be spies, acting out betrayals over and over until everyone’s been backstabbed at least twice. 

Wilbur finds it all to be endearing. He runs off to work, and takes extra shifts until night falls, then comes home to a grumpy aunt and a cold house. He sleeps, he wakes, and repeats the day. 

He visits the sea once more, at the docks. He doesn’t quite go too close to it, but he does wander near, nearer than he did the day before. The idea of escaping out into those waves in just a few days gives him a rush of energy, and he uses it to run all the way back to Niki, bursting in with an overwhelming need to talk. 

This time, he doesn’t even protest at telling stories about the pirates. The idea of freedom being so near has coaxed him to be a little more daring, and he answers their questions freely, telling them whatever they wish. He tells them of the Golden Traitor, of all his different titles, he tells them of his ship, of his crew, of the treasures he’s supposedly found. He tells them of the Blood God, albeit a bit carefully considering the bloodshed that the pirate has caused. He tells them of Foxglove, of Two-tone, of The Prophet. 

When his time is up, the kids whine and cry for him to stay, and he apologizes over and over, having to pull children off his legs in order to run off to work. The joy sticks to him as he runs to begin his shift, but as night falls, slight regret begins to set in. 

Maybe he should be careful of what he says. Children won’t think badly of him for giving a good story to listen to, but adults are different. He trusts Niki, loves her to death for being so understanding and kind, but it doesn’t shake that wariness that he’s going to suffer consequences fairly soon. With freedom so close within reach in the form of a boat on a docks, he doesn’t want to risk it all. 

He shakes off the nerves, blames it on the fact that everything's coming up to a high point. In just a day, he will be stepping onto a boat and sailing out into the world. In just a day, he will leave this town behind, and head off to search for something more. 

Everything will work out. It has to. 

As much as he repeats it, it doesn’t quite get rid of the fear, so he visits the sea after work, rather than go straight home. He knows he’ll get yelled at for it, but he doesn’t quite care so much now that he’ll be rid of that damn lady fairly soon. 

The sand on the beach is a familiar sight. The moon is nearly full up above his head, and as he stands on the edge of the shore, only a few feet from the water, he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

“It’s a late night, Wilbur.” Dream gives as a greeting, and Wilbur turns his head with a glare, getting an annoying grin in return. “Shouldn’t you be at home?” 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Wilbur dryly responds, turning his back to Dream and trying to focus on the ocean waves. The water has always given him a sense of calm, but now he can’t get anything if there’s a particular officer demanding his attention.  

“I am working.” Dream nods, coming to stand beside Wilbur underneath the cool night. “I’m keeping watch on the shore.” 

“I’m not going to go running off into the waves.” Wilbur promises, but it’s a weak promise. 

“Sorry to say I don’t feel so convinced about that.” 

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Wilbur snorts without humor, and Dream laughs with him, shaking his head. “I’ll go home right now.” 

“Then I’ll walk you back.” 

Wilbur makes an unhappy groan. “Do you need to?”

“It’s my job, Wilbur.” 

“To be my personal escort?”

“I mean,” Dream shrugs, circling around Wil and blocking his view of the sea. “Basically? With the amount of times I’ve done it, I might as well be paid for this.” 

“You don’t get paid, though.” 

“Maybe you should start tipping me for my service, then.” 

Wilbur turns his nose up at that, and turns around, stomping off back to town. “Absolutely not.” 

“Hey!” Dream calls out, quickly following at his heels. “I’m a poor man, Wilbur! I need every coin I can get-”

“You are literally the commodore-!”

“-times have been hard-”

“Oh, fucking liar.” 

Dream wheezes with a shake of his head, and Wilbur huffs, the two of them heading back onto solid ground to get Wilbur back to where he belongs. 

Wilbur ignores the pang of pain within his chest when turning his back to the sea. Even with years of practice, it never gets easier.

Wilbur wakes slowly on his last day in town. 

He sleeps in late and gets an earful for it, and he waves his aunt off as he runs out the door, escaping her shrill voice echoing out into the street. He heads through town with a jump in his step and a slight excitement beginning to unfurl in his heart. 

He’s going to be leaving. 

Tomorrow morning, he will be at the docks, and he will be leaving. 

The idea is thrilling. More and more, he thinks of the sea, of adventure and danger and all the things that could come with finally exploring out past this little town on the shore. He knows that all his expectations will only ever be fulfilled with a life of piracy, but that doesn’t really stop his mind. He tells himself he will not become a pirate, but yet he still wishes for the experience of being one anyhow. 

Maybe he’ll become a merchant. Or join the navy, become a sailor. Anything to stay close to the sea. Anything to finally let himself be near those waters. 

He hasn’t even stepped foot on a boat, yet he’s so confident he will love it more than life itself. He’s setting himself up for disappointment, and he can’t even bother to care. It’s all just too exciting. 

For so long, he’s always been trying to run, now he will be able to get away. 

Wilbur means to head off to the daycare to talk with Niki over any details, but as he gets there, he doesn’t find her. Instead, in her place, there is an old grumpy man with a squinty sort of gaze, who seems to be covering her shift. 

Wilbur asks where she’s gone, and he’s told  that she simply just couldn’t come in for today, something having come up. The news is slightly worrying, but Wil assumes it must be her brother, with his sickness growing worse. He’s tempted to head to Niki himself and help out anyway he can, but he never did find out where she lived. He leaves the daycare with the children screaming his name, and he apologizes for the lack of stories on that morning. 

He heads through the streets with a bit of free time on his hands. Usually, he takes up the morning by visiting Niki and watching over the children, but now, Niki’s busy, and he’d rather not bother that old man who’s taken her spot. 

Wil instead heads off to a nearby pub. 

Most times, when he visits a bar, it’s at the late hours of the night, where most of the men inside are drunk and tired, and are willing to answer any pestering questions for a free drink. That’s how he’s gotten most of his stories and information on pirates, and that’s how he’s grown a skill in poking people with the right questions to hear what he wants. 

Here, at this time, no one’s nearly drunk enough to give him the time of day, but Wilbur still decides to give his best and pass the time with the effort anyhow. He buys drinks and comes up to tables, and gets waved off within a single minute. With a few failed attempts, he ends up stealing a server’s apron, and walks through the busy bar pretending as if he belongs. 

“Here are your drinks, men.” Wilbur will say, coming up to a table with nothing but a cheeky grin on his face. He looks up, and the moment he knows that the ones at the table are not from around town, he gives an expression of shock. “Say! Are you all from out of town?”

And the response will always be different, then. They’re merchants, they’re sailors, they're travelers mapping out the sea. Then Wilbur will always lean in, face full of interest, eyes wide, and ask-

“Got any good stories to tell?” When a bit of hesitation rises up, he adds- “Surely you do, if you’ve been out at sea! I’ve never been on a boat, but I’ve heard plenty of stories before, from all these people that come in.” 

“What sort of stories?” They’ll ask, a little bit of curiosity in their tones. 

“Well, it’s the sea. What would you think?” Wilbur leans closer, voice hushed in a near whisper. “Pirates.” He’ll hiss it out like it’s a distasteful sort of word, and if he’s lucky, he’ll have reined them in to complain and spill out all their experiences right there on the table. 

No prideful man will ever give up a chance to insult what criminals they’ve passed by, and no sorrowful man will ever pass up a chance to lament over what they’ve lost. Wilbur will listen with an agreeable tone, and he’ll leave not looking like a stranger who wanted stories, but as a passing server who was just curious. 

He does this for the better part of the morning, and just as he’s about to go, one more table left, he comes across an unusual sort of man. 

Someone with a sword on his hip and a gun strapped to his side. His footsteps make hardly any noise as he slips through the bar to sit near the back, and as Wilbur stares, he notices that underneath the bandana on his head, there are stripes of white hair amongst the brown. 

Wilbur recognizes the look. Colored hair is unusual on its own, but it’s also become something of a bad omen, everyone knows it.

Because pirates are known for colored hair. 

And Wilbur knows which pirate this is. 

He walks over with a near rush in his steps, almost stumbling over his feet, and as he gets closer, he finds more and more evidence that the man at that table in the corner is exactly who he thinks it is. There are thick, brown gloves over his hands, and a bright orange gem hanging from his left ear. 

Foxglove, Wilbur almost says out loud, his mouth shaping out the word, but not saying it whole, because he is then drowned out by a rush of noise, a burst of soldiers suddenly making their way through the front doors. The wood of the doors slams back into the wall with a slam, making every head turn that direction. 

“PIRATE!” One of them yells, pointing an accusing finger right at the man, and Wilbur watches as the bar falls apart into chaos, with Foxglove rising to his feet and drawing his gun more quickly than Wilbur can duck. 

A gunshot rings out, people screaming and jumping for cover, and Wilbur falls onto the ground, slamming into the floorboards with a grunt. The soldiers fire back the best they can, but Foxglove is a quick sort of man, and he’s across the room before Wilbur can even crawl underneath a table. 

“Can’t a guy just get a drink!?” Foxglove yells, sounding annoyed, and he hops over tables with a startling ease, as if it’s no trouble at all. He jumps up high into the air and kicks down two soldiers on the way down, then goes for the door, zipping out in a blur of movement. 

Wilbur rips off his apron and throws it to the side, quickly crawling away to the backdoor and making his way out through there. It’s already open from a few people escaping out from it, and Wilbur stumbles outside with people’s panicked yells still surrounding him whole. 

He can hear another gunshot ring out on the other side of the building, and while he knows he should let it be, and just head off to his shift for one last day of work, he ends up running after the noise instead. 

He runs down the road faster than he’s ever ran before, and he weaves through the alleyways he knows well, listening to the sound of men yelling out orders to catch the pirate. Wilbur climbs up an old rickety ladder on the side of a shop, and he pulls himself up to the roof, scrambling to get across and get a good view. 

From here, he finds the swarm of soldiers rushing through the street, people huddling within doorways with wide eyes. From here, he can see the small bit of chaos at the front of the pub, people coming out unharmed, but shaken. From here, he spots a blur of movement that belongs to a pirate. 

Wilbur knows he should stop. Knows he should turn around and go back to where he belongs.

But his heart-- it screams for a good chase. So he runs, jumps over to the next roof, following the men down on the street, trying to get ahead so that he can find Foxglove first. 

He knows that the pirate will most likely be hoping to lose the men further within the town, in the alleyways, so Wilbur goes there. He climbs down from the roof a bit further ahead, then makes a few turns, running and running until he no longer hears the men calling out for the arrest of the pirate, and he no longer hears the panic of the crowd seeing a chase. He searches through dark paths with crumbling walls and puddles of dirty mud underneath his feet. A few of the poorer people of the town sit to the side on the ground, eyes curious as he runs past, but they don’t bother him, and he doesn’t bother them. 

The alleys don’t give much to see. Wilbur keeps his eyes open and scans across for any sort of familiar looking faces, but there is nothing to spot. Only the quiet, run-down part of the town. 

As he turns the corner with a panting breath, he begins to think he’s lost Foxglove entirely and just wasted his time and soiled his boots in the mud. 

Except Wilbur then finds the man right there in his path, and he nearly runs right into him, and the gun he’s holding. 

The pirate points his barrel at Wilbur’s throat with a click that digs its way into Wil’s ears, and Wilbur freezes perfectly still, gasping for breath and instantly raising his shaking hands up into the air. 

“Wait, wait-!” He gasps, his voice choked and without any air. He scolds himself internally for ever daring to go after a pirate. Why was he such a fool? What did he think he’d gain from that? Darn his impulse decisions!

Foxglove only narrows his eyes, pushing his gun forward and making Wilbur take a hesitant step back. 

“You’re not Navy, are you?” He asks, and from here, Wilbur can see the unusually sharp canines in the teeth of his scowl. They look like the teeth of an animal. A fox, maybe, but that might just be Wilbur’s scattered thoughts at play. “If you were, you would have a gun. And maybe like, a bit of common sense.” 

“I’m not an officer.” Wilbur agrees, tilting his chin up with a heavy swallow. The gun on his skin feels too cold. “I’m not.” 

“And yet you were still jumping over the roof to go after me.” Foxglove drawls, making an unimpressed sort of expression. His eyes are strange, now that Wilbur’s seeing them so closely. They’re too bright. Too- yellow. 

Like a fox, Wilbur's mind supplies again. Fitting to the name. 

Wilbur looks away from the man, lowering his eyes down to the dirt ground with a shaky breath. After a few still seconds, Foxglove’s gaze turns surprised as a realization seems to come upon him. 

“Wait a minute.” He says, the gun shifting against Wilbur’s throat, before leaving entirely. Wilbur breathes in deep, stumbling back to make distance. He looks up hesitantly to find Foxglove looking nearly guilty, wincing slightly as he rubs at his cheek. 

“Ohhh, that’s not-” The pirate mutters, and he scrambles to put away his gun, as if wanting to make Wilbur forget he even had it pointed at him. 

“What?” Wilbur breathes out, and Foxglove looks back up, those eyes stabbing into him and leaving him with apprehension. Wil presses his lips tightly shut. 

“Okay.” Foxglove holds his palms up, stepping back as if it’s now Wilbur who’s got the gun. “This never happened. You did not see me.” He gives a nervous, stuttering laugh. “Oh man, if- if what she said was true, the captain is going to kill me if he finds out I did that.” 

Wilbur blinks. He wants to ask who’s “she”, but his throat seems to have gotten stuck, and no words are coming out. 

Foxglove doesn’t seem to care about his confusion or panic. He points at Wilbur with a gloved finger. 

“You don’t know me!” He yells, Wilbur nodding right away. “This never happened!” He says again, and then he runs off, turning around the corner and leaving without a single noise, leaving Wil to stand there in bafflement. 

Wilbur goes home. 

The soldiers still swarm the streets looking for the runaway pirate, but as he makes the walk back to his house, it seems like they’re all turning up with nothing. Foxglove is a hard man to catch. Running after him on foot would never give results, Wilbur knows that much from what tales he’s been told. 

He knows he’s still got a shift to catch back at the fish shop, but he leaves it be and finds himself at his doorstep instead, sneaking inside with careful steps, trying to be just as silent as the pirate he had encountered earlier. His aunt is sleeping the day away inside her room, and Wilbur breathes a sigh of relief at the sight. He takes the chance to take his satchel from its hiding spot, and he changes his clothes into something a bit more suited for travel. 

As he’s pulling a coat over his shoulders, he stares down at his bed and tries to think of what exactly possessed him to go running off after a criminal on the street. He’s never done something like that before. The most trouble he’s ever gotten into was sneaking out to see the ocean, but he’s done that so many times that it no longer feels like trouble, and rather just a bad habit. 

Maybe it’s all the pirate stories. All the tales and rumors, it must’ve gone to his head, and with his ticket out being so close, he went for something exciting. 

Maybe it was the fact he recognized Foxglove. He knew that haircolor, those striking pieces of white. He knew no normal sailor would carry a gun and a sword like that, and no normal man would walk so quietly, so he thought that information would make him special. Make him different, in some sort of way. 

He sighs. Maybe the reason doesn’t matter. Foxglove is gone and has probably caught a boat ride out of here by now. Wilbur won’t see him again, but at least that single meeting will keep its place in his mind. A little story of his own, a pirate’s gun to his throat after having run a chase across the rooftops. 

Taking the satchel of gold, Wilbur pulls the strap over his shoulder and goes for the front door, not giving a single glance back. There’s no hesitation as he leaves the house, and he walks off into town, buying a room at an inn.

He won’t be sleeping underneath the same roof as his aunt tonight. He won’t be doing so ever again. By this time tomorrow, he will be gone, Wilbur’s made up his mind. Even if Niki’s friend doesn’t pull through, he’ll buy his way onto another boat anyhow, and he will go out to sea. That’s decided. 

Daylight is still bright as Wilbur gets his room, so he leaves his satchel behind a locked bedroom door, and travels out to visit the sea just one more time, before he ends up heading out to explore its waters. 

The beach is empty and a little cold with a gust of wind, and as Wil stares up at the midday sky, he finds clouds approaching along the horizon. It could just be a bit of rain, but it could also be a bad storm. Wilbur doesn’t like the sight of it, and what it could mean. 

He imagines raging waves and booming thunder in his ears, and he closes his eyes and imagines the wind on his face to be the same wind out there on the sea. His heart aches inside his chest, and when he opens his eyes back up, the world feels a little frail. 

Or maybe it’s just him who feels that way. It’d make sense if so. He has no love for this town, but change is always hard, especially for a boy who’s had everything be the same for an insufferably long time. In a way, he’s always felt trapped here, honestly. Stifled by his aunt, stifled by Dream, stifled by never being allowed to swim out into the ocean waves. 

For once, he will have more. It’s a wonderful thought. 

He walks back to the inn as the sun begins to set, and he takes an early night. He sleeps on an unfamiliar bed with his satchel sitting beside him, and he dreams of the barrel of a gun at his neck, and the noise of ocean waves echoing within his ears. 

He wakes up to the sound of far off screaming. 

Faint yelling and explosions ring out from the street outside, and Wilbur jolts up with wide eyes, turning to his window with a held breath. He climbs off his mattress and pulls the curtains open, and finds a crowd of people running down the road, all of them looking hesitantly behind them, towards the docks. 

Towards the ocean. 

Wilbur notes that it’s just barely morning. The sun has risen up, but clouds have come to block it out, so everything is held in a dim, dreary light. Fitting, for all the despair in the town. 

Another explosion rings out, like the noise of a canon, and Wilbur remembers Foxglove’s face, his eyes staring him down. He remembers what he’s heard of pirates attacking towns on the shores, and he remembers that he had a certain someone to meet on the docks later on today. 

“Niki.” Wilbur chokes out, moving away from the window and quickly grabbing his satchel off the bed. He pulls it over his head and goes out the door, leaving the key within the room. 

The inn is in disarray with people running about, and as Wilbur rushes to head outside, he can hear passing conversations, swirling around over his ears. 

“What’s going on-?!” 

“Grab your things, go, grab them-!”

“Hurry now!” 

“It’s pirates!”

Wilbur sprints out into the road outside, bumping shoulders and finding the air has become cold and moist. He comes to a stop in the middle of the chaos, and stares ahead with wide eyes, dread collecting underneath his ribs.  

“Oh no.” He whispers out, watching smoke rise out from where the docks used to be. 

If this truly is a pirate attack, then Wilbur knows he needs to run. He needs to go with the crowd, run further inland, so that he won’t become a victim to the violence that’s bound to come. Pirates can be a cruel sort. What they come for, they’ll have, and Wilbur has no doubt that they’re hoping for something valuable, without any concern of who stands in their way. 

Despite the knowledge, against all his common sense, Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath and makes a stupid choice anyway. He pushes his way through the crowd and breaks out into a sprint, making a beeline right to where most of the danger is playing out. 

Fire and smoke lifts into the air as Wilbur runs, and he feels the heat of the flames and the cold of the wind settle onto his skin all the while. He tries to head to the docks, screaming Niki’s name, but another explosion rings out as he gets near, and he jumps for cover just in the nick of time. 

Debris flies over his head as his heart races in his chest. Thinking hard, he changes tactics, and then runs the other direction, going to the naval base up on the mountain by the shore. There, he knows he’ll find Dream, and maybe once he’s in there, he can plead for help in trying to find Niki. 

He expects to see fighting as he runs up the hill. He expects to see a battle, to see an army against an army, with all the fire and chaos that’s in view on the docks. There’s an unfamiliar ship at shore firing cannonballs away into navy boats, but there’s no soldiers to be seen as he climbs higher and higher. 

Instead, Wilbur finds silence once he reaches the top. 

All the guards are gone from the base, and it’s eerily silent as he makes his way towards the entrance. He walks in through the front doors expecting someone to shout at him to leave, but no one says anything, and all he hears is an echoing sound of a crow’s call. 

“Dream!” Wilbur calls, his voice sounding so small against the thick stone walls. “I need help!” The smell of smoke reaches his nose as he gets no answer, and he turns away, walking down an empty hall, footsteps feeling too loud in his ears. 

This is a bad sign. Wilbur knows it. Many of the men here would’ve gone to protect the town, he knows that, but surely not all of them. They would have to be somewhere. He searches around, hoping to find them. 

Sure enough, he does find them. 

More accurately, he finds bodies. 

The first one is laid out across the ground, a gun still held in his hand, and a wound cut across his throat. The second is laid up against the wall, a splatter of blood painted across the stone wall, red soaking his shirt. The ones after don’t look any better, cut to pieces by a blade, and Wilbur stares in horror at the sight, before forcing himself to look away. He holds a hand over his mouth, thankful that he's not the squeamish sort. 

If all these men are dead, then where would Dream be? 

He can’t be dead. 

He can’t be-

Wilbur moves, panic curling up within his throat and making it hard to breathe, causing him to wheeze just a bit. He runs up sets of stairs and jogs past bloody halls, keeping his eyes forward and trying to not linger on all the men who had fallen in futile battle. 

He knows of a few pirates who would be able to cause such death like this, but he is hoping to the gods above that he is just wrong, and that there was an army of pirates who had done this, rather than just one.

As he reaches the top of the next set of stairs, the hallway still empty, still stained with death, Wilbur feels desperation begin to claw up at his skin. His eyes burn as he gasps in a trembling breath, and he freezes still as he just barely catches the noise of quiet conversation from nearby. 

He jerks his head towards it with hope. Following the sound best he can, it ends up leading him to a half-open window at the side of the hall, a perfect view of a stone ledge outside. The clouds in the sky have begun to grow dark, and Wilbur shivers with a slight chill in the wind coming through. He pushes at the window, creaking it further open. 

His breath hitches as looks outside, and finds the sight of Dream cornered by a single man. 

A pirate. 

A pirate with a bloody sword in hand, and a long pink braid hanging behind his back. A pirate with scars laced all across his arms and face, and a gun strapped to his thigh. A pirate with four dead bodies at his feet, and several gleaming gold rings along his fingers. 

Wilbur watches with terror as the Blood God stands across from Dream, his back turned to Wil, his voice low against the morning air. 

“It’s already been a rather long night.” He yawns, stretching his bloody hands up to the sky, as if he’s just woken up. As if it’s just a slow day. “Can’t you make it a quick morning?” 

Dream’s face sours with a narrow glare. He has no weapon in hand, or at least not from what Wilbur can see. There are fallen guns amongst the dead men, but that is in range of the pirate, and Wilbur doesn’t think he will be going for them anytime soon. 

“We can strike a deal.” Dream offers, his voice steady despite being in the face of death. “You can spare the town.” It’s almost a plea, in the way he says it. 

The Blood God huffs. He walks away from the dead men on the ground, and makes his way towards Dream, circling around him like he’s still considering whether his bloodlust is satisfied yet. 

“I could.” He says, tilting his head to the side, Dream staring straight ahead with clenched fists. “I could leave the rest alive. I could go back on my ship, return to my captain, and leave you as you are.” 

Dream glances towards the pirate at his side, and he stands impossibly more stiffly than he did before, as if just by looking right at him, he’s only made his chances worse. 

Wilbur leans closer to the ledge of the window, straining his ears to catch their voices, trying to see every single detail, since he might be the only one left in this building to witness it. His heart slams against his ribs with so much fear that it nearly hurts, but he doesn’t falter. 

He’s terrified, from top to bottom, but there is still such a thrill that comes with seeing a pirate up close. Especially this one. This one, he’s always been a bit scared of, and yet he can’t help but be in awe. The Blood God is a merciless sort of pirate, and that’s why Wilbur’s always been so intrigued by him. How could one man be so brutal, so deadly? How could one pirate be so dangerous?

Why is this pirate, of all pirates, here?

“But.” The man stops in his pacing, and he stands at Dream’s right side, a wide grin on his face. “You have somethin' he wants.” 

Then he lifts his chin up, looking straight at Wilbur from where he’s staring from the window, like he knew he was watching the whole time. 

“Or someone.” 

Wilbur freezes, the air in his lungs feeling stuck as he sees red. 

Red eyes. Red like the color of blood stained on the pirate’s hands. Wilbur swears time seems to come to a stop, the gods themselves forever holding Wilbur in a single second of terror. 

A loud caw shatters the panic of the moment. 

Wilbur tears his eyes away from the pirate below him, and he looks up to the cloudy sky to find a pitch black crow circling overhead. It drifts along the cold gusts of wind blowing through, then it makes a steep dive, heading down to where Dream and the Blood God stand. For a second, Wilbur thinks it’s going to try and peck one of their eyes out. 

But he thinks wrong. The bird flies past the top of their heads, then goes on to land with ease onto someone else’s hand stretched out into the air. Wilbur didn't even notice them approach. He watches as someone new steps within sight, and the image of bright pink hair is so striking-- Wilbur knows who it is right away. 

“Oh, it's the Pink Delilah.” Dream grits out, like she might as well be his worst enemy. 

“Technoblade.” Her voice calls out, ignoring the commodore, and Wilbur loses what little air he has, all in one fell swoop. His heart lands into his stomach with pure dread, and he’s filled to the brim with an instant knee-jerk denial, a desperate hope that his ears are betraying him. 

The Pink Delilah is standing before the bodies on the ground, and a small, familiar laugh comes from her throat. 

Wilbur’s heard that same laugh a hundred times over. 

He’s made her laugh a hundred times over, with the children at their feet, with the sun shining on their faces-

“Did you forget what the captain asked?” She speaks, and, oh, her voice. Her voice. “I think you got ahead of yourself.” Her tone is so light, as if all the blood spilled onto the floor is just a silly mistake. The bird on her hand is moved to her shoulder, and she smiles kindly as the crow pecks at her bright pink hair for just a moment. 

“You said to get into the base. I did that.” Techno responds, his words flat. He hasn’t looked away from Wilbur. Wil’s heart jumps when he realizes it. 

“With a bit too much enthusiasm, I think.” The Pink Delilah comes closer, stepping over the bodies at her feet and resting a hand onto the gun on her side. As she stops in front of Dream, she notices Techno not yet looking her way. 

So she turns to see what he’s staring at. 

Wilbur sees Niki’s face. 

Niki is there, standing beside the Blood God, dressed in a pirate’s clothes. Niki is there, with a crow on her shoulder, and blood staining her boots. Niki is there, and she has a gun on her thigh, and a sword on her hip. 

Niki is the Pink Delilah, and Wilbur wonders why he never knew it. 

“Oh, no.” Niki breathes out, eyes wide as she watches betrayal flicker across Wil’s expression. “Wilbur?” She takes a step forward, as if she might be able to reach him from he stands at that window, but Wilbur moves back and then runs off, escaping from view as he retreats down the hall. 

Niki watches him go with a slight panic and guilt simmering in her heart. She takes in a deep breath, and lets it settle, turning back to Techno with a carefully blank face. 

“Was that him?” Technoblade asks, and Dream glances up, his eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. 

“Yes.” Niki slowly nods. “He responds to Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.” Dream goes dead still.  

Techno’s face pulls into an unamused frown at the name, like the words have wronged him somehow. Niki ignores it. She’s been used to hearing the wrong name for weeks now. It doesn’t take away the bitterness of it all, but at least she’s accustomed to it. 

“Go after him.” She orders, and Dream suddenly lunges forward, hands reaching out. 

“NO!” Dream yells, desperate and angry. Techno moves quick, slamming his elbow into the side of his face, forcing Dream to the ground before he can even get a single step towards Niki. Dream falls with a pained groan, and Niki pulls her gun, pointing it down at Dream with a click.  

“Go, Techno.” Niki repeats, the bird on her shoulder giving a loud caw, as if insisting with her. “I have words to exchange with this one.” 

Technoblade hesitates like he means to protest, but he sees that look in her eyes, and decides otherwise, leaving her with an acknowledging grunt. 

“Don’t hurt him.” Niki calls out, just as a reminder. 

“You know I won’t. Captain’s already given me that talk.” Technoblade responds, not looking back as he puts his sword away and heads inside the building with a near stomp of his boots. 

Niki listens to his footsteps leave, and she gives a huff, a small smile on her lips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Still. I know he’s going to be skittish.” She mutters, knowing Techno isn’t going to hear it. “And Techno isn’t the most gentle out of all of us.” She says to Dream, shrugging as if they’re just both sharing an inside joke. 

Dream stares up at her with a hand on his face, supporting his weight on one arm against the ground. There is nothing but burning anger in his expression, and while it is harsh, it is nothing compared to the quiet rage within the Pink Delilah’s eyes. 

“Pirate.” Dream spits out, like it is a curse. 

“Pirate.” Niki repeats, soft and sweet, like it’s a fond nickname. “Tell me, commodore, what do you know of pirates?” 

Dream looks away with a sharp breath, staring at the ground underneath him with near defeat. He moves his jaw as if testing if his teeth have been broken. 

“Not much.” He croaks out, Niki humming. 

“Do you know the Angel of Death?” 

Dream tilts his head up, just barely. 

“Or I think you’d know him better as the Golden Traitor.” Niki begins to pace around Dream, her gun never lowered. “You Navy seem to hold onto that title rather often.”

The crow on her shoulder gives a loud call, flying off in a burst of black feathers, escaping off into the sky just as water droplets begin to sprinkle down. 

“What of him?” Dream asks, staring at his dead men on the ground, their bodies having gone cold. He lifts his eyes to stare up at Niki. “Why do you ask me about him?” 

“Because he’s our captain. My captain.” Niki says, coming to a stop in front of Dream, kneeling down with the gun still pointed forward. “And whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve crossed him. So, you’ve crossed me.” 

“The Golden Traitor hasn’t been around these shores in years. He hasn’t been seen on any shore for nearly two decades.” Dream snaps out, his tone defiant. “How could I have ever crossed him?”

“You were hiding something away.” Niki shrugs, like it doesn’t quite matter, even with the anger flowing down over her shoulders, eating her whole. 

Dream swallows. Thinks of what he’s been told, what oaths he has sworn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He speaks slowly. Niki laughs, but there's no joy in the sound. 

“He was right here, in this town. This whole time.” Niki taps her gun on the ground twice. “You were keeping him away. You were the one who never let him get near the sea. He told me. All those years, all those times, you never let him wander off back home to where he was supposed to belong. Always, each and every time, you’d hold him back.” 

Dream’s eyes narrow. 

“Didn’t you?” Niki asks, almost hissing with it. "Admit it!"

 “...you're talking about Wilbur.” Dream says, a confession all on its own. 

Niki nods, and she stands to her feet with the rain beginning to pour down. "You know what you've done."

“I’m sorry.” Dream pleads, sitting up with a grunt. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know.” He lies, right through his teeth. “I didn’t know who he was!”

Niki ignores it. “The sea’s lover sends his regards.” She tells him. 

Then she shoots Dream straight through the skull, midway through his next plea.

It’s cathartic. 

Wilbur runs down the steps with a frantic gasp for air, trying to get to the bottom floor so that he may escape out the front door. 

He runs past dead bodies, puddles of blood, evidence that a pirate forced his way through these walls. He runs with a choked noise being pulled from his lungs, a heavy sort of pain pushing onto his chest until he can’t even breathe. It’s almost a sob that comes out. He swallows it back along with all his sharp fear that’s digging into his skin. 

Niki is the Pink Delilah. Wilbur doesn’t know how, but it’s true. That pirate's face was Niki’s face, and her voice was his friend’s voice, all the same. The hair is different, along with the outfit, but those can always be changed, can’t they? It wouldn’t be hard. Especially for a spy.

Wilbur doesn’t know how it could’ve happened. Or why it would happen. Why would the Pink Delilah be here? Why would she pretend to be living in this little town, watching over children and making friends with Wil? 

It must’ve been a job. A mission of sorts, just like all the rumors he’s always heard. But that still doesn’t make sense. The Pink Delilah is known for being a spy, that much is true, but why would she ever be a spy in a town like this? All that there is to find here is the occasional rare pirate coming through, like Foxglove. And those are awfully rare. 

Wil can’t wrap his head around it. He can’t accept it. He tries to fit the Pink Delilah and Niki into the same spot within his mind, and he just can’t do it. 

The Pink Delilah is a pirate. A deadly, ruthless, beautiful pirate, who belongs to the sea. Niki is his friend. His wonderful, kind friend, who always doted on the children, always humored him with her company. 

And now they’re the same. They are one single person, and Wilbur is the poor fool who was tricked by her. 

He wipes at his eyes and stumbles down the next set of stairs, huffing out with trembling hands against the wall for balance. As he puts his foot down on the first step, someone comes around the corner to stand in his way, and Wilbur looks up with a frozen breath. 

“There you are.” Techno says, like Wilbur’s been inconveniencing him by running around the base. 

“Oh shit.” Wilbur chokes out. 

“Don’t run.” The Blood God warns, taking a single step towards Wil. 

“Oh shit-!” Wilbur screams, immediately taking off in the other direction, not caring that it’ll lead him farther away from the exit. He sprints up the stairs, hearing loud footsteps following right behind. Just as he begins to reach the hallway he just came from, a hand grabs onto the back of his satchel, yanking him backwards. 

Wilbur quickly pulls the satchel over his head, letting the pirate have it. He throws it towards Technoblade, getting a confused face in response with chucking a bag of gold into his face. Then Wilbur gathers up all his courage, what little he has, and he kicks the Blood God in the chest with a scream, sending him backwards to go tumbling down the stairs. 

He doesn’t look back as the man falls, and he doesn’t even feel disappointment at losing the satchel. All he would like is to keep his life intact, and not end up like the many bodies that litter the ground he runs across. 

“WIL!” The Blood God calls, sounding slightly aggravated. Wilbur gasps for air, looking behind him and watching Techno climb out from the stairwell, pushing his hair out of his face with a frown. Why does he know his name?

“Oh gods.” Wilbur whispers, turning the corner and running faster, not letting himself look back. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh-” He stumbles over a body, catching his balance and coming to a sudden stop. 

He looks at the window. 

“Fuck it.” Wilbur swears, convinced that the universe has turned against him. He slams his shoulder against the window and breaks the latch open, quickly swinging his leg over to move outside. 

He climbs out onto the ledges outside, holding on for dear life as he moves slowly away from the range of the window. The rain pouring down on him doesn’t make it easy to stay held to his spot, but he’s persistent. He shivers in place as he presses his forehead against the stone before him, trying to get a gasp for air, just to calm his poor heart. 

Maybe this is a good spot, actually. The Blood God might walk past him, or forget he’s even there. That sounds like overly wishful thinking, but Wil’s feeling a little desperate right now, so he’s hoping for anything good. 

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side, because just a minute later, Technoblade pokes his head out from the window Wilbur’s climbed through, and he turns to Wilbur with an expression that can only be described as baffled. 

“How did you-?” Techno starts, Wilbur staring at him with wide eyes. “Actually, nevermind. C’mere.” He reaches an arm out, and Wilbur leans away, scooting farther onto the ledge. 

“Absolutely not.” Wilbur hisses, glaring at the pirate’s hand like it’s evil. It basically is, technically. It’s still stained with blood. 

“If you fall from here, both of us are goin’ to be in trouble, I hope you know that.” 

“Good!” Willbur responds, full of spite, and he begins to climb up, making his way to the roof. 

“Hey, hey-” Techno reaches out further, grabbing onto Wilbur’s boot. Wil pulls his foot with everything he’s got and loses the shoe. He doesn’t need it anyway. “Wilbur! Come back here!” 

Wilbur ignores him. He makes his way to the roof, grunting with the effort and pulling himself up with all the strength he has. As soon as he gets to the top, he collapses with a huff, rolling onto his back, before getting back on his feet and standing up slowly. 

The sight of smoke is a surprise. 

Is the base on fire? 

It seems to be, because there is smoke rolling out from the side of the building, thick and obvious. Wilbur stays away from it, moving across the roof and looking for a quick way down. He hopes that the light rain will slow down the flames, wherever they’re burning. 

As he leans over the edge to see the view, he realizes that the drop on the way down doesn’t look quite safe. 

He also realizes that his town is burning. 

Not all of it, but enough for it to be noticeable. The nearest buildings towards the shore, the docks that used to hold the ships, it's all ablaze with flames, and Wilbur watches with horror as it burns, the cause no doubt being that pirate ship sitting out in the water. 

The morning has fully arrived by now, but it brings no sun. The rain is beginning to pour down in buckets, and Wilbur stands there with one boot on, getting soaked to the bone. He wipes his hair back out of his face, and takes a single step back, turning around to try and look for a stairway down. 

He comes face to face with Technoblade as he turns, the pirate looking just as soaked as he is, except he seems to thrive with that disheveled look. Wilbur opens his mouth to scream, trying to move back, but there’s already a hand over his mouth, and in the blink of an eye, there’s a knife at his throat too. 

“Here’s what’s goin’ to happen.” The pirate says, his eyes nearly seeming to glow against the dimness of the storm around him. “You’re goin’ to walk with me out of here, because Niki’s already set the place on fire, and I don’t think either of us want to burn.” 

Wilbur swallows, trying to lean back. He gives a tiny nod. 

“You’re comin’ with me down to the shore, and if you don’t fight,” Technoblade raises his eyebrows. “You’ll be fine.” He drawls, like Wil doesn’t have to be worrying over silly things like getting murdered. “Got it?” 

Wil hesitates, then nods again, slowly. 

With that, Technoblade goes to drag him off the roof, finding them a way down. 

The Blood God does follow through his word in taking Wilbur down to the shore. 

Wil doesn’t protest in getting out from the building, seeing as how it’s on fire with smoke spreading through the halls, but as soon as they’re outside, heading down the hill, that’s when Wilbur begins to struggle. 

He does try his best. He drags his feet and kicks at Techno’s shins, but no matter what he does, it’s like Technoblade is an unstoppable force of nature, and Wilbur is just some sack of potatoes over his shoulder. 

Literally. Techno got annoyed with his kicking halfway through and threw him over his shoulder. Wilbur knows the pirate could kill him without much effort, but if he’s going through all this trouble to get Wilbur somewhere, then he knows he must have a certain amount of immunity from getting killed for some time. He means to use that to the best of his abilities. 

So he kicks and screams and yanks at pink hair, demanding to be let down. As they get nearer and nearer to the shore, Wilbur only grows louder, more persistent, and Techno stays resilient through it all. 

The sound of the ocean waves is a familiar noise to Wilbur’s ears as they get close, and when he turns his head to find the sea, only then does he falter for a second in his attempts at being put down. Technoblade notices it, and he chuckles at the reaction. 

“You’ve ever been on a ship before, Wil?” He asks, like they’re just good buddies sharing a nice conversation. Wilbur feels inclined to answer back with something snarky, but the Blood God sounds awfully genuine, and he has always wanted to sail away into the sea. 

“No.” Wil answers quietly, lowering his head to stare at the sand underneath them. If he just lands both his feet on the ground, if he gets a running start--

“That's a shame. You'll like this one.” Technoblade promises, and that sentence gives Wilbur so much hope and fear. On one hand, fuck yes, finally. Those words imply letting him get onto a boat, and he has never wanted anything more. On the other hand, that also implies he’s getting on a boat with pirates, and he’s not so sure how to feel about that one. “The sea runs through your veins, and all that.” Techno continues, sounding nearly fond. 

“What?” Wilbur asks, but just as he says it, someone’s calling them from down the beach. 

“Techno!” Niki’s voice echoes out, and Wilbur goes still, yelling in surprise as Techno suddenly lets him down. 

“Alright, on your feet.” Techno tells him, Wilbur stumbling as he’s then pulled by the arm, the two of them marching across the sand. He looks up ahead to see Niki moving towards them, and behind her-

His heart lifts with relief. 

Behind her, there’s a crowd of navy soldiers, all of them pointing their weapons at Niki, all of them blocking the path to get out to the pirate ship on the waves. She hardly even acknowledges them, and runs towards Wilbur instead, holding her hands out to cradle his face. 

“Wil!” She exclaims, sounding overjoyed. “You’re alright!” 

“I-” Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, anything of worth. He remembers the betrayal from before, the devastation of knowing he’s been lied to, and he tries to yank it back up, tries to form it into some sort of anger. 

He fails miserably. Niki hugs him with her arms around his shoulders, and Wilbur, despite it all, hugs her back. His heart aches. 

“You better have not hurt him.” Niki says, a bit of a sharp note in her tone, and when she pulls back, Wilbur finds it to be pointed towards Techno. “I swear, if I see one scratch, Tech…” 

“He’s fineee.” Techno waves a hand, Wilbur narrowing his eyes, having not forgotten being threatened with a knife. “What’s the hold up here?” Technoblade nods towards the wall of guards, trying to look past them in where Fundy should be waiting with their boat to get to the main ship. 

“The usual.” Niki shrugs, resting her hands onto Wilbur’s shoulders. She turns towards him with a reassuring smile, and Wilbur hates how familiar it is, despite all the differences. The pink hair stands out so much, and yet it suits her well. 

“Your hair.” Wilbur mutters out, scrunching his nose up with the inability to say anything meaningful. 

Niki reaches a palm up to her strands, giving a sheepish expression. “I know. I colored it black for the longest time, didn’t I? I’ll be honest, it didn’t look bad.” 

“Hm.” Techno grunts as if wanting to protest against that, and Niki gives him a little glare. 

“It was only temporary.” Niki says. 

“But-” Wilbur stammers. “You- why would you-?” 

Niki cuts him off. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we do need to get you to the ship.” And with that, she takes Wilbur by the wrist, pulling him to walk towards the wall of men blocking their way. Techno walks behind him, as if making sure he’ll be able to catch Wilbur if he tries to yank away from Niki. 

They walk across the sand with the rain coming down, the sound of thunder booming out across the sea. Wilbur watches with anticipation, waiting for the men to come forward and save him from the grasp of pirates. Part of him is torn with different types of hope. He hopes to sail out at sea, get a taste of the ocean, finally for once in his life. But he also hopes to be freed from Niki’s hold, to be taken back into town and to be put away into his house, where at least he can be dry. 

If he goes to the ship, he will be stuck on board with pirates, one of them he only partially trusts. 

But if they’re stopped…

Pirates go to the gallows. Wilbur knows this. 

He doesn’t know if he can watch Niki walk to her death. 

“Stop there!” One of the men yells, Niki coming to a halt with her hand squeezing comfortingly around Wilbur’s wrist. “You will go no further!” They order. 

“We will.” Niki insists, with a burning tone that offers no argument. “You will let us go.” 

“I’m afraid not.” Someone speaks up, a woman of which Wilbur knows. 

A woman of which Wil realizes is Dream’s mother. 

Puffy stands in front of her men with a strong stance, her shoulders held back and her hands clasped behind her back. She stares at Niki with nothing but contempt, and Niki stares back with a slim smile.

“Place down your weapons and let go of the hostage. You’re under arrest.” 

“We will not be doing that, and you will not send me to the gallows.” Niki responds. “Move aside and let us through, or you’ll be sorry.” 

“You're surrounded. You're outnumbered. I’m giving you one last warning. Surrender now, or we’ll open fire.” 

Niki grins, and it is nothing but cruel, her hair flying wildly in the wind. There is anger festering in her heart, an emotion gifted to her from her respected captain. “Stand to the side and let us go to sea, or you, your men, and the rest of this town will be joining your son in the afterlife.” 

Puffy freezes, and Wilbur does too. 

“What?” Wil whispers out, and Niki’s grasp around his wrist never falters. “What do you-” He sucks in a quick breath, his chest going tight. “Where’s Dream?” 

“You-” Puffy chokes out, Niki tilting her head to the side, reminiscent of a crow. Her eyes gleam underneath the dim clouds over the beach. 

“Niki, what did you do?” Wilbur asks, taking a step forward. “What did you do?”

Niki turns to Wilbur, her smile soft. It doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“I’m taking you home, Wil.” She whispers, and Wilbur grabs at her wrist, yanking it off. He stumbles back, expecting Techno to grab him and keep him still, but Techno only walks past him, drawing his sword. 

“We have no time for this.” Technoblade says, lifting his chin. “Move.” 

There must be something in the way he says it, or something in the way Niki’s given her threat with that gleam in her eyes, because Puffy stares forward with something like terror, and she stumbles back with a shaky breath. Then, she turns to her men, and waves them off. 

Wilbur watches as they split in two, moving to the side, offering a clear path to the boat waiting off in the water on the other side. 

“Wait.” Wilbur breathes out, eyes wide. He takes a step back, and Niki reaches out, grabbing onto his wrist again. Wilbur yanks, but this time, Niki doesn’t let go. “Wait, no. No, no-” 

“Wil.” Niki pleads, and Wilbur pushes his feet against the sand, trying to pull away. Niki won’t let go. “Wilbur.”

“No!” Wilbur screams, falling to the ground to try and make it so that they’ll have to drag him if they want him to go with them. Thing is, that’s not very hard, and Techno just picks him up like a sack of potatoes again, hauling him over his shoulder. “Put me down! NO!” 

He looks to the men standing to the side, Puffy staring down at the ground with something hollow in her eyes. She's shaking in place, unaware of the world around her. Unresponsive to Wilbur's crying screams.  

“Help me!” Wilbur yells out, kicking his legs as Techno begins to quickly walk down the shore to catch their ride. “Don’t just fucking stand there, help me-! Don’t let them- fucking-” Wilbur screams, his voice cracking as it echoes out past the storm. "HELP ME!"

“I swear I’ll explain everything once we’re on the sea, this is all for the best-” Niki tries to speak, and Wilbur screams again, trying to be let down. “I made a promise for your own good! I’m sorry, I-” 

Wil falters at the genuine tone in her voice, and he grits his teeth, seething towards her with narrowed eyes. “Niki.” He hisses out, and it falls apart into something desperate. “Niki, Niki- tell him to put me down. Please. Please, please-” 

“You’ll be put down when we get to the boat.” Techno says, Wilbur trying to yank at his braid. “Ow-”

“Wilbur.” Niki sighs with near pity. “I know, I-” 

“No, no, you do not know! You are not the one getting fucking kidnapped BY PIRATES!” Wilbur shrieks, Niki wincing at his words. 

“If it helps, she has technically been kidnapped several times, so she kinda does know.” Techno offers.

“That doesn’t help.” Wilbur mutters, and he hears a new voice calling out as they start to go towards the water. 

“Niki!” A familiar voice calls, and someone circles around Techno to walk behind him so they can get a good look at Wil. “Is that our boy? We got him?” 

“Foxglove.” Wilbur hisses out, baring his teeth in pure simmering rage. 

“Yup, that’s our boy-! Okay, to the boat, to the boat!” Foxglove runs off, and Niki stares at him with something puzzled and yet amused. “Let’s get going before the captain’s love drowns us all!” 

“She’s not goin’ to drown us.” Technoblade says, wading through the shallow water. Wilbur stares down at the water around Techno’s feet, entranced by it even with the fact he’s being carried to a pirate’s boat. It's suddenly so-- mesmerizing. The wash of it around them all captures his attention enough to quiet him down. 

“Not going to drown you. We all know she’s got favorites.” Foxglove answers back, and Niki laughs. “On the boat, on the boat. Tubbo and Quackity have been holding the fort down pretty well, but I don’t trust them alone for any longer.” 

Wilbur lifts his head to try and look around at the waves around them, but he’s then being lowered down into a rowboat, dropping in unceremoniously with Niki climbing in beside him. 

“Give the oars.” Techno orders, and Fundy hands them over, Wilbur sitting up, looking over the edge of the boat with consideration. “Wilbur, if you jump out, I’m tying you down to the boat, I swear it.” 

“Techno.” Niki scolds. Wilbur pales, and they move along into the sea. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur, with nothing else left for him to do, stares into the ocean water like it is his last hope. 

Maybe it is. The Blood God might’ve threatened to tie Wil down if he made a jump for it, that’s true, but Wilbur is still tempted to take his chances anyhow and fling himself into the waves around them. It wouldn’t end well, and he may get caught anyhow, but he’s always been a stubborn sort of soul. Take for example; his entire childhood of running out to sea. 

For years, he’s wanted this. For nearly his whole life, for as young as he could remember, he’s always wanted to get past the shore, feel the ocean waves around his feet. He’s always wanted to wander out further, past the coastline, until the surface would reach underneath his chin, like a constant reminder that it could swallow him up whole. 

Now, he’s there. Now he can have it, but at the cost of freedom, trust, and safety. On a better day, he wouldn’t protest. On a more desperate day, he’d give all of this and more, if it meant he could finally get past that invisible wall keeping him in towards the town. Right now, though, it’s a different story. 

Right now, all Wilbur feels is an unbearable sort of anger. Betrayal and shock courses through him like a bolt of lightning as the shore gets farther and farther away, and the rain and wind pushing against him makes him shiver with the cold. He keeps his eyes on the water, keeps his attention towards the sea, and he stubbornly ignores Niki sitting at his side, trying to not let himself mourn for a place he never loved.

This seat feels like damnation, but the sight of the water around him feels like freedom. The waves against their little rowboat makes Wilbur feel rejuvenated, emotion flowing through him so harshly that he wants to either scream, burst into tears, or just dip past the surface and let himself sink away. A tiny part of him, the part that has only ever known the town, wants to scream and kick and demand to be taken back to land, right now, but he can’t open his mouth to say it. He can’t dare to let go of what he might now finally have. 

He hates how he got to it, but the facts are true. Wilbur has finally gotten to the sea, and it’s all thanks to damn pirates. 

The water is freezing and their ride is rough and unsteady, but it’s everything Wilbur could’ve ever wanted. There’s not an ounce of calm weather to be seen in sight, it's all wild wind and pouring rain, and there’s something satisfying with it all matching the way he feels internally. The howl of the wind in his ears nearly encourages him to act out with the rage on his shoulders, and in a small moment of anger-fueled courage, he looks directly towards the Blood God. 

The pirate keeps rowing them closer towards the ship, keeping a good pace with the oars in hand. He seems focused enough on the task, so Wilbur spares his attention somewhere else, glancing at the other people sitting around him. Niki is right next to him, her head looking out at the clouds. Foxglove sits at the back of the rowboat, seeming to be keeping a sharp eye on their ship up ahead. 

Wilbur follows towards where Foxglove is staring, and his face falls from anger into simple awe with the sight of the ship. 

It’s not massive, by any means, if anything, it could be a bit small, compared to all the other vessels that used to sit on the dock. The thing is, though, Wilbur’s never been to a ship up close. He’s seen them before, sure, but that was from a distance. 

Ships seem so much more smaller from a distance. 

Foxglove notices Wilbur’s reaction, with his head staying tilted up towards the black sails, and so he leans forward, sticking his head in between Niki and Wilbur’s shoulders. Niki scoots back with a surprised jump, and Fundy pays her no mind, only focused on Wilbur’s first moment at seeing a pirate ship. 

“She’s a beauty, ain't she?” Fundy nods, pointing his chin at the boat they’re approaching. Wilbur turns his head to him with wide eyes. “Say hello to the Angel’s Revenge.” 

The way he whispers the name almost makes it seem like it means something, like Wilbur should know it and fear it. But Wilbur’s never heard of such a ship, and he’s sure some stories would spread around if all these well known pirates were traveling upon it. 

Fundy leans back, continuing with a casual tone. “Quite fitting, considering everything. I think it was Tommy who named it, but I honestly don’t remember.” He shrugs, and Wilbur only gives a strange look, half twisted in his seat to face the pirate properly. 

“Angel’s Revenge?” Wilbur repeats, like the words don’t quite fit in his mouth. 

“Yup.” Fundy nods again. He holds out his hands. “Every ship needs a good name, yes? This one is a bit on the nose, in my opinion, but…” He trails off, making an unconcerned noise. 

“But Tubbo thought it was perfect.” Niki continues, Wilbur stubbornly not looking her way. “So once he got on board, he refused to call it anything else.” Fundy gives a fond smile at the mention. “Speaking of which, I’ll have to introduce you to him. He’s a good kid, I’m sure you’d like him.” 

“Him and Quackity. They’re the only other two on this ship, all the others are with the captain.” Fundy adds on. “You’ll meet them soon enough.” He says that like it's a good thing, but Wilbur’s chest only fills up with cold dread. He looks back down into the swirling waves around them, and considers again on taking the chance of just jumping out. Could he go for it? What would be his chances of being able to swim to shore? He knows he’s lying to himself if he says anything above zero, but...

“Alright.” Techno calls, and Wilbur turns his head with a choked out gasp, finding the ship to be much closer now. They get near to the side of it, and from here, Wil sees two heads poke out from over the railings, watching them come close. “I’m probably goin’ to have to climb up there to help raise the boat up.” Technoblade says, and when he lowers his head, he eyes Wilbur like he doesn’t trust him to sit still. 

Wilbur holds his palms up in surrender, trying to muster an innocent smile. 

“We can wait down here.” Niki reassures, nudging the tip of her boot into Techno’s shin. “It’ll only be a minute.” Technoblade looks hesitant for a second, but then he nods. He puts the oars away and waves a hand up in the air, standing to his feet. A rope comes falling down just a moment later, and he catches onto it and holds on tightly. 

“You,” Technoblade points a finger at Wil, who holds back a grimace at that red stare. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

“Yeah, mhm-hm.” Wilbur nods in agreement, and Niki scoffs, kicking at Techno to get him to go. 

Technoblade grins with something amused towards Niki as he half-heartedly kicks back, and he turns to climb up the side of the ship, using the rope to pull himself up. Wilbur watches him go while feeling a bit impressed, seeing as how the pirate doesn’t even seem to struggle with getting to the top, despite all the wind and rain working against him. 

He and the two pirates stay watching Techno until he gets over the railing on the top, and as soon as the man is out of sight, Wilbur rises to his feet with one quick movement. A crack of lighting flashes in the distance, and Wilbur's heart booms in his ears with it. 

“Wil-!” Niki latches onto his wrist, and Fundy rushes forward to grab onto the back of his shirt, but Wilbur’s already made his mind up, and he’s getting off this damn boat, if nothing else, then to just prove a point. Just to feel the water on his skin. 

He pushes at Niki to knock her backwards off her seat, and Fundy fumbles to catch her and keep a hold on Wil at the same time. Wilbur drastically tilts his weight sideways, letting the world shift, and before he knows it, he’s falling over Niki, slipping off the edge of the boat and falling into the ocean waves. 

He gasps for air just before going in, and he flails as he sinks underneath the surface. The world goes dark with water blocking out the already dim morning, and the sound in his ears goes muffled. He hears Niki’s voice scream out his name, but he ignores it and pushes his arms and legs, trying desperately to make some sort of distance. 

His voice is called again. It's not Niki, but it is a woman. Wilbur twists his body in confusion, his lungs squeezing tight with the lack of air. 

Wilbur, someone is whispering. Wilbur's skin ripples with the feeling of a chill crawling over him. 

A crash of water lands just beside him, and Wilbur up to find Fundy’s hands grasping at his shirt, yanking him up until his head is forced towards the surface. The pirate makes a frantic grab towards the rowboat to stay above water, and he pulls Wilbur closer as well, letting Niki reach over and get a grip onto his collar too, just for extra assurance. 

“Wilbur!” Niki yells, Wil coughing and trying to wipe water out of his eyes. He blinks them open to the cloudy sky above, and finds with wonder that the rain has suddenly stopped. “Did you breathe in water?! Are you okay?!” 

Wilbur responds with a choking sort of noise. He breathes in deep and punches Fundy in the gut underneath the water. Fundy makes a grunt, but he doesn’t let go. 

“Can you not- do you want to drown?!” Fundy holds on tighter, and as he says those words, he pauses, like he’s gotten a terrible realization. He leans closer to Wilbur. “Wait, do you? Because if you do, this is another kind of problem-”

“No, I don’t want to drown!” Wilbur yells, and Fundy reels back with relief, giving a short sigh. “I just- don’t know how to swim.” Wilbur mutters, a rush of slight shame washing onto his shoulders. 

Both Fundy and Niki seem to freeze at the words. 

“WHAT?!” Fundy shrieks, like the mere thought is impossible. Wilbur flinches. “How do you not know how to swim?! You should've learned by now! The captain said they- they swore to-” He stammers. “They went against their word?” He breathes out, a twinge of horror on his tone. "Oh, gods, they went against their word."

“What?” Wilbur sputters, eyebrows furrowing. "Who went against their word?"

“Later, Fundy. We’ll discuss this later.” Niki interrupts, reaching her palm out above the waves. “Wil, come here.” 

Fundy looks at her with a sad look in his eyes. “You knew?” 

“Later.” Niki whispers, like she can’t bear to talk of this topic at the moment. She tugs at Wilbur’s arm. “Wil, get on the boat before I drag you by the shirt.” 

Wilbur frowns up at her, but listens anyhow, knowing full well he’s not going to get anywhere in the water. He climbs up onto the rowboat, his clothes dripping wet, his hair sticking to his face. Fundy climbs up soon after him, sitting down on his seat with a groan, like jumping off into the sea to save Wil took an awful lot of effort. It honestly might’ve, to be fair. Wilbur was flailing quite a bit. 

“Why would you jump into the water when you can’t swim?” Niki asks, a small smile on the edge of her lips. She says it in an almost teasing manner, her hand resting onto Wil’s shoulder, and Wilbur’s bitterness and feeling of betrayal rises up too quick for him to hold back.

“To get away from you.” He grits out, and he watches as Niki’s face falls into something almost hurt, her eyes going wide. The sight hurts him too, but he pushes on through it anyway, and pulls his shoulder away from her hand, scooting off to the side of the boat. Fundy holds onto the back of his shirt, just as a precaution. 

That reason is cruel, and may hold a bit of truth, but it’s not his exact motivation for trying to get off the boat. Sure, being on a ship with pirates does sound kinda unappealing, that’s fair, but it's not just that. 

Wilbur doesn’t know how to swim. He’s honest in that regard. The reason he doesn’t know how is because he was never allowed to.

He’s never been in the sea. 

So with that chance being right in front of him, ready for the taking, Wil couldn’t resist. Even if he’d end up with a bit of water in his lungs and with pirates grabbing at him to yank him back, he still wanted so badly to go for it, so he did. 

There are no regrets. Even with the chill on his skin and all his clothes being soaked, Wilbur feels satisfied. Sated. Not entirely, but more than how he was back at the town. It's like something inside him has been calmed, kept content for the first time in years.  

And isn’t that funny? Here he is, arguably worse off as a hostage with criminals, and yet he’s feeling more self-fulfilled than he ever has been at home. Somehow, he feels as if this won’t be the end of it. 

Wilbur keeps his head down as more ropes are thrown over the railing above, and Niki works on attaching them to the boat so that they can be lifted up out of the water. The storm over their heads stays at an unusual pause, and the fire in the town begins to burn out. From here, all the buildings look so small. Wilbur doesn’t know what to feel about it. 

They’re lifted up with a sudden movement, and Wilbur grabs onto the side of the boat, caught off guard. He looks up with a lump in his throat, staring at the railing on the ship. When they high enough to see the people waiting, Wilbur is immediately met with someone practically up in his face, a kid nearly flinging himself over the edge to get a good look at Wil. Wilbur jolts back into Niki with a surprised noise, shocked to see a young face dressed in pirate's clothes. It almost seems like the kid might just be playing dress-up, with how out of place he looks, but then Wil notices the scars on his arms, the dirt stuck on his face, and he realizes that maybe his perception of kids is just skewed from always visiting the daycare. 

“Are you Wilbur Soot?!” Tubbo demands, eyes narrowed as if he expects Wil to lie to his face and say no. “Better question; do you think you’re Wilbur Soot?”

“What?” Wil asks, Tubbo’s lips falling into a deep frown, a suspicious hum coming from his throat. “Yes, I’m, I’m- Who do you think I am?” 

“It’s not a matter of thinking, it’s a matter of knowing.” Tubbo answers. “And I know that you don’t know the things that I know.” 

“...what.” Wil chokes out. 

“Tubbo.” Niki deadpans, Tubbo getting yanked back by the shirt from Techno behind him. “You’re going to scare him.” She says, nudging at Wilbur’s back to urge him to step out of the boat onto the ship. 

“He’s already scared.” Tubbo says, standing still when Technoblade puts him to the side. “He’s shaking.”

Niki pauses at that, and Wilbur earnestly ignores his words and his trembling hands as he lifts himself over the railing to climb onto the ship. Fundy follows right after him, landing with a stomp like he just leaped with no struggle from gravity. Niki slips over silently. 

“Where’s Quackity?” She asks, Wilbur looking at the ship around him, wrapping his arms over his chest. He wipes his soaked hair out of his face, and stares up at the sails over his head, a little in awe at finally seeing a ship’s mast up close. Fundy walks off to take care of the boat and to secure the rope, and Wil watches him work with something of interest. 

“He went to get Wilbur’s room ready.” Technoblade nods his head towards the backside of the ship, where the captain’s quarters reside. “We should probably get him inside.” 

“I won’t die from a bit of rain.” Wilbur says, slight sass with his words as he turns to the pirates beside him. He finds a strange sight. 

They’re all staring at him. With the surprised look on their faces, Wilbur’s left to wonder if he somehow said something incredibly shocking, just by mentioning the rain. He takes a small step back. “What?” 

“Oh, wow.” Tubbo blinks, looking up at Techno with a light laugh. “He is the captain’s! Don’t they just sound the same? They do! Techno, Technoblade-” He elbows Techno in the side, Technoblade not taking his eyes away from Wil. There’s something vulnerable curled up in the red gleam of his eyes, and Wilbur can’t tell if it’s a bad thing or not. 

“Okay, okay.” Niki chuckles, waving her hand like she’s trying to move past the moment. Her eyes towards Wilbur look far too fond, and Wilbur has never felt more confused. What did he say? “Wil, come on. We should get you settled in.” 

“Settled in.” Wilbur repeats, and Niki nods, walking past him with a beckoning motion. “Where-” He stops, hesitating. “Where are we going?” He takes a step forward, hands digging into his own sleeves. “Where are you taking me?”

Niki turns back to him with her hands on her hips, an amused huff coming from her nose. “Home. Like I said, Wil.” She speaks as if Wil has nothing to worry about, and she is still the same woman in that daycare, kind and sweet and always doting on the kids. "I'll tell you everything right now-"

“Home.” Wilbur repeats her again, deadpan. “You just kidnapped me from my home. You- It’s literally on fire. It’s on fire!” He lifts a hand to gesture towards the town far off in the distance, smoke still trailing off into the sky. 

“That’s because of me!” Tubbo waves a hand, having moved up the stairs to over where the steering wheel sits. “I got to control the canons.” He beams, full of pride.

“You set my town on fire?!” Wilbur yells. 

“Yes!” Tubbo nods. He falters. “...you don’t like that.” 

“No!” Wilbur screams. “Of course not! Why are you-” Wilbur turns to Niki, her expression seeming almost pained. “Why are you acting like I would be fine with that?!” 

“You were miserable there.” Niki says, a weak defense. “You said it yourself. You- You didn't belong there.” 

“I did say that, I-” Wilbur falters. “I did say that.” He admits, his head tilting down. 

“I’ll be honest.” Niki confesses. “It wasn’t supposed to be- like that.” She points her fingers to the destroyed town in the distance, wincing a bit. “I mean, you were supposed to meet me at the docks, like we said. It was all going to be more civil! I was going to ease you into it. But Fundy nearly got arrested, and our hideout got found and my cover was blown, so things escalated!” 

“Clearly!” Wilbur yells. “You killed people! You killed Dream.” He spits that last part out like it’s what really matters, and honestly, it does. Wilbur wasn’t friends with Dream, he wasn’t. They weren’t friends, if anything, they just knew each other, but Wilbur knew him. And he feels like- he should’ve stopped it. He should’ve made Niki turn away, or get Technoblade to chase after him earlier, or- something. Anything. 

Dream was not his friend. Most days, Wilbur felt like he would be suffocated by the man’s mere presence, always lingering behind him and never letting him enjoy a moment by the sea.

But now he is dead, and it's because they were here for Wilbur.

“Well.” Niki looks away, but she doesn’t even seem guilty with the blood on her hands. Wilbur knows why, he was only just hoping his perception of her would be something true. That the tales and rumors wouldn’t live up to be accurate. “I’m a pirate, Wil. I’ve killed a lot of people before, and I’ll kill plenty more, for they've wronged me. They've wronged you. I don’t regret any of this, it was for good reason.” 

“What reason?” Wilbur begs. “How am I wronged? Niki, why the hell am I here? And you better start talking, or I swear I’m throwing myself over that railing.” Wilbur points an accusing finger at Niki, before turning it towards the ocean waves below. 

Before Niki can say anything, (and before Techno can go grab onto Wilbur to make sure he won’t be in any mortal danger) the front doors of the captain’s quarters slam open, with Quackity yelling out to the tense air. 

“ALRIGHT!” He claps his hands together, grinning wide against the rain on his face. “Where’s our boy, where’s the captain’s blood?” He steps forward with wide, confident steps, and finds Niki and Wilbur in their little standoff, Wil’s face still held in an upset, but now a little confused, expression.  

Quackity blinks, and already, he can tell that Technoblade is fretting in the corner, Fundy is frantically doing chores to avoid conflict, and Tubbo is having the time of his life being unsupervised at the helm. 

“Oh, fantastic.” Quackity says. “You guys already fucked it up.” 

“Quackity.” Niki says, her shoulders slumping like she knows she’s already lost. 

Quackity waves her off, shaking his head. He looks to Wilbur instead. 

“William!” He calls, dragging the name out like he’s greeting an old friend. “Come on, inside.” He waves a wide arc towards the door behind him. “I’ve got food, dry clothes, and a place away from the pirates, let’s go.” 

“Quackity.” Techno now says his name, and it’s a quiet warning, acknowledgement and thanks all at once. Only Technoblade could be eloquent with just tone. 

“I’ve got it.” Quackity reassures. “Hurry up, kid, standing out in the rain isn’t going to do anything.” 

Wilbur makes a face at Quackity, but he does go, giving one more hesitant look at Niki before walking inside, arms held around his torso. Niki watches him go with a sigh, and she shakes her head, giving a thankful nod to Quackity. Quackity nods back before heading inside and closing the door behind him. 

“Tubbo!” Niki calls, quickly moving on and trusting that Wilbur will be safe inside. She heads up to the helm, stomping her way up the steps. “Hands off the wheel, you know you’re not allowed to steer after last time!”

“Sharp rocks being in our way wasn’t my fault!” Tubbo yells, and Technoblade goes to help get the ship going. 

Meanwhile, Wilbur walks slowly through the captain’s cabin. It’s nothing particularly special, or grand, but again, it’s his first time seeing anything of the sort. While it might not be particularly impressive, it’s still his first time on a ship, and his first time being inside a cabin. He can feel the floor sway underneath his feet, and he leans a little with the weight, feeling as if the ocean outside is trying to make him keep moving, rather than stand still. 

There are candles hung up on the wall, and candles resting at the desk across from him, giving a warm dim light against what little is coming through the windows at the back. Chests and cabinets line the room with pens, paper, and trinkets scattered all across the top of them, and there are maps among maps strung up on the walls. From here, Wilbur can spot at least three knives just sitting in plain view, and he makes a mental note to grab one when no one is looking. It’d be useful to have that. 

He paces around with a quiet hum, looking at all the maps and notes scattered around. It seems like there’s a goal to it all, because he can see several towns marked off, scribbled notes made within the free space, but he can't make complete sense of it. 

He makes his way to the desk to see what sits there. There are only more notes, more maps, more writing. He sits down in the seat to read over it better, and as he sits with the chair giving a slight squeak, he hears a snort.

Wil lifts his head with a frown, giving attention to the person still in the room with him. Quackity stands by the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, looking amused. 

“What?” Wilbur asks, staring down the man as he comes up across Wilbur, standing still at the other side of the desk. 

“No, no, it’s just-” He snickers, looking at Wilbur like there’s a joke he doesn’t get. “It’s funny how naturally you just sat yourself in the captain’s seat.” He shrugs, and Wilbur freezes, then immediately stands up, stumbling back from the chair like it’s personally wronged him.

“I wasn’t-” Wilbur goes to say, and Quackity cuts him off. 

 “Hey, don’t worry yourself. No one’s captain on this ship, so you won’t be stepping on anyone’s toes.” Quackity reassures. “The only captain they follow is the one on their main ship, and he’s a whole ocean away.” 

Wilbur narrows his eyes. “And who do you follow?” He asks, rather than question the captain. Whoever their captain is, he doesn’t quite want to hear about him yet. Maybe he’s procrastinating the inevitable, or maybe he’s just hoping to know more about the man he’s stuck in a room with. 

“No one.” Quackity grins. “Or at least not yet. I’m just along for the ride.” 

Wil takes a minute to take in the appearance of the man before him. At first glance, he had assumed he was a pirate just like the rest of the people on this ship, but with the way he says ‘them’ as if he’s not a part of it, maybe Wilbur thought wrong. 

Quackity’s outfit isn’t anything drastically different, but Wil will admit that he looks a bit more put together, a bit more proper, almost. Like he’s a man who has money to spend. The only weapon he has on him is a gun at his side, and even that looks a little out of place, like he’s not someone who's meant to be fighting battles at sea. 

Even with the hint of some sort of status in his posture, his voice, his appearance, Wilbur knows he’s not someone to be trusted. He may not be a pirate, but he’s probably someone just as bad. There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of his smile, and an outright shifty sort of vibe from that look in his eyes, like he’s hoping to trick Wilbur. 

“This crew has been looking for you for a long time.” Quackity begins, pacing slowly around the room, his footsteps seeming to echo out loudly on the floorboards. He points at the maps he crosses, taps at the drawn out Xs on the towns. “They only just recruited me a few months ago, but I’ve settled in alright. I’m good with people and good with info, you understand?”

Wilbur hums. “Then are you going to tell me why I’m here?” He asks. “And don’t be vague.” 

Quackity gives an expression that’s between a wince and something pitiful, like he knows Wil’s just been in a constant state of confusion ever since the pirates came into his sight. “Hey, in their defense, all the pirates out there? They all have the social skills equivalent to that of a spoon. You’d think Niki would be the outlier, considerin’ her job, but nah.” 

Wilbur holds back a laugh, trying to keep a frown on. Quackity goes on. 

“Now I know you’re probably a little skittish with being kidnapped right out of your town and all that, but I’m telling you, most of these pirates are absolute idiots. There’s nothing to fear from them. They’d rather throw themselves to the sea than ever harm you.” 

“...really?” Wilbur raises his eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe, with the Blood God holding a knife to my throat earlier.”

Quackity purses his lips. "Yeah...he's more of a taking action guy than anything. But I do mean what I say. You’re important to them, whether you know it or not. They care.” The way he says that makes Wilbur’s heart feel heavy. Quackity steps forward to Wilbur, holding out a hand. “Here, let's restart like proper human beings, so you can have at least one decent social interaction on this ship.” He smiles. “I’m Quackity. The crew’s info man and second newest addition to the ship.” 

Wilbur stares at the hand for a moment, then sighs, deciding to humor the man. He shakes his hand. “Wilbur Soot.” 

“Heh. Not quite.” Quackity shakes Wilbur’s hand, ignoring that slightly offended look he gets in return to his response. Quackity lets go of his hand and then steps back, encouraging Wil to return to his seat. “Sit down. There is so much shit I’ve gotta work through here.” He mutters the last sentence, rubbing his palms together.  

Wilbur eyes the chair with suspicion, but Quackity only stares with persistence, so he relents. He’s tired anyhow, and he’d like to let himself collapse into something vaguely horizontal. 

“Okay, okay.” Quackity paces a bit through the room, Wilbur leaning forward and resting his elbows onto the desk before him. He’s leaving damp spots on the wood and paper, but he honestly can’t care at this point. All he wants is for someone to tell him what’s going on. “Where the hell do I start?”

“Why am I here?” Wilbur asks. "Why have I been kidnapped by pirates?"

“Ohohoho, no, if I start with that one, you’re going to flip your shit.” Quackity shakes his head, coming in front of the desk and resting his palms onto the edge. “We gotta start with something simple. We gotta work slow. Here's a question for you; What is your name?”

Wilbur blinks slowly at him, his expression being nothing but exasperation. 

“Work with me.” Quackity pleads, and there is something genuine mixed in there. Wilbur’s guard falls, just an inch. 

“Wilbur Soot.” 

“Wrong.” He says.

Wilbur gives a frustrated huff. “That’s my name.”

“That’s what you think your name is. Although, it really isn't.” Quackity’s voice goes low, like all the light joking in his words has slipped away. It calls for Wilbur to listen close and listen well. “Look. Your name isn’t actually Wilbur Soot. It was a cover name given to you when you arrived to that town.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Your real name, your birth name, is William Watson.” 

Wil tilts his head, just the slightest bit with confusion. 

“Yeah?” Quackity nods. “Okay, do you know the name Watson? Does it ring a bell? Because you seem to not recognize it at all.” 

“It’s…familiar.” Where has Wilbur heard that name before? He’s chatted with so many people in the pub and gathered so many rumors and stories and names that he just can’t quite remember. It’s on the tip of his tongue. He just can’t catch it. 

“That last name also belongs to a man named Phil Watson.” Now that name rings bells in Wilbur’s head. Quackity seems to notice, because he talks quickly before Wilbur fully catches on. “Now, all those pirates out there, this ship, all these maps? It’s all because of a mission Phil sent them on, months ago.”

“To find me?” Wilbur asks. Quackity nods. 

“Exactly. He’s been trying to find you, for a very long time.” 

“What, are we-” Wilbur hesitates, his heartbeat sounding too loud within his own eardrums. “Are we family?” 

Quackity’s expression is answer enough. Wilbur lets out a short breath. 

“Oh.” Wilbur breathes out. “Oh...And he sent pirates to get me?” He asks incredulously. Quackity nearly snorts. 

“It's fitting, if you know who he is. Do you know who Phil Watson is?” Quackity asks, slowly, like he’s trying to not spook Wil. 

“Should I know who he is?” Again, the name is familiar. So familiar, but he can’t get past the rising panic in his head, the alarms screaming that he has family, and all this chaos was because that family wanted him back.  

Should he be happy about that? Aunt Cass was never really a good family, exactly, just someone who kept him alive. Here’s someone who’s going to drastic measures to be reunited with him, and while Wilbur is touched, he’s also becoming increasingly concerned. What sort of family member is going this far just for Wilbur?

“He has several names.” Quackity steps away from the desk, moving through the room and searching through the cabinets around him, pulling open drawers and rummaging through papers. Eventually, he finds what he was looking for, and he pulls out what looks to be just some pieces of paper. 

He moves back over to Wilbur, and places them down before him.

Wilbur stares with his heart sinking down into his stomach. He struggles to suck in a proper breath. 

These are wanted posters. Familiar ones, ones that Wilbur’s seen time and time again, having their little spot on the pub’s walls. 

Wanted, dead or alive: Male, age approximately thirty-four, blond hair, fair complexion. Answers to Phil Watson. Known also as The Angel of Death, The Golden Traitor, The Sea’s Lover. In command of Death’s Ferry. Companions: The Pink Delilah, The Blood God, FoxGlove, and The Prophet. Wanted on charges of high piracy, arson, misuse of a naval vessel, murder, kidnapping, assult, smuggling, theft, hijacking, looting, impersonation of a priest…

The list of crimes doesn’t end there, but that’s where Wilbur stops reading. He looks up at Quackity with a nearly desperate look, and Quackity is offering not a scrap of mercy. 

“You’re lying.” Wil croaks out, and Quackity shakes his head. "You're lying to me."

“I’m not.” 

“This isn’t-” Wil starts, and he can’t finish. “You’re-” He tries again. Fails miserably. He thinks the world might be spinning. Maybe that’s just his internal panic hitting hard. 

“Wilbur Watson.” Quackity says, and Wilbur looks up. “Your name is Wil Watson, and you are the only son of the Angel of Death, the most infamous pirate we’ve ever had grace these waters.”

Chapter Text

“No.” Wilbur chokes out. He pushes himself backwards, scooting the chair away, like it'll push off the news. He stays in place for a second, then scoots closer again, needing to take a closer look. 

“Yes!” Quackity stands up straight, clapping his hands together like he’s giving a grand applause. He falters at the way Wilbur leans over the wanted posters before him, grabbing them like they hold his death sentence. “Ah. You're not happy about that.”

“No. No, you’re-” Wilbur argues, shaking his head. He reads over the papers again, sifting through them as if they might hold a better answer, a better truth. When he finds nothing, he pushes them away with a frustrated noise, letting a few fall off the desk and onto the ground. "You're joking!"

They flutter down at Quackity’s feet, and Quackity stares at them with a carefully blank look. 

“So I can see…” Quackity speaks slowly, flicking his eyes up and finding Wilbur’s horrified expression looking back at him. “That judging by the look on your face, you’re absolutely thrilled to hear this.” His words drip in sarcasm. "I thought this would fare better..." He mutters under his breath. 

“Thrilled?” Wilbur repeats, the word hardly a whisper in between his teeth. “Do I look fucking thrilled?”

“Mmnn.” Quackity purses his lips, squinting his eyes like he’s trying hard to find it amongst all the sheer bafflement drawn out on Wil’s face. “Not quite, but-! Now you understand-”

“Understand what, exactly?! That you're playing some sort of cruel joke?!”

“It's not a joke. This is the reason the crew came to get you.” Quackity explains. He steps towards the maps on the walls, dragging a finger along them. “Your dear old dad, for years now, has been trying his damn best to get you back. He made a deal when he first lost you, an agreement that he himself couldn't go searching, so he had to find people willing to go the extra mile for him and do it on his behalf. So, you see, this town isn’t the first they’ve looked through-”

“Oh, good.” Wilbur gasps out, burying his face into his palms. “I haven’t just been kidnapped by pirates, I’ve been kidnapped by delusional pirates.”

Quackity blinks, then frowns. “I’m telling the truth.” He says, sounding so honestly genuine that it scares Wil a bit. “And I’m not a pirate, don’t lump me in with those people.” He adds, with a bit of humor, the edge of his lip curling into a grin. 

“Are you!” Wilbur laughs, sounding a little frantic and at the end of his rope. He slams his hands onto the desk, standing up from his seat, the chair scooting back with a screech.  “You’re telling me that for all these years, out on the seas, there’s been a- what, an army of criminals trying to find me? That me, a person from a town on a peaceful shore, is the child of some wild, terrible pirate who has- what looks to be, many, many posters wanting his head!?” Wil makes his way around the desk towards Quackity, and Quackity backs up as Wilbur comes closer. 

“Hey.” Quackity raises a finger. “That’s not all the posters, don’t cut your father short like that. We have plenty more somewhere around here.”

“That does not make it better. You're not funny."

“He’s a very wanted man.” Quackity shrugs. Wilbur groans, moving away and pacing back and forth through the room. “I know you’re probably a lil’ confused. Overwhelmed.” Quackity says, holding his hands up when Wilbur raises his head with a sharp look. “And a bit angry, I know. That’s entirely justified, considering how you got here.”

“I don’t think anyone would be overjoyed at getting thrown over a pirates shoulder and being dragged onto a boat.” Wilbur mutters underneath his breath.

“Absolutely. But now, here’s the thing.” Quackity holds his arms out, almost like he’s about to bow to an adoring audience. “I am the info man. My main goal was to just break the news to you, but now that we got that out of the way, I can answer all your questions to help settle any confusion.” 

“I’m not the confused one here!” Wilbur exclaims, throwing his arms up. “You must have the wrong person, because I’m not a pirate’s son. I am not his son!” 

Quackity’s face goes thoughtful. He stares at Wilbur, letting that claim sit in silence for a moment. “Okay. Alright. And…how do you know that?”

“I’m an orphan.” Wilbur deadpans. “My adopted aunt found me on her doorstep.” 

“Yes, that seems like a sound argument.” Quackity nods, and he takes a sudden few steps forward, getting into Wil’s space and forcing him to step back. “But who do you think put you on that doorstep?” He takes another step, Wilbur stumbling backwards again. “Who do you think put you in that town? It wasn't your father, that's for sure. He would have never given you up.” Another step. Wilbur hits the desk. “Why do you think you were assigned a guard?” 

Wilbur leans back against the table behind him, and he pauses. “A guard?” He asks, nearly baffled. 

“The commodore.” Quackity shrugs, and Wilbur fumes. 

“Dream wasn’t my guard.” He protests. “He just made sure I didn’t fucking drown. I had a habit of running off as a child.” 

“He never let you out to sea.” Quackity rewords. He walks around Wilbur, circling the desk and trailing his hand over the wanted posters sitting there. “Sure, maybe he was just serving his civil duty in keeping people from getting lost out in the waves.” He shrugs. “But…it was in his direct orders from the higher ups that he was meant to keep watch on you.” 

Wilbur freezes. “What?”

“He was meant to keep men aware of your position if you ever went on shore, meant to keep you off the docks if you ever got too close.” Quackity goes to list off, like he’s just reciting a grocery list. “If you were to ever somehow board a ship, he was meant to bring that ship back around.”

“No.” Wilbur shakes his head. Quackity ignores him and continues.

“If you ever took a step onto the sand, he was meant to have eyes on you at all times. If you ever went near the waterline, he was meant to go retrieve you himself-” 

“What do you-”

“-because you trusted him.” Quackity finishes, and he looks straight into Wilbur’s eyes, like he’s trying to hammer the facts in. “Because you were both near in age, so he was the candidate for keeping a good relationship with you, always bringing you back to where you were supposed to be.” 

And that was what always happened, didn’t it? 

That was their little routine, their little friendship that Wilbur always knew. Whenever he wandered out, his heart calling for the sea, Dream would follow and would bring him back. Part of him always thought it to be a sort of loyalty, in the way the man would never falter in showing up when Wilbur got too close to the water. But with the way Quackity phrases it, it doesn’t feel like loyalty any longer. It feels like the reveal of a cage, the blindfold being taken from Wilbur’s eyes. 

Each and every time, without fail, Dream would take him back home from the shore. Wilbur always went with him. He would kick and scream and be difficult when he was younger, but as the years went, he learned to accept it as it was. He walked with Dream back home, and let himself be escorted back to his house.

But surely, surely, that wasn’t because Dream was keeping him from the ocean. No, Wilbur doesn’t want to say it. Surely, he was just- 

He was protecting Wilbur, was he not? It was only protection, he wants to say. It was protection from Wilbur’s own stupid habits. It was protection gifted after his aunt had given up on saving him from the ocean waves. 

(But then why was that protection so suffocating?)

“It's clear why they never wanted you near the sea. There's- a reason that you need it. You're connected to it, in a way. That's a story for another time, but what I mean to ask is," He raises his eyebrows. "Have you never suspected your town to be a bit too stifling?” 

Wilbur’s skin feels too cold. 

“That’s not-” Wilbur goes to deny it, but Quackity looks too sure of himself, his expression as serious as stone, and Wil turns his head away. “That’s not how it was. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I had a good life.” 

“I know it’s a lot.” Quackity hums. “Having your whole livelihood uprooted in the span of one morning, being taken by pirates, and being told the way you grew up was a lie-” He pats at Wilbur’s arm. “That’ll take an adjustment period.” 

“Why would you know about Dream?” Wilbur asks, glaring at Quackity’s hand like it might contain diseases. “How did you know he always met me at shore?” 

“It was in his orders.” Quackity leans back, shrugging lightly. “He took an oath and everything, apparently.”

“An oath.” Wilbur repeats. He knows most officers would take a usual oath for their duty, but something about the way Quackity says that implies it was a different sort of promise. “What orders?” 

Quackity smiles, like Wilbur’s asked the perfect question. 

“Royal orders, of course.” Quackity answers. He clasps his hands behind his back, and walks through the room like he just can’t manage to stay still. Like all the maps and papers on the walls are crucial to the words he’s about to say. “Phil is a troublesome sort of pirate, I think you’ve figured that out by now. A while ago, he was getting far in terms of pirating, too far for the crown’s tastes, so they thought him dangerous. Having a dangerous pirate on the seas, with no way to stop him, well. They were pretty desperate to put a stop to him. Through any means necessary. ”

Wilbur tilts his head. He wonders over all the stories he’s ever heard of the Golden Traitor, and how over these past recent years, the man has faded off into obscurity. He had assumed, like everyone else, that it was just a consequence of his way of life. Maybe he finally fell to a shootout, maybe he went down with his ship in a storm. Whatever it was, Wilbur never cared too much, because why ask about a dead pirate when all the alive ones were still running around making good stories to tell?

“Thing is, he was too strong for them to kill him, and he was too quick for them to catch him. They were running out of options, but luckily for them, an opportunity presented itself in due time.” Quackity drawls, taking a few papers from a drawer beside him and flipping through them like they’re of no interest. “The Angel of Death, one of the most deadly pirates to exist; fell in love, and had a son.” 

Wilbur’s heart-

-aches, in that moment. 

He is still pissed and confused, upset with being dragged onto a pirate ship against his will. There is still so much bitterness and anger urging him to break a window, but as he imagines a man- a ruthless, dangerous man- who might be his father, falling in love with his mother all the same-

It quiets down the anger for a second. It makes him ache with something like a muted sadness. Like he’s mourning for something he never even knew he lost. 

Quackity looks at Wilbur for a moment. "That son was you." 

Wilbur bites at the inside of his cheek, glancing back at the wanted posters a second time. 

Quackity goes on, putting the documents to the side. “While plenty thought him without humanity, considering the shit ton of crimes he did, he did care for his son. He loved him more than anything. Word of that got out quick. Phil, despite his reputation, loved his child like any good father would. Maybe a bit more. And like any devoted father would…” Quackity sighs, looking towards Wilbur. “He’d do anything for him.” That’s said like a death sentence. Like an eternal damnation, a terrible fate that no one could ever avoid. 

Wilbur’s heart drops, and a horrible realization dawns on him just as Quackity goes to continue. 

“So, they-”

“They took him.” Wil says, eyes wide, and Quackity smiles. It’s a pitying sort of smile. “They took the kid, didn’t they? To stop him.”

“The damn bastards stole you right from Phil’s arms.” Quackity confirms, and the ache in Wilbur’s chest passes again, so strong that he feels a little sick with it. He leans back onto the desk behind him, biting harder at the inside of his cheek. 

Somehow, the ache feels just like how he always did whenever he looked at the sea. Like that desperation that came whenever he tried to get into the waves, and that overwhelming despair that came with always failing due to determined hands pulling him back. 

“And.” Quackity drags on his words, looking carefully at Wil. “This stolen son was hidden away in a town meant to keep him away from the sea, since his birth originated at the sea.” 

Wilbur laughs. It sounds more like a stuttering exhale than a chuckle. He drops his head, rubbing at his face to get rid of the irritating burn in his eyes. The ache in his chest is still so vivid, and it feels so intertwined with fear at still being in this room, at having the entire experience of this morning. 

But amongst it all, there's also a quiet type of relief, like Wilbur's just been waiting for these words. Waiting for someone to tell him the town was all wrong, waiting for someone to take him to sea and let him finally properly breathe. Waiting for that one chance to let him be one with the sea.

He doesn't know what to do with all the thoughts swirling inside his head. He stares at his feet and gives a humorless smile, feeling a little like this has to be an insane sort of dream. 

“So you’re saying that was my town?” Wilbur asks, his throat feeling tight. “They took me.”

“Look.” Quackity steps forward, holding his palms out towards Wil, like he’s wary of him lashing out. “I know this is a lot. But-” He hesitates, before moving forward. “Here's the truth, okay? That entire Navy there in your town wasn’t just some sort of local base to keep the area safe. It was meant to keep you in. That lady you called your Aunt? She was paid to take you in and stay where she was. And Dream, well. You know that one already.” He shrugs. "Everything in that area was meant to keep you hidden in one spot. It was a meticulous, horrible plan made by the king, for the sole purpose of keeping your dad under a thumb."

"Huh." Wilbur chuckles again, shaking his head. 

“We’ve...we've been trying to get you back for a while, Wil.” Quackity says, and Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry it took so long.” 

Wil laughs again at that, but it sounds more like a sob halfway through. He leans forward with it,  his elbows digging into his own stomach as he hides his face into his hands. He cries quietly with his shoulders shaking, and then all at once he just gives up on standing entirely, sliding down to the ground so he can lean his back against the desk. 

“Hey, hey.” Quackity crouches down before him, speaking softly. “It’s alright, it’s alright, man.” 

“It’s really not.” Wilbur snorts, keeping his face hidden away into his knees so a stranger won’t have to see him burst into tears. “I’ve been kidnapped by pirates, my father’s a pirate, and my town is shit.” He sniffs, then groans. “But to be fair, I think I already knew that last one.” 

Quackity gives a light laugh. “Well, then you’ve got one down. You’ve got time to process the others.” He nudges at Wilbur’s leg, making Wil lift his head to look at Quackity. “Why don’t you change out of those clothes and eat something for the morning, yeah? I think we’ve talked enough for now.” 

Wil huffs. “Give me a second.” He pleads, wishing he didn’t sound so pathetic. “I just- I need a second.”

“Take the time.” Quackity hums, like he understands it perfectly. He sits down on the floor across from Wilbur, as if willing to be there for as long as Wil wants. “No one’s going to bother you for the rest of the day, I’m pretty sure. Because one, like I said, none of these pirates have social skills, and two, it was generally agreed that you might need space after this.” 

“I’d like plenty of space.” Wilbur rests his chin onto the top of his knees. “Any chance you guys can drop me off at some other town and sail off into the distance?”

“Your father would not like that.” Quackity scoffs. “And this crew would rather lose a limb than give you up.”

“Ugh.” 

“Oh, I know, terrible.” Quackity grins. “Pirates are insufferable, I tell you. I’ve been sailing with these maniacs for weeks and they drive me crazy. At least I have style! Dignity! Last week I saw Fundy fighting a seagull for his piece of bread. The seagull fucking won.” 

Wilbur bursts out laughing. Quackity laughs with him, and when they stop, a question dawns over Wil. 

“What are you, then, if you’re not a pirate?” Wil asks. “You said you’re not a pirate. But you’re traveling with them.” 

“I’m an info man.” Quackity smoothly responds, beaming with pride, and at Wilbur’s unsatisfied expression, he deflates. “An investigator, of sorts. Not a legal one, though. I wouldn’t consider myself a pirate, since I’m not one for pillaging and fighting and all that, but I work with them. I’ve got eyes and ears all around the seas, and that makes me useful. Which is why they asked me for my help.” 

“And were you the reason they were able to find my town?” Wilbur questions. Quackity gives a half-shrug, pushing himself off the floor to get up on his feet. 

“They had been looking through towns for months before I got to you. Niki had been infiltrating different places every few weeks, and this ship had been sailing around near the right spot for a while. It just took some time to narrow it down.” Quackity holds a hand out to pull Wilbur up. “So, no, not really, but I’m still getting paid, so it works out!” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes, but he takes the hand and stands up from the ground, wiping at the edge of his eyes with a silent sigh. Quackity heads off to retrieve clothes from where he had put it to the side earlier, and with it, a place of food that’s gone a little cold by now. Food is food, though, and Wilbur hasn’t had breakfast. 

“Here.” Quackity puts the plate and clothes down onto the desk. “I can talk with you more later, but for now, just rest a bit. If you’re curious about anything, just go poking around in all this shit.” Quackity waves a finger around the room. “Stealing is encouraged and smiled upon, especially with you.” 

Wilbur makes a baffled expression. “I’m not stealing anything.” 

“You’ve got the captain’s blood, and half the crew favors you.” Quackity leans in with a whisper. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of that and rob them dry.” 

“I’m not a pirate.” Wil deadpans, turning to the desk to take the clothes in his hands. 

“Not yet…” Quackity sings, slithering away like a ridiculous snake. 

“Not ever.” Wil insists. “Probably.” He adds hesitantly. He ignores the snickering towards his back. “Just go already. And-” He pauses. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“It’s nothing.” Quackity responds. 

Wilbur smiles, just a bit, and he unfolds the shirt he has in his hands, hearing Quackity head towards the door, his footsteps sounding out against the floorboards. 

“And, by the way, Wil?” Quackity says just before leaving, Wilbur turning towards him. “If you were to see it from a different point of view, considering everything I’ve told you, this wasn’t a kidnapping. More of a… delayed rescue.” He makes a so-so hand gesture, his face looking thoughtful. 

Wilbur snorts, making an unimpressed look. “Maybe if it had less fire being set to the town, I’d be inclined to think of it that way.” 

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Quackity admits. “Tubbo has no fucking chill when he get his hands on explosives.” He mutters, and with that, he goes out the door, closing it quietly behind him and leaving Wilbur alone in the cabin. 

Wil stares at the door for a minute longer than needed before turning back to the clothes he’s been given. His own outfit is still damp from running around in the rain and jumping into the sea, so he’s glad for a change for something dry. Although, he’s left wondering where exactly Quackity got these. Part of him wants to say the crew just offered it up, knowing Wil might need it, but he’s also got an inkling that Quackity just stole it. 

Wil huffs. Pirate or not, Quackity still sure seems like one. Maybe he’s got dignity, maybe not, but he’s sailing with a pirate crew, and he seems to fit in just fine, so that says an awful lot about the sort of person he is, doesn’t it?

With that, Wil can’t help but wonder how he himself will settle in on this ship. 

Maybe he won’t fit in at all. Maybe he’ll stay stubborn to the very end and manage to find a way off so he can get away from insufferable pirates and live a content life like how he hoped for. That would be ideal, but it doesn’t sound probable. Especially as he begins to realize just how much effort they’ve put in to get to him. 

What if he finds that he fits in just fine? There’s supposed pirate’s blood running through his veins, and while Wilbur isn’t so convinced that alone would make him qualified to live this sort of life, he can’t deny that he’s tempted. Tempted to join, to learn. The idea of adventure and life-or-death situations-- that would be much more interesting than his existence back at town, he’ll admit. 

He loves the sea. He knows that much. Even with the fact he did not get on this ship willingly, he is still at sea, and there is nothing but joy with that fact. He wonders if his lineage has something to do with that. At first, he would’ve thought it was just a bad habit, always finding his way back to the waves, no matter how many times he was told not to, but now it might not even be his fault. It could just be because of who he is, where he’s come from. 

His gaze falls onto the wanted posters sitting underneath his plate of breakfast. He carefully pulls one out from underneath the food, and he holds it closer to his face, reading over the words once again. His eyes drag over the name Phil Watson.

“Wilbur Watson.” Wilbur murmurs out, testing the name out on his tongue like he wants to see if it holds any weight. The words don’t quite fit in his mouth, and they don’t quite fit him, but Wil can’t help but have a stray feeling that they could, maybe, one day. 

William is such a pretentious name, though. Fucking William. What sort of pirate names his child William? When he meets his father, he’s going to-

Wil freezes, stuttering over that thought. He puts the poster down back onto the desk and rubs at his face with a short sigh. “Fuck.” 

Who is he to just be accepting this so willingly? He knows he’s always had a penchant for wanting escape in some sort of manner, but having a pirate as family isn’t exactly the best sort of way to do it. Especially if it’s this pirate. 

This pirate has made himself a name. The Angel of Death title isn’t something that just comes from nowhere. That, paired with his ship’s name, Death’s Ferry, it’s not hard to put together the pieces to know what type of pirate he is. 

He’s dangerous. Deadly and chaotic and without any limits on the sea-- Wilbur’s heard stories. Stories of him taking over entire towns, robbing their banks within a single night. Stories of him sending fleet after fleet of the royal navy to the ocean floor, for daring to try and capture his ship. Stories of him killing competition without a second glance, shooting people dead for crossing him, sending men to their watery graves for just pissing him off. 

It’s no wonder the crown went to steal his kid to make him stop. What other choice would they have? He was a wild, unstoppable force of nature. A respected and feared name across the seven seas. 

But then again. Even with that, even with such a reputation, did he deserve to lose a son? Did he deserve to have that torn away? It’s immoral, the crimes he committed, but taking a child from a loving family-- that is not any better.

And Wilbur, while not wanting it to be true, still considers the idea of being that child that was taken away. Maybe his father isn’t a good person, and maybe Wilbur should be making a move to avoid ever seeing his face, but-

There is still a type of bitterness that comes with the knowledge of possibly being stolen away whilst he was so young. 

If he grew where he was meant to be, where he was born, would he have never felt stifled? 

If he grew up with a fearsome pirate as a dad and the dangerous crew as his family, would he have been happier? Stronger? Loved? Would he have felt more like a growing individual, rather than a soul who was always put on halt?

He doesn’t know. He hates that he doesn’t know. 

He hates that someone took it from him so many years ago. 

And he hates that he wants it back. 

Wilbur huffs, wiping at his eyes and quickly tugging his shirt over his head so he can finally change. He throws his old clothes on the floor beside the desk. They’re already a bit dirty and disheveled from the entirety of this morning, and he doesn’t think that letting them sit on the ground is going to make them any worse. 

As he pulls on the new shirt, he kicks off his boot to change pants, and as he does, he goes still and realizes he probably should’ve asked Quackity for a new pair of shoes. He’s still only got one boot, thanks to Technoblade fucking stealing the other one. 

“Fuck.” Wilbur swears, standing there with one boot before his feet and a loosely fitting shirt on his torso. 

The sight of Quackity coming up to the helm with a familiar, content grin on his face is nothing but a reassuring sight for Niki.

She grins back against the wind, feeling the light rainfall against her face. The clouds above them have lightened up now, but not enough for the sun of the day to fully shine through. It’s still a dim morning, and it doesn’t quite fit with the joy of victory raging on within her heart. 

“How is he taking it?” She asks, keeping one hand on the wheel as Quackity comes to stand beside the railing, leaning his weight against it. He stretches his arms up with a groan before offering her an answer. “Is he okay?”

“As okay as one can be, after getting kidnapped by pirates, having his town set ablaze, and finding out his dad is a legendary pirate.” 

Niki blinks, soaking in those words. “So…he’s not okay?” She asks hesitantly. 

Quackity makes an unsure noise. “He’s living.” He shrugs, and Niki slumps her shoulders forward, wishing that she could just head down right now and talk to Wil herself. She has so much she wants to tell him, so much she wants to explain. 

But he needs time. It’d be no good if they overwhelm him and have him become a flight risk. That would just make everything more difficult than it needs to be. Niki’s hoping that her and Wil’s friendship can coax him to stay and settle, but nothing is set in stone. For all she knows, her betrayal might just make it all worse, considering how close they got in those short weeks. 

She sighs. She’s not quite guilty over taking Wilbur from the town like that, (honestly, it was satisfying to get a chance to play out some old fashioned revenge in Phil’s name) but there’s still regret at the result of it all. Wilbur kicking and screaming whilst looking terrified is not something she ever wants to see again. 

They’ll all take it slow. The time they’ll have on this ship will allow Wilbur to warm up to them, and hopefully, by the time they return to Phil, he won’t be as skittish. Maybe, even by then, they’ll have taught Wil a good few lessons in piracy. Now that’d be fun for everyone. 

Nothing like a bit of criminal activity on the seas to bring the people together. Niki knows for a fact Tubbo’s explosives have gotten them all knowing the meaning of teamwork quite well. And by that, she means the whole crew struggling to wrangle gunpowder out from Tubbo’s possession. 

“Where did Technoblade go?” Quackity asks, bringing Niki out of her thoughts. She turns to him with a questioning hum. “He up in the rafters again?” 

Niki tilts her head up to the mast, giving a nod. “He wanted to send a crow off to the captain.” She explains, and Quackity makes an understanding noise. “That, and keep an eye out.” 

“Only a matter of time till the Navy comes running after William, eh?” 

“Exactly.” Niki tightens her grip on the wheel. “Let’s hope we can lose them when they do come. I’d rather not fight.” 

“Wil’s been through too much stress today.” Quackity shakes his head. “If the worst happens, we keep him locked in the captain’s cabin and send Technoblade out. That’ll end it quick.” 

“That, or we let Tubbo test out his flammable cannonballs.” Niki adds, and Quackity snorts. 

“Ohhh, I’ve been wanting to see those.”

“So have I.” Niki smiles, a bit of pride on her shoulders in knowing that Tubbo’s only been making strides in terms of causing damage towards any ships they come across. “Although, I’m not sure whether or not it's going to end with the deck on fire again.” 

“You can’t even see the scorch marks anymore.” Quackity waves off, Niki laughing and Quackity joining her. 

Niki lifts her head up as she hears the faint sound of a crow’s call, and she watches as a black bird flies off away from the rafters, heading beyond the sea around them. It’ll be a long trip for that crow, but Niki knows it’s going to be faster than their voyage. With that message, Phil will at least know they’re on their way, and it’ll make it that much easier to arrive.

From here, she can see Techno standing all the way up top, watching off past the waves for anything of interest. She hopes for all their sakes he stays up there bored. Better he be bored than they be in danger. She can’t afford having this ship be in danger. 

They’ve got precious cargo aboard, after all. If anything happens to him, then they’ll all be sent to their watery graves, in one way or another. 

That idea doesn’t scare Niki as much as it should. She’s confident in her abilities and she’s sure she won’t disappoint. Sometimes she wishes she was still intimidated by the captain and his threats, but she can’t quite manage to really hold any fear with that man. She trusts him, and with everything she’s done for him, he trusts her too. 

It’s a mutual loyalty, with this crew and the captain. Maybe in their first months, they would’ve had to worry about the penalty of death if they were to cross him, but now, it’s a different story. Now, Niki’s pretty sure Fundy could rob Phil’s coins right out of his pockets, and all he’d get in punishment is a whack across the head. Something much more tame compared to any stranger trying the same thing. 

A slight wave of something like homesickness washes over her for a second. It passes as soon as it comes, but it still revives a small sense of impatience in its visit. Niki finds herself wishing for the ship to be faster, and for their destination to be a little closer. 

In due time, she tells herself. Things have to settle, Wilbur needs to warm up to the crew, and Phil has to prepare. It will take time, but oh, how she wishes she could just blink and have Wilbur safely back home, just like that. 

“We’ve got company!” Techno’s voice calls out from over their heads, and both Quackity and Niki look up, eyes wide. “Far behind the ship!” 

Niki turns behind her with her hands still held to the wheel, and Quackity leans over the railing, pressing himself against the wood in an attempt to squint out past the water to see any oncoming ships. He sees a speck off in the distance, but he can’t quite make it out. 

“Fundy!” Quackity yells, and the pirate is already halfway up the steps, a telescope being folded out in his palms. Tubbo is right behind him, his expression full of anticipation as he takes a spot beside Niki. 

“You think it's time for me to put my ammo to good use?” Tubbo asks, giddy with the possible chance. 

“As fun as that’d be, I’m hoping not.” Niki shrugs a shoulder apologetically, and Tubbo hums, not seeming disappointed. There is always a next time, on these waters. 

Fundy looks out across the waves with his telescope, Quackity standing impatient at his side. 

“Yup,” Fundy lowers the telescope, handing it to Quackity without even looking. “Navy’s trailing us.” 

“Shit.” Quackity swears, looking through the telescope himself and scowling when he spots the ship far off. He turns to Niki. “We can lose them.” 

“We can.” Niki nods. “All of you, to your stations.” She asks, and they go, quickly leaving her at the helm. Niki turns up to the rafters. “Techno! Stay keeping an eye out! We’ll just be outrunning them!”

Technoblade waves an arm from where he is. “Sounds good.” He calls down, and Niki nods, focusing her gaze on the path ahead as the others work on getting the ship to take advantage of what wind they’ve got. 

The ship sails along with its crew running across its deck. Techno sits comfortably from where he is, keeping a hand firmly on the wood beside him so he won’t fall and end up breaking an arm. That’s only ever happened once, but once is a good enough lesson to be careful. Phil had taught him how to climb better after that. 

The Navy ship off in the distance stays as a speck as they continue on, but as the minutes pass and Techno keeps his attention towards it, he thinks it might be getting closer. He wishes he had Fundy’s telescope to check.

Something like dread sinks past his ribs at the thought of Navy getting to them. They have good distance, but this ship isn’t the fastest on the seas, he knows that well. It could catch up, and if they catch up, then they’ll have to deal with the problems that’ll bring. 

Usually, when they run into a problem like this, their solution isn’t running away. It’s to run headfirst into it, then burn it down. 

Techno glances down at their mock-captain at the helm. Niki’s always had a knack for burning things down. He thinks Tubbo gets his habit of fiery destruction from her habits of arson. It works well with their enemies, honestly. They haven’t fallen yet, have they? 

He looks back up at the ship trailing far behind, frowning at seeing it grow just a little bigger. Just as he’s about to call to Niki that they might need to fight this one out, something in the ocean moves.

A rolling sound of thunder travels through the clouds over his head, and rainfall pours down within seconds, like a lever has been pulled. Technoblade holds on tightly to where he stands with wide eyes, and he watches as the sea behind them shifts and rises, a wave reaching out from the water. It rises and rises until it’s much more than just unsteady water, and then it crashes into the side of the Navy ship, turning it sideways. 

Technoblade is much too far to hear the screaming of the men onboard, but he imagines the noise in his ears anyway. He watches as the ship is quickly swallowed up by the sea, sent to rest at the ocean floor in a matter of minutes.

As soon as the ship is gone from sight, the rain stops. The water behind them settles into something calm again, and they continue on sailing. 

Technoblade grins, his eyes bright red as he glances up at the dim clouds. He goes to climb down so that he may tell Niki that they’ve lost the Navy ship.

Wilbur doesn’t leave the captain’s quarters. 

He doesn’t dare take a step outside, even if the door is unlocked. (Which it is, he checked, and was pleasantly surprised, yet discouraged by the fact that even if he did want to escape out the door, he’d only meet pirates in his way, so there goes that possible option.)

Instead, he spends his time looking through the room. He finds a door, off to the side, which he at first thought would’ve been a closet, only to find out it was actually a tiny little bedroom. His bedroom, it would appear, considering the fact this place seems to be where he’s going to stay for the time being. It’s not a bad place to sleep, he would say. It’s a small bed with a blanket and a pillow, and that’s all a man needs. He moves on from the tiny room and keeps his focus on the main one. 

He looks through the wanted posters, first. He sets them apart on top of the desk, and then goes looking through the cabinets to see if he can find any more. 

And, oh, does he find more. 

He finds about thirty. That doesn’t seem like a lot, considering wanted posters can be quite abundant in towns, but they’re all of different designs, so Wil doesn’t think these are from the same spot. In fact, he thinks that they were all collected along the way. Like some sort of game, just to see how many different places have a different wanted poster. 

Eventually, the desk can’t hold them all without having them overlap, so Wilbur sets them across the floor instead, sitting down in the middle and laying them out around him in a strange sort of circle.

That’s how Quackity finds him when he comes in later, the time being mid-day, and Wilbur being surrounded by papers and documents that could give him some sort of clue what exactly this crew has been doing while on mission to find him. 

“Well, you’ve been busy.” Quackity notes as he stands in the doorway, Wilbur not lifting his head as he skims over a newspaper of a ‘pirate attack’ on shore. It’s from a few months prior, but Wilbur knows that it’s about this ship. The more he finds, the more he starts to realize a lot of these things are just the damn pirates collecting news about their own crimes. 

Wil hums of acknowledgement to Quackity. “Trying to pass the time.” He says, and Quackity sighs. 

“Yeah, one can get bored out here.” He agrees, closing the door behind him. “If you want, you could come play cards with me and Fundy out on deck. Fundy’s shit at winning, so you shouldn’t have a hard time.” 

Wilbur frowns. “I’m not playing cards with pirates.” Although, the idea is tempting. Playing a card game with Foxglove, of all people, makes Wilbur’s heart jump with eagerness. He shoves it down with the reminder that said pirate literally pointed a gun at his neck a few days prior. Somehow, it doesn’t deter his excitement.

“Hey, I’m not a pirate.” Quackity sits down beside Wil, careful to push some of the papers to the side so he won’t crumple them. “I’m an info man.”

“Say whatever you want, Quackity.” Wilbur lifts his eyes up from the paper in his hand, side-eyeing Quackity with raised eyebrows. “But for a man who insists he isn’t a pirate, he sure acts like one.” 

Quackity leans back with a surprised face at that. Wil feels a sliver of pride at catching him off guard, but then the Quackity bursts out laughing, leaning forward with a hand steadying him against the ground. 

“Holy shit!” Quackity wheezes, Wilbur lowering the newspaper in his hands with a frown. “Holy shit, oh my god- You’re-” He cackles again, throwing his head back. 

“What?” Wil asks, Quackity struggling to calm himself down. 

“You sound like your dad!” Quackity chokes out, Wilbur blinking in surprise. “I swear, that’s something Phil’s said to me, word for word.” Right before then trying to convince him to join the crew. Quackity kinda misses those talks. It’s like a slow sort of a persuasion, one that he knows he’s going to end up losing. 

Wilbur stammers at being told that, shaking his head like he can put the words away and not ever say them again. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“But you did!” Quackity snorts. “You’re saying you don’t want to play cards with the pirates, you speak like a pirate yourself.” 

Wilbur’s expression sours, and he turns away from Quackity, huffing. “I’m not a pirate.”

“The captain is. He’s a pirate right down to the bones.” Quackity nods. “And you’ve got his blood. So what does that make you?” 

“An unfortunate soul.” Wilbur dryly responds, pushing himself to his feet so he can walk away from this conversation. 

“I think of it more as a pirate in training, yeah?” Quackity claps his hands together, following Wilbur to where he goes to sit at the desk. He leans forward onto the table, palms against the wood. “Hey, come on. The rain outside has lightened up. I could get Niki to join us for a round of cards.” 

Wilbur makes a near scowl, gritting his teeth. “I don’t want to play cards with Niki.”

“Oh, sore spot. Sorry.” Quackity lifts his hands up in surrender. Wilbur’s eyes don’t hold that same glow like the rest of this crew, but he’s still got one hell of a human glare either way. “You’re angry with her.” 

“How can I not be?” Wilbur asks. “Am I supposed to just be alright with all this?! Shrug it off and pretend like I’m not a hostage on a pirate’s ship?” 

“You aren’t.” Quackity protests. He thinks for a second. “Mostly.” 

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Wilbur groans, leaning forward on the desk and holding his head in his hands. 

“That’s where I disagree, actually.” Quackity knocks his knuckles onto the back of Wil’s head, Wilbur jolting up with a frown. Quackity gives him a long stare, before turning his head to the mess of papers laid out on the ground. “You’ve been looking through all this, right?” 

Wilbur gives a slow nod. 

“Then,” Quackity walks over to pick up one of the papers from the ground. “You would know that we’ve been working our asses off to try and find you.” 

“So?” 

“So.” He drops the paper, letting it flutter to the floor. “There’s a reason for that work, you know.” 

Wilbur sighs under his breath, looking away. “Yes. My supposed dad.” 

“Yes, your father.” Quackity repeats. “He sent us to look for you. He sent us to get you back. He has wanted you back since the day he lost you.” 

Quackity takes a few steps towards Wilbur’s desk, leaning forward on it so he can hover near his face. 

“You’re not meant to live in a little town by the shore that’s scared of what lurks in the water. And you’re definitely not meant to live any further on land, either, with what runs in your veins.” Wilbur sinks down into the seat, narrowing his eyes in return towards Quackity’s face. “You’re meant to go home.” 

“And home is with a bunch of criminals?” Wil asks, and Quackity laughs, leaning back. 

“Well, it isn’t with a bunch of Navy, now is it?” He crosses his arms. “You felt at home with one criminal for weeks. She wasn’t so bad, so what makes you think we’re any worse?” 

Wilbur freezes, Niki’s smiling face flashing through his head. He glares towards Quackity, and Quackity only smiles back. 

“She’s told me about the way you look at the sea.” Quackity continues, and that hits hard, Wilbur’s face faltering. “About the way you wanted to return to it. Now, doesn’t that make sense? It was because you were born here, amongst a pirate’s crew with the ocean waves underneath the floorboards.” 

The ache passes again, right over Wilbur’s heart. He winces with it, and turns his head down. 

“You belong here, and you know it.” Quackity speaks quietly, like he’s sharing an honest truth to Wil. "Denial runs deep, I suppose." 

Some part of Wilbur wants to hold onto it like the truth. Wants to fall backwards into the words, let himself be swallowed up by an identity he’s never known. He knows it’d be less painful than ignoring it, shoving it down and locking it away in a box. 

He can’t open the box, though. He fiddles with that latch, holds the key in his hand for the first time in his life, but he can’t open it up. 

“But we can put a hold on that card game.” Quackity says suddenly, like they’re just talking lightly once again. He shrugs as he turns towards the door. “If you still want to be in here, that’s alright, there’s no need to push yourself. We can wait! I’ll go get you a plate of dinner and some matches for when sunset comes around, okay?” 

Wilbur watches as he pulls open the door, leaving it open just a crack as he heads to retrieve what he said he would. Outside, true to Quackity’s word, the clouds seem to have lightened up. Wilbur gets a passing urge to step out there and see it better with his own eyes. 

“Okay.” Wilbur mutters, even though he knows Quackity won’t hear. 

When the man comes back with a plate of food and a box of matches, Wilbur takes it without complaint, and returns to reading old wanted posters and newspapers over pirates. 

There’s a knock on Wilbur’s bedroom door past nightfall, when the candles are burning bright and Wilbur’s gone to lay down upon his bed, a heavy weight sitting on his heart.

“Wilbur?” Niki’s voice calls out, soft through the wood. “Are you up?” 

Something swells in Wilbur’s chest at the sound of her voice. It is both anger and love at once. He wants to tell her to fuck off, but that sense of betrayal has faded off over the day. Now, he’s just filled with something tired, a little helpless, and desperate, and he turns over on his side, keeping his back towards the door. 

“I wanted to talk.” Niki says, and her words are nothing more than a whisper. She sounds so hesitant, nothing like how she was on that beach, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and a threat that made navy guards part a path. She sounds so frail, and Wilbur knows it’s only because she’s speaking to him. Because she cares for him. 

And Wilbur, despite it all, cares for her. Because in that town, she really had been his one true friend. Someone to rely on, someone who didn’t frown at his ramblings or turn him away. Someone to offer a hug, offer a smile, offer a chance to look after those rambunctious little children, just to pass his time.

He wants to tell himself it was all fake. Wants to convince himself that he was tricked by a false kindness, and he should be angry for that. But Niki was never pretending to love him. 

No. Even when Wilbur found out her identity, her hair pink for the first time in his eyes, she had looked up at him with only worry.

Even when Wilbur kicked and screamed to be let down as he was dragged to a pirate’s ship, she tried to apologize, to explain. 

Even now, when Wil ignores her at his door, she just waits for a response. 

If she was only pretending this whole time, then she would let her 'real' self show through by now. She would be cruel, forceful, dangerous, just like all those stories Wilbur's has been told. If she was pretending to keep her cover, then why would she keep acting like this with the cover now blown?

“Wilbur?” Niki whispers, barely heard through the door, like she’s just about to go.

“Come in.” Wilbur calls out, before he can change his mind and spend the rest of this night alone. 

The doorknob turns and clicks open as Niki pushes her way inside. Wilbur glances back, and as soon as Niki sees Wil resting on the bed, she offers a smile that’s so painfully familiar that Wilbur can’t quite process the fact it belongs to a pirate. 

She closes the door behind her, standing in front of it with her back against the wood. “Are you settling in alright?” She asks, a bit of worry in her tone. “Is the bed okay?”

“I’ve slept in worse spots.” Wil confesses, and Niki smiles. She knows that. They’ve shared stories before, and Wilbur knows he’s told her all about his occasional habit of passing out on the dirt ground, or finding himself curled up within an empty cabinet after a long night of sharing drinks with travelers. 

“Still.” She shrugs. “This is different from that.” 

“It is.” Wilbur admits. He turns back around, resting his head on the pillow. “But it's not so bad.” 

Niki pauses for a moment at that, like she doesn’t quite believe him. “Really?” She whispers, and Wil closes his eyes. 

“Yeah.” Wilbur nods. “I'm finally at sea. And you’re here with me.” Niki is a pirate, a traitor, and a murderer-- but she is still Niki. And if he just closes his eyes and pretends, maybe he can act like in this moment, they are okay. They’re how they were. 

“I wanted to explain-” Niki hesitates, her voice sounding strained. “-about everything.” 

“Quackity’s told me a lot.”

“But there’s still so much more to say.” Niki pushes herself away from the door, making her way over to Wilbur’s bed. She sits carefully beside his legs. “There’s so many things I have to say.” 

“Are one of those things an apology for kidnapping me?” Wil asks, a slight sharpness behind his words. 

“Yes.” Niki answers, and Wilbur opens his eyes. “I am sorry, I am. I never wanted to hurt you or make you scared. I was hoping for all of it to go more smoothly, but it didn’t, and I’m- I’m just sorry.” 

Wilbur takes in the words, then turns towards her with a considering look. He just looks at her, stares for what feels like an eternity, like he’s letting that apology sit in the air to really sink in.

“You knew I wanted out of that town for years now.” Wil says, his throat feeling tight. “Did you know it was because of- because of where I came from?” 

“Yes.” Niki nods, wringing her hands together in her lap. “I knew who you were. I knew it was- It was you. It was you from first sight.” Niki had known it, the second he saw his eyes. 

Wilbur’s eyes are dull, dark, and have nothing of the same blue that burns within Phil’s gaze. For most of the time, Wil is human. Quietly human, quietly hidden away. 

But within the few seconds that he looks at the ocean- 

Niki can see that sliver of something more in there. That hint of a child who was supposed to be theirs, was supposed to grow up happy and loved with all the crew raising him well. 

Wilbur turns his head away from Niki’s words, squeezing his eyes shut like he can hide away from the love in her voice. Niki watches him curl in on himself, and she falters, going quiet. They sit there like that, with the silence almost suffocating. 

“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Niki asks, her voice a gentle whisper. 

Wil seems to curl up tighter. “A story?” He croaks out. 

“About a pirate.” Niki nods, and Wilbur huffs into his pillow. “A little something just before bed.” 

“...Okay.” Wil agrees, and Niki sits back, lifting her legs onto the bed to sit more comfortably. 

Wilbur turns his face out from his pillow, opening his eyes to stare towards the side, not yet looking at Niki beside him. He can’t bear the sight of her expression right now, but her voice- he can manage with her voice. 

“Once, there was a pirate who fell in love with the sea…”

Chapter Text

Once, there was a pirate who fell in love with the sea. 

The sea fell in love with him in return. 

It started like this.

The sea, in all her wild, ruthless, unpredictable nature, one day found herself observing a pirate from afar. All pirates are the same, one way or the other, pillaging and murdering until eventually finding their graves onto the ocean floor, or surrendering their way of life for something of peace on the dirt land. They’re a restless force always looking for more, destroying what sits around them for the chance of obtaining it, so she did not expect anything out of the ordinary. 

But this pirate was an unusual sort. He was indeed a pirate, a past soldier, through and through. He knew how to fight and how to shoot, he stole, he drank, he sailed, but he was not looking for more. 

He never stayed on a dock for too long, and he never seemed interested in a home within a town. He turned his back on land like it had nothing to offer, and sailed on as if the waves were what truly held his freedom. 

All men are drawn to the sea, that is a fact, but this pirate seemed to be sworn to it. He was settled in his way of life. Satisfied. 

And that made the sea curious. Mischievous, as is her nature. 

She thought-

“If this pirate entirely loves the sea as it is now, could he stay devoted if he found out just how cruel and dangerous it could be?”

She began to play a game. She set her sight on the pirate’s ship, and bit by bit, she let the true ocean envelop it whole. 

Ruthless storms came upon it, giant towering waves rocking it back and forth like a cat playing with a toy, throwing many of the crew off past the wooden railings in the process. 

The pirate took the chaos with glee. “Man overboard!” He’d laugh, throwing a rope out as his crew called him mad. He’d cackle against the wind and steer the boat above the waves, treating it as nothing more than good fun at sea. The storm was a deadly warning to all within it, but death didn’t seem to be a deterrent towards him. Only a funny thought.  

So the sea quit with the storms. She let the waters run smoothly, and sent something worse. An unfathomably large creature, too abnormal to ever be seen near the surface. A thing that could crush a ship whole with hardly any effort. 

A Kraken. 

Now, this, she thought, will terrify him whole. He’ll see the horrors of the sea and he’ll run off, just like all the other humans tend to do. He’ll go back to land and never look at the waters again, haunted by what lives in them. 

But she was wrong. As her kraken swam up behind the pirate’s ship, ready to break it apart, the captain looked up at its reaching arms with a scream of pure awe. 

“Holy shit- oh, look at the size of it!” He cried, as it snapped the mast in two above his head. There was no fear to be heard. Only wonder, amazement, and a bit of adrenaline with the fact his ship was being sunk. He ran across his deck, yelling to abandon ship, and as he helped his crew find their way onto the rowboats, he kept sneaking glances back, a wide grin on his face as the kraken tore its way past his floorboards. 

“That was incredible.” The sea heard the pirate say, once they were a long distance across the waves. “Did you see how it broke the mast? Like nothing, it just-” And he mimicked the noise of snapping wood, curling his hand into a tight fist before his face. “Incredible.” 

The sea called her kraken back, holding it close in her arms, patting it upon the head for a job well done. She stared off into the currents of her waves, her thoughts scattered. 

Incredible.

That word stuck in her head, like a particularly stubborn barnacle. 

The pirate soon acquired another ship, and before long, he was sailing upon the ocean again, turning his back to land, eyes only on the dangerous waters ahead. The sea decided to send something a little more tricky. Not quite as destructive as a storm or a kraken, but still just as deadly. 

She sent sirens. Just a handful, a few lovely voices who were happy to do anything for the being who was their home. They swam up towards the pirate’s ship, and sang out to the deck, catching the crew’s attention. 

This will make it clear, the sea thought. Sirens can bare a man’s heart, making everything easy to see, easy to pick out. Their song will let the ocean know everything, and then their song will drown the entire crew, as is their habit. This curiosity will be sated, and the sea will be satisfied. 

“Come close.” The sirens called, holding their cold hands out to the railings above. “Come close and hear us sing.” 

The crew listened, caught in a trance. Even the pirate that the sea had watched closely, he joined them upon the rowboats, and traveled down to the surface of the waves. 

“Hello, hello!” The sirens chirped, happy as can be to have so many eyes on them. “What is it you desire? What is it that you want?” 

“For you to sing.” Some of the crew said. “For you to come closer.” Others responded. 

“The sea.” The pirate answered. 

The sirens focused on him instantly. They’re a jealous sort when it comes to attention. 

“Are you sure?” They asked, leaning off the edge of the rowboat, staring into the pirate’s eyes, watching them become dazed. “What do you want? Tell us again.” They murmured sweetly, expecting the answer to change. 

“The sea.” The pirate repeated, slumping forward with fatigue. 

The waves then grew unsteady. The sea called the sirens back, deeming that to be enough, caught in a moment of being flustered. But the sirens love gossip above all, and they’re a teasing type, so they asked just a few last questions before they went. 

“What do you love? Above all, what do you adore? Is it a pretty lady back at home? A lovely wife?” The sea scolded them at that moment, pulling them back with sharp currents, although she’s not sure why she acted in such a way. And while she tried to stop them in giving more questions, she impatiently listened for the answers either way. 

“My one and only love is the sea.” The pirate declared out to the open air. Then he fell backwards onto the boat, and joined his crew into a snoring slumber, an after effect of a siren’s charm. 

The sirens giggled the entire way as they were dragged down into the depths, and they giggled still when they saw the sea wave an angry finger their way. 

“He loves you, he loves you!” They sang, and then they went back home, the sea pushing them off with a burst of bubbles. 

Never has she seen that sort of devotion. Such raw love, even in the face of the unknown. It was unusual. Humans often become skittish by this point, terrified at the concept of the ocean being more vast than they could’ve ever imagined. 

This pirate only loved her more furiously for it. He was persistent, and for that, he was also admirable. 

The sea went back to observing, wondering of what else to throw at him and his crew. But as the men in the rowboats began to wake up, there was a thick tension sitting in the air. They returned to the deck, and sailed on to refuel somewhere, and that tension grew worse. 

Anger and frustration festered in the hearts of the pirates onboard. They grew bitter, so quickly that the sea wondered how she did not see the signs before. She watched, then worried, then cried out as her pirate became the victim of a mutiny. 

They called him bad luck. Said that his wild love of the sea would lead them all to their graves, for he didn’t know when to stop. He didn’t know when to turn away and retreat back to the safety of land. 

The sea watched helplessly, a brutal storm brewing above in the sky as her pirate was chained to a single canon. Then they rolled the canon off over the edge, into the water. 

And her pirate followed with it. 

No. The sea thought, dread crawling into her soul. 

Her pirate screamed on the fall down, terrified and angry, and then he was sinking, falling fast into her grasp. 

No! The sea cried, desperation eating her whole. 

Bubbles flowed from his mouth as he kicked and struggled for air, and as she took the chain upon his leg and snapped it, he went limp. 

The sea refused, and a crack of lighting hit the ship above the surface. The waves rose, higher and higher until the crew were screaming with terror, and the ship was quickly pulled down below, with all the men inside it. 

May they drown within their watery graves. 

The sea took her pirate to a nearby cove. She hid him in a pocket of air, and washed him up onto a rock. 

He coughed, hacking out water, then gasped in, trying to let his lungs settle. He collapsed onto his back, wheezing out into the dim light. His heart was quiet, but quick. 

The sea pulled her form into something small, a human-like shape so that she would not overwhelm the man entirely. The water clung to her skin like a pretty blue fabric, and she wove it together to act as a fabric, a dress of sorts. Something flowy and nice. 

(And if she was hoping to impress the pirate with such an appearance, well, no one knew but herself.)

“Pirate.” Was the first word she whispered to him, poking her head out from the water. The pirate turned his head with wide eyes, looking at her with nothing but confusion. 

“Pirate.” He repeated, as if to confirm what she said. “Are you another one of those sirens?” 

She hummed, the noise echoing across the stone around her. “I’m not a siren.” Then she sank back into the water, fizzling away into nothing but foam.

The pirate blinked in surprise, pushing himself onto his elbows and leaning closer to see where she went. She could see him searching through the water, as if she’d be swimming around somewhere. She went to the edge of the rock, near his feet, and reappeared there, climbing onto the ledge to sit down. The pirate jolted back, but didn’t scream. He just seemed caught off guard. 

“You’re not a siren. But you are from the sea?” The pirate said, and there’s a hint of admiration in his tone, his lips tilting up into a barely-there smile. Wonder dances in his gaze, and the sea tilts her head, her hair washing over her shoulder in a steady flow of water. 

“I am the sea.” She responds, nothing more than a whisper. It echoes between them regardless, with the sound of rushing water sitting behind it. 

The pirate blinks. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then tries to push himself up into a proper sitting position. “You are the sea?” He repeats, like he can’t believe it. 

“Yes.”

“But you seem so human.” He glances at her hair, still flowing past her shoulder, down her knees, into the pool at her feet. He glances at her dress, the fabric shifting around her arms, shimmering like sunlight on a lake. “Well- mostly human.” He adds. 

“Oh, I don’t usually take on this form. I just wanted to talk to you.” 

And that look of admiration increases tenfold. The pirate scoots back, like he has to have distance between them both, as a way of respect. The sea scoots closer. 

“You saved me?” He asks, his words unsteady. 

“I’ve been watching you.” The sea admits, and as she says it-- it’s like a dam flowing over, she can’t help but admit all the rest. “I’ve been trying to get you to leave the ocean, since you stick to it so much. I first sent you storms, but then you just had fun with them, so I sent you my kraken, but he didn’t seem to scare you, so I sent a few sirens, and all they did-” She stumbles over her words. “Well- all they did was sing.” 

The pirate blinks again, slower. He rubs a hand to his face, then looks at the sea once more, and seems a little more baffled. 

“You…want me to leave you?” He asks, and-

“No, no!” She waves her hands, trying to remedy the way he sounds devastated and resigned. His voice has gone quiet, and that look of admiration has been replaced with a heartbroken sadness. “It was a game of sorts! I wanted to see how far you would go.” 

“Anywhere.” The pirate confesses. “I’d go anywhere at all, why would I want to leave?” 

“Do you not miss the land?”

“There’s nothing for me there.” 

“Not even home? Family?”

“I lost that a long while ago. Home is the sea.” 

The sea smiles, then leans forward, water rushing over her shoulders and neck, flowing down across the rock. “Do you mean that?” She asks, sounding flattered.

“I-” And now the pirate seems embarrassed, for there’s a face to match his love, and he’s just confessing it all. “Yes?”

“You’re not sure.”

“I am sure. Yes.” 

The sea laughs. It warbles in a way that’s not human. “But you’ve seen the sea. You’ve what lives in it. Are you not scared of that?” 

The pirate shakes his head. 

“Are you not scared of dying to it? Dying to me?”

“I think what I am scared of is never seeing you again.” The pirate tells, and that is the truth. “You saved me. What will you do now?” 

The sea pauses at that, wondering over the choices at hand, and dazed at the clear admittance of love. Maybe she is also scared of never seeing him again. But she can’t very well hide him away, safe and kept. He’d only be trapped like that. Unhappy. 

But she can’t just send him off back to his way of life, either. What if he does die? What if a lucky bullet finds its place in his heart, and she can’t do anything but hold his body in her currents?

“I’ve saved your life.” The sea speaks slowly, like she’s collecting her thoughts. “Without me, you’d be at the bottom of the sea, water in your lungs, your body wasting away.” 

The pirate clenches his hands into tight fists, a flash of fear running over him, quickly replaced with curiosity. He listens close to what the sea has to say. 

“You owe me a debt.” She smiles, eyes as dark as the deep depths of the ocean. “You have to repay it. So I ask you to swear yourself to me, and sail forevermore under my guidance. Do that, and you’ll never have to leave me.” 

The pirate does not hesitate. There is a gleam in his eyes, the color of blue matching the very waves that she commands. There is joy in his expression, and he scoots closer with a nod. “I’ll do it.” 

“Are you sure?” The sea asks. “This is not something you can back out of. You will never find a home on the land.” 

“My home was never on land to begin with.” 

The sea grins. Her teeth are sharp, like that of a shark. “Tell me your name.” She speaks softly. 

The pirate smiles. “Phil.” 

“Phil.” The sea repeats, and then she leans forward and kisses her pirate. 

The Angel of Death, the sea’s lover, is then born. 

Phil finds a new ship, with a new crew, making sure that this one is a bit more loyal than the last. He tells them the truth, tells them that the sea that they’re sailing is not going to be the one they know before. When they agree to stay with him regardless, he takes them across the waters and shows them personally what he means. 

The sea is happy to provide dangers a bit too close for comfort. She sends storms, sends crew flying over the railings, but doesn’t drown a single one. She sends her Kraken, but not to break the ship apart, only to have it swim by and shock the crew as it bumps against the side of their vessel. She sends a few sirens, and while they’re bummed they can’t kill off the men of the ship, they’re happy to mess with them regardless. 

The crew realizes what Phil is, then. They see it in the way he grins out towards vicious storms, and in the way he waves to the kraken swimming by. They see it in the laughter he gives to the siren songs, and they see it in the way he stares out at the sea, like it is his one and only love. 

They follow him. Those who want no part with such a pirate go on their own way, but those who do, they stick close, and they follow underneath their captain. 

This is when the reputation begins to take hold. Phil is not a cruel man, but his lover does like a good fight, and he is not one to protest. He does not kill needlessly, but he does follow the rule of ‘if provoked, then hit with hell.’ He scours the lands for valuable treasure, and gives most of it to his love, dumping an awful lot of gold to the surface of the sea. (He gains a rumor then that he doesn’t even care for gold, only the fight for it, the death with it, and so he dumps gold into the ocean like it is nothing of worth.) 

Officers and other pirates try to catch and stop him, but it is impossible to get a man who’s ship is sailed by the ocean. He was good at sailing a ship before, but with the sea’s help-- there’s no such thing as chasing him, anymore. 

Years pass, and his name grows. With it, his crew and ship. The Navy know him well and despise him. Pirates and sailors around the world curse him and admire him. The sea, as always, loves him, and finds amusement in the constant adventure he plays. 

But one day, Phil finds himself wanting more. 

One day, as he’s having a hushed visit with the sea within a dim, damp cave, he realizes he wants a family. A child of his own to love and care for. 

He confesses this to the sea, as he confesses all his secrets to her. He tells her of a plan of possibly finding an orphan, taking him in on the ship and raising him to his way of life. 

The sea has a different idea. 

One night, underneath the light of a full moon, the sea splits her soul and uses it to create something new. A new life, a new face. A child with dark eyes of the sea, and curly brown hair that the sea has always favored wearing for herself. 

She delivers this baby to her love underneath the calm quiet of the night. Phil wakes up to the commotion of the crew, and finds them surrounded around his new son. 

He holds the child close, eyes wide with wonder, filled with just as much awe as when he first saw the sea in its entirety, and he names the child William. 

His visits with the sea become sparse then, for the sea has grown weak in the effort of creating a new life. She will recover, as the sea can never die, but it will take time to connect with the child of her own, to let them both grow into something incredible. 

Phil lets his crew help with caring for his child, trusting them with his safety. 

That is his first mistake. 

He learns to lean on them, exhausted in the efforts of being a captain and a father. He tells his most trusted mate the truth, the real truth in where Wilbur came from, and who his lover is. 

That is his second mistake. 

He makes the sea trust them as well, speaking highly of each one, telling her of how they have become something like family. 

That was his third and final mistake.

One night, as Phil sleeps away within his room, William within his cradle, a plan is struck. One of his crew, a traitor , sneaks towards his child, and takes him from his bed. They leave the room, then they leave the ship, rowing towards the docks nearby. 

The sea sees them pass. She thinks nothing of it. She thinks they can be trusted. She thinks they are family. 

But then Phil wakes up. And he is met with confessions. 

When Phil confessed of where his son truly came from, that crewmate realized how powerful Phil really was. And that scared them. 

Afraid of what a child of the sea would result in, afraid of what Phil was capable of, they told the secret to all the rest of the crew. And the crew agreed to go to the very men who always tried to hunt their captain down. They agreed that keeping such a force at bay, keeping Phil at bay, would be worth the risk. 

So they took his child, right from his room. And then they staged a mutiny, pointing a gun into his face and telling him to stand down. 

“Where is my son?” Phil had only asked, eyes too bright underneath the darkness of the night. 

They told him that the king now had him. That the child would not be harmed, as long as Phil complied and came with them to where the Navy was waiting on shore. 

“WHERE IS MY SON?!” Phil cried, lightning cracking over their heads, the sea crying out with him, a storm brewing away. She could now feel the loss of her soul more than ever, and she knew that she was not going to get it back, not unless Wil would be returned. 

Swords and guns were drawn in a threat, but Phil took a step forward, and leaned into a barrel pointed at his skull. 

“Shoot it.” He hissed out, eyes glowing, rain trickling down and turning into a pour. He did not look human at that moment. Maybe he was not human any longer. “Shoot it and prove to me that you’ve all betrayed me entirely.” 

The traitor moved their finger over the trigger. Lighting struck down onto the ship, bursting the floorboards into flames. 

Phil’s crew died that night. Not from the sea. Their bodies went to the water, thrown over the railings and sent to sink to the bottom- but the sea did not kill them. 

When Phil was done, hands bloodied, his ship was empty, and only then did he turn to the Navy on the docks. They proposed to him a deal. 

If he were to follow the king’s orders, work underneath the crown, then his child would be safe. 

Phil insisted that his child be returned, and he only ever listened to the orders of his love. They refused, knowing what power the child held, stubborn in the idea of having the Angel of Death in their arsenal. So Phil insisted then that his child be kept safe. He told them that his son needed to stay close to the sea, or else he would die, and if he died, then the sea would know, and in turn, Phil would know. 

And if Phil ever found out his child was dead, he would tear the king’s head from his shoulders. That was a promise. 

He said that if they upheld this, kept his child alive, then he would go. He could not follow their orders, but he could leave them be. 

His offer was seen for what it was. A chance at waiting for being able to strike back with something stronger. 

So they rearranged the terms of the agreement into something a little neater, more restrictive. 

Phil was not to ever come near any land anywhere. He would be given a ship, with plenty of supplies, and he would sail off to his lover, and not return. If he did that, and stayed quiet, then his child would be safe. 

But if a single mention got out of him on land-- if a single confirmation was made of him searching around for crew, for help, for his son-- the child would be harmed. Not killed, never killed, but harmed. Tortured, maybe. Nothing was too low for men who wanted to control the force of the sea. 

Phil, standing before an army with a burning ship around him, agreed. 

He left. 

And the child was taken to a town. A town crafted to keep him by the sea, but to never let him touch it. To honor their word, but not follow through. The sea mourned for the chance of a connection with her son, and wished that if he just touched the waves once, just once, then she would know where he is. Such a thing never happened. 

Phil wandered aimlessly across the sea for a few long years. He attacked other ships for resources, and while he was just one man, he was not human. Taking on an entire crew was not hard. 

He lost his lover in those years. Her grief and loss hurt her badly, badly enough that she became too weak to pull together a human form. All she could do was push her pirate along, protect him, and mourn. 

Five years passed. 

Phil found a young face locked away in the jail of a pirate ship. He was a teenager, barely a man, and he fought viciously when Phil unlocked his cell door. They traded swings for a short while in the dimness below the deck, and when the teen saw Phil’s glowing eyes amongst the dark, he stopped. 

There was no fear in his eyes. 

Only a sense of wonder. 

“You’re the Angel of Death.” The teen breathed out, looking at the pirate with an entirely new perspective. This was no longer a man trying to loot the ship, trying to take his life. This was a legend, a ghost who drifted along the waters, hardly ever heard of. 

“Phil.” The pirate corrected. He didn’t care much for that name now. What good does it do him? “You know me?”

“Yeah.” A nod. “I’ve heard stories about you. People think you’re dead.” 

Phil laughed. “Not entirely.” Only within his heart, is he dead. Trapped in this cycle in being stuck at sea, forever fighting pirates who refuse to even listen to him, to work with him. 

“Have you killed the crew?” 

Phil hesitates, but nods. “Yes.” 

“No survivors?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Then they’ll think I died too.” And the stranger holds out his hand. “I’m Technoblade. Mind if I join your crew?” 

Phil raises his brows. “Why would I agree to that?” He asks, but his heart is already screaming at the chance, desperate for a way out. Desperate for a way to get to Wil. 

No more traitors, his mind whispers. You have to make sure this crew is loyal. 

“Because I’m good with a sword, and I’m willing to work. It’s said you have no crew. Surely, you’ve got some chores you wouldn’t mind handin’ off to another's hands…?” 

Phil smiles. The waves rock the ship side to side, gentle and patient. Waiting. Watching. 

“I suppose. On one condition.” 

Techno lifts his chin. 

“I’ve spared your life. So you owe me. If you want to repay this debt, then swear yourself to me and the sea, and I’ll let you sail beside me forevermore.” 

Silence drags on through the lower deck of the ship. Techno lowers his hand, eyes wide. Phil's gaze is too bright, too much, like a swirling whirlpool of the ocean. 

“Forevermore…?” Techno repeats. 

“I can give you time to think it over. If you refuse, I’ll drop you off near some land.” 

“No, I-” Technoblade closes his mouth, then opens it again. “What does that entail? Sailing beside you?” 

“Are you particularly attached to being human?” 

Techno sucks in a breath, and Phil laughs. It warbles, like the echo of a call. 

“I guess not.” Techno admits. “I mean- Not really? I’ve never considered any other option.” 

“Consider it now. And for the rest of the day.” Phil walks towards the stairs to the above deck. “Come on, mate. I don’t want to stay on this ship.” 

They go. Techno follows Phil off the ship that used to hold him, and finds himself looking back, curious at how they will just leave the boat there, littered with dead bodies. 

But then the ocean shifts. The water rises, higher and higher, in a way that’s too unnatural. Techno gasps and stumbles back as it swallows the enemy ship whole, and sinks it down below the surface. He bumps into Phil, who just watches with an unsurprised look, like this is all routine. 

The waves crash down as the ship disappears, and a burst of water comes over the railings, landing onto the floorboards and forming into a person. The first thing that Phil sees are her eyes, burning with hope, and he loses his breath as she stands to her feet, water trickling down her form and trying to return to the waves. 

“You’ve found a crew.” She whispers, a smile on the edge of her lips. 

Phil smiles back. His heart, for once, feels a little less tight with just the sight of her face. “Well, he hasn’t agreed yet.” 

“He will. I can see it in his eyes.” 

Phil turns, and finds Techno almost hiding behind him, his gaze stuck onto the sea. Phil pulls at his arm gently, and leads him to stand in front of Phil. 

“Say hello.” He suggests. “She’s the sea. My wife.” 

Technoblade turns his head away, tearing his gaze from the sea in order to look at Phil. “The sea’s lover.” He mutters, like it now makes sense. He turns back to the ocean. “Hullo?” 

“Hello.” The sea greets back. “I’m so glad you’re here. Finally, things will be in motion.” 

“You’ve never been the patient type.” Phil points out, a light-hearted joke at last, through all this pain. 

“I can’t help but want things to be interesting.” She admits. She turns to look off the ship. “I can’t stay long. I’m still weak.” 

Phil steps closer. “Will you come back?” 

“I’m always with you.” 

“But will you meet me like this again?” Phil clarifies. “I miss you even when you are with me.” 

The sea smiles. She reaches a hand out, and Phil takes it, kissing her on the knuckles. She’s freezing cold. 

“I’ll be back. You know what to do. Get more crew. I’ll make sure they’ll be able to carry out their duties.” Her eyes gleam, and Phil’s eyes glow in return. “Just make sure they swear themselves to you.” 

“And to you.” 

“You’re bound to me. If they follow you, they follow me.” And with that, she closes her eyes, her form losing shape. She collapses onto the ground in a splash of water, and Phil steps back. 

The waves crash against the side of the ship, like a reminder that she is not completely gone. Phil turns to Techno, who carries a considering look in his expression. 

“You don’t have to agree.” Phil reminds, although he doesn’t think he could let this chance go if Techno were to refuse. He’d still try and make something of it, somehow. 

“I want to.” Techno responds. “Serving the sea herself and her husband- doesn’t seem like a bad deal. At least I won’t be locked in a cell for being too rowdy?” He asks, a hint of past fear in his eyes. 

“You’d never be harmed. Not by my hand.” 

“But by others, surely.” 

“We will always have enemies.” 

“I’ll fight them.” Technoblade promises. “I’ll fight them all.” 

“A touch ambitious, don’t you think?” 

“Not if I’m fighting for something good.” 

Phil laughs lightly. “I’m not good. But I am of worth, and I’m certainly of the sea.” He holds his hand out. “Will you swear yourself to me?” 

Techno takes his hand. 

Phil spends three months making sure Technoblade knows how to defend himself. He is good with a sword, that much is true, but he could do with some practice with a gun. While he’s dangerous, he’s still barely a man, and he’s got some years to learn. 

He sends Techno out when he’s sure he’ll be safe by his own hand, and he gives him the mission of looking for new recruits. 

“Don’t look for normal crew.” Phil warns him, a certain fire in his eyes. “These ones must be loyal, and willing for something more. Ask around with rumors of the sea. See which ones believe in Her, and then consider those based on skills.” 

Techno nods, gaze determined, and there is a hint of red flashing upon his eyes. Phil smiles at him, and gives him a goodbye hug. Technoblade buffers in the hold, but he manages to give an awkward pat on Phil’s back. It’s a start. 

Technoblade searches through the nearby towns and pubs and markets for an entire week. Phil can only watch from a distance, barred from the land. The sea makes looming clouds stick to the sky, an effect of her nerves. 

It is late night when Techno returns. He comes back with a person who has a knowing gaze, and curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

“I knew it.” They murmur, when they’re all inside the ship, sitting at a wooden table. Phil sits across from their recruit, and Techno stands at his side. He seems too restless to take a chair. He just rocks on his heels, back and forth. 

“Knew what?” Phil asks, raising his eyebrows with a slight smile. 

“You’re the Sea’s Lover.” The person says, twisting the fabric of their skirt in between their fingers. “The Angel of Death.” 

“My name is Phil.” Phil resists the urge to roll his eyes. “But that is me.” 

“Eret.” The person introduces themselves, and they hold their hand out, Phil shaking it with an amused look. “It seems you’re looking for a crew.” 

“A loyal one, at that. You wish to join?” 

“I suppose. Depends on the benefits.” 

“You attached to bein’ human?” Techno asks, and Phil smothers a snort. Eret blinks, like he’s not sure what he just heard, and he looks at Phil with a questioning look. “Because that’s probably not going to stick once you join, just sayin’. I mean, look at him.” He gestures at Phil, and Phil huffs. 

“Techno.” 

“Tellin’ the truth.”

“I serve the sea.” Phil explains. “She isn’t just a body of water, she is alive. Overwhelmingly alive. If you agree to sail with me, you agree to serve under her as well. And she tends to change those around her.” 

Eret swallows, leaning back in her seat. “So she…protects this ship?” 

“Protects me, more like. But you’ll be safe if you’re my crew, I’d never let you drown.” 

“That’s a nice sentiment.” Eret hums. “I assume that being a part of the crew also means living quarters, food, the likes.” 

“Of course.” Phil lifts a shoulder. 

“That’s good. And…I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on this- what do you mean by being attached to being human?” She directs her question at Techno. 

“Phil’s not human.” Techno answers. 

“I still look human, Technoblade.” 

“Not really.” Techno turns his head to Phil. “Not if you look for long enough. There’s something wrong about you, if one pays close attention.” 

Phil hums, choosing to take that as a compliment. 

“This is magic at play, isn’t it?” Eret asks, voice soft. 

“Something like that.” Phil rests his chin onto the palm of his hand. “I’ve never really asked. I just accept it as a part of the sea.” 

“I see.” Eret nods. “I’m- I’m curious about it all, I won’t lie.” 

“But?” 

“No but. This is incredible. I want to take your offer.” 

Phil grins. “Positive? It’s not something you can turn back on. It’s a one way road.” 

“I’m aware of that. It’s worth it.” Eret smiles. “After all, we’d get to serve the sea herself. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It is.” Phil gives a happy little smile, and Techno rolls his eyes. “Well, then. You have to swear yourself to me, and in return, I’ll have you on my crew and let you sail with me forevermore. Do we have a deal?” He holds a hand out. 

“Deal.” Eret nods, and she takes his hand. 

Techno and Eret are only the first two. They go searching for more after that, over the course of a few years. 

They come back with a woman named Niki, who seeks companionship, a crew that will never abandon her. Phil promises that she will never be left behind. 

They come back with a man named Fundy, who asks for adventure, a chance to see the unknown. Phil promises all of it and more. 

They come back with two kids, Tommy and Tubbo, who are both stubborn yet quick witted. 

“You’re young.” Phil notes, unsure if he should let these onboard. 

“You’re old.” Tommy snaps back, and Tubbo snorts into his palm. 

Tubbo asks for trust. For a chance to not be underestimated, a chance to prove a spot on the crew. Tommy asks for security, a chance to not be thrown to the side for simply being too eager. (Techno looks approving of that reason from where he stands at Phil’s side. His eyes now glow red, no longer a dark shade like they were when he first joined.)

Phil promises it to them both. He promises to them and himself that he’ll keep them safe, and raise them well on his crew. They’ll become strong men, that much is expected, but Phil is honestly not sure if they’ll still be considered just men by the time they grow to that age. Time will tell. 

Their last recruit is a meek teen, just about Tubbo’s and Tommy’s age. He’s half covered in scars, and his eyes hold a haunted look. He hunches in on himself as he sits across from Phil, and as much as he tries to look small, he’s a bit too lanky for it to work. 

His name is Ranboo. He asks for safety. 

Phil promises it. Ranboo smiles with a gaze that has seen too much, and a fire that will burn anyone if they try to take what he has now gained. 

The crew settles into something official. Word has gotten around that The Angel of Death has returned, and he’s gotten some pirates on his side. Phil only smiles at the rising panic. He hopes they are afraid. 

He is getting his son back, no matter what. 

Chapter Text

When Wilbur wakes, it’s to a slamming on his door, the doorknob rattling violently around with the force of it as if it’s about to fall off any second now. 

Quackity’s voice yells out through the wood, loud and far too energetic, making Wil open his eyes with a harsh jolt. He blinks, pauses, then stares up at the ceiling as if it’s personally wronged him.  

“The sun is up, captain’s blood!” The pirate-not-pirate calls, and Wilbur sits up disoriented, holding his palms out like he needs to grasp onto something. His hair is a mess, scattered across his face, his skin is hot and sweaty from a heavy sleep, and the very world seems to sway all around him, back and forth without falter. He holds his hands to his head, groaning with discomfort, and there’s a moment of panic at how unsteady he feels, only to realize he’s on a boat, and being unsteady is only a habit of the ever-rocking sea. 

An insistent fist slams at the door yet again. Wilbur narrows his eyes to the person on the other side, hoping they’ll feel his annoyance burning through. To no luck. Quackity is blissfully ignorant of the thoughts of murder running through Wil’s head, and he continues knocking away like he’s trying to make a pattern out of the sound. 

“Come on, up, up!” Quackity yells, and Wilbur stumbles out of bed, ready to begin a morning routine so he can look somewhat put together. He realizes after a short minute that there isn’t really much he can do for his general appearance, though, other than his hair. And that mess isn’t able to be saved. 

He brushes through it as best he can with his fingers, but his curls are bound to be untamed, and he doesn’t have the energy to pull apart every single tangle. He hopes he doesn’t look too worse for wear. 

“I’m going to teach you to cheat at cards today!” Quackity goes on, sounding excited. He’s still knocking non-stop at the door. It’s driving Wilbur mad. “But don’t tell Fundy. I want him to think he’s just so terrible at playing that even a newcomer can wipe the floor with him.” 

Wilbur opens the door then, the hinges squeaking with how suddenly he yanks it forward to stop Quackity’s relentless attack on it. Quackity pauses at the grumpy expression he’s wearing, and then he breaks out into a rather contrasting grin. 

“You want me to cheat in a game of cards against Foxglove?” Wilbur asks, as if Quackity’s lost his mind. For good reason, too. Whatever privileges Wilbur’s lineage may or may not have, Foxglove is still a pirate, and what’s to say pirates will react kindly to being cheated? He’s not looking to get stabbed on this ship. 

“No, you’re going to win a game of cards against the fox.” Quackity corrects, tapping two fingers against Wilbur’s shoulder, like a gesture of support. “And we usually place bets too, so you’re also going to rob him.” The man looks over Wilbur for a moment, and his smile falters as he stares down. “...Where are your shoes?”

Wilbur closes his eyes, and sighs so heavy that it’s a wonder his lungs haven’t collapsed with it. “Don’t have any.”

Quackity makes a curious noise. “No, you definitely had shoes when you came on here.” He shakes his finger at Wilbur’s feet, as if that’ll make his boots magically appear once again. Wil’s long since abandoned his one shoe since realizing he only had one, so now he stands barefooted, his pants rolled up just above his ankles. 

“You’re remembering wrong.” Wilbur makes his way past Quackity, yawning and trying to crack his back as he walks towards the captain’s desk. “I came here with one boot, because some fucker stole the other one.” He speaks bitterly, grabbing at a paper a tad bit more aggressively than needed. 

Quackity scrunches his face up like he’s eaten a lemon whole, peel and all. “Who the hell steals just one boot?”

“A rude man, that’s who.” Wilbur responds, looking through the things he’s left on the desk, an image of Technoblade flickering through his mind. He holds onto a wanted poster of The Blood God, demanding his head for a hefty price. Oh, The Blood God, ever so merciless. He had chased after Wilbur yesterday and stole his damn shoe. 

(Granted, Wilbur was trying to climb out of a window at the time, and Techno was only trying to pull him back inside, but the shoe is still lost, and Wilbur has reason to be bitter, so he will make this grudge and hold it firmly to his heart.)

“You can’t walk around without any shoes.” Quackity frowns, crossing his arms over his chest and joining at Wilbur’s side as he sifts through more wanted posters yet again. “I know mine wouldn’t fit you…Techno’s definitely wouldn’t either…Tubbo’s are practically held together with thread and glue, so I don’t even recommend trying to use those.” 

“I don’t want anyone’s shoes.” Wilbur’s waves Quackity’s suggestions off. He circles around the desk, sitting in the seat before it and pulling open drawers. He picks up where he left off yesterday, snooping through every document he can find, skimming over every piece of writing. A grand majority of it isn’t exactly helpful, but Wilbur won’t deny that he’s- curious about it all. There isn’t a chance in hell he’s stepping outside to meet those pirates, but he can somewhat get to know them here, through the few scraps of descriptions he can find within newspapers. 

“Then how are you going to walk around?” Quackity asks, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk. 

“I’m not.” Wilbur blinks up at him, as if that answer was obvious. “Where would I go?”

Quackity gives a dramatic wave of his arms to the door. “ Outside .” He sings. “For a game of cards.”

Wilbur tilts his head, raising his eyebrows with something skeptical. “I am not going out there. There are pirates out there.” He jabs a finger towards the door. 

Quackity snorts. “They’re not going to do anything to you.” 

“They kidnapped me.” Wilbur deadpans. 

“For good reasonnn!” Quackity drags out the word, shaking his head, leaning forward to stress it as much as he can. Wilbur can’t help but roll his eyes. “It was with your best interest at heart. Family reunions, and all that.”

“Oh, I’ve been freed from the shackles of a town that refused to let me drown at sea.” Wilbur groans, holding a hand to his head as if he’s fallen terribly ill. “Now what should I do? Make small talk with a murderer? Perhaps discuss the weather with the boy who set my town on fire?” 

Wil’s words may be soaked in spiteful sarcasm, but it’s only a tentative shield. 

He wants to consider the possibility of this being a chance for meeting his father. He wants to consider this a start to maybe making a new life of thrilling freedom, and he wants to leave the town he knew, suffocating people and all, behind. 

But he can’t step into the reality of having killers at his side. 

Pirates have always just been stories to him. Wonderful, exciting stories. Nothing more. Now, those stories are vividly real, blood on their hands, swords at their hips, and Wilbur can’t play along. He can’t step in line with them, see it all as his brutal way of life, because he doesn’t know how. 

It’s too much. 

He clings to denial. Clings to it with his fingernails dug in for dear life. If he just denies and looks away, and pushes them all off, maybe he can escape one day, and find something more quiet to settle upon. He ignores the part of him that thinks he would be unsatisfied with something quiet.

“They’re not all bad. Look past the war crimes.” Quackity suggests. “Technoblade has a fondness towards dogs, did you know?” 

Wilbur frowns. He leans his elbows onto the desk, looking down at the papers as if disinterested. “No, I didn’t know that.” But it’s certainly an unexpected fact. A curious part of Wilbur enjoys having it within his head. 

“Fundy hates spices. And I mean hates them. One time, some chef accidently put chili into his meal, when we were eating at this town-- and he ended up puking out on the street like five minutes later.” 

Wilbur raises his eyebrows. “Sensitive stomach?” He wonders. 

Quackity shrugs a shoulder. “He can consume poisons fairly well.” He says, like that’s a perfectly normal thing to say. “But anything spicy? He gags.” 

“Wait.” Wilbur blinks. “He can consume poisons -?”

“Now, Tubbo, he’s an interesting kid, but he’s destructive on every end.” Quackity cuts him off, continuing on. “He is incredibly smart, though. He can make a bomb out of almost anything. We banned him from gunpowder, once. That didn’t stop him.” 

Wilbur doesn’t know what to make of that. He isn’t even sure how one could make a bomb without gunpowder. He’s vaguely intrigued by the process. “And Niki?” He asks. 

Quackity makes a subtle look that could be nervous. Wilbur wonders if the man is avoiding saying anything about her in fear of Wilbur still being upset with her specifically. “She sings, sometimes.” 

Wil stares up at Quackity. He smiles, even if he shouldn’t. “I knew that one.” 

Quackity smiles back, a short amused tilt of his lips. “She’s sang to you?” 

“Sang with me.” Wilbur elaborates. “We used to spend nights at the pub, share stories and drinks until the sunrise.” How he misses those nights, now. Things were awfully simple then. They were safe and easy, no questions of morality, no blood staining the floor. Just him and his best friend, drunkenly caroling across the street until someone told them to shut up. 

“You sing well?” Quackity’s eyes are bright, and he clasps his hands together in front of him like he’s cooking up an idea. 

“Not without pay.” Wilbur jokes. 

“Oh, I have money.” Quackity nods. “I’ve got gold coins and paper bills, but there’s also some jewels I have stored away if that’s more of your thing.”

Wilbur furrows his eyebrows together. He recalls his bag of coins he had saved up before, the one he threw to Techno’s face when trying to run. He does need money. It would be useful. 

“I won’t sing for you.” Wilbur denies, because he’s not sure if he can work up that courage yet. This place is unfamiliar, and Wil can only sing with his whole heart when he’s drunk off his ass. 

And he is not drinking around pirates.  

“Aw.” Quackity slouches, like he was looking forward to a concert. “Fine, fine, some other day, maybe. For now, let’s just play a game of…cards?” He leans towards the front door leading out to the deck, and Wilbur puts his gaze firmly back onto the papers before him. Nevermind if he’s read these ones already, there’s no harm in rereading it a few times. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“You can’t just coop up in here and read !” Quackity throws his arms up, and Wilbur lifts a paper up to his eyes, very pointedly reading with a light hum. “You will run out of words before the day even ends.” 

“I don’t know.” Wilbur lowers the paper. “There are a lot of papers in here.” 

“And there are more interesting things out there.” Quackity coaxes, circling around the desk. “Maybe even a pair of shoes you can wear.” 

Wilbur won’t deny he would like shoes again at some point. They are good for preventing his feet from being stabbed with pointy things on the ground. “I’m not going to be exactly walking around often.” Wilbur says. “It’s a small ship.” Huge, compared to anything he’s ever seen, but still. Limited space. 

“Oh, c’mon!” Quackity groans, looking up to the ceiling with exasperation. “How about this? One game. Just one little game, just to try it out, and then I’ll get you a plate of food for breakfast, and you can hole up in here for the rest of the day.” 

Wilbur lifts his chin at that offer. He does have a craving for food. He presses his lips tightly together, considering the pros and cons. “One game?” He asks. 

“One game to teach ya, one game to practice it out.” 

“That’s two games, Quackity.” 

“Fine. Two games.” Quackity holds his palms up. “Two games of cards, you and me out on the deck, and then you can have breakfast. How about that?”

Wilbur narrows his eyes. “Just you and me?” He confirms. 

“Yup.” Quackity nods. “You can rob Fundy of his funds some other day.” He waves an unconcerned hand. 

Wilbur resists an urge to laugh at that. He’s going to do no such thing. “Two games.” He repeats. “Nothing else. Then you leave me in here, and you leave me alone.”

“You’re going to get bored.” Quackity says.

“And you leave me alone .” Wilbur hisses. Quackity leans back, eyes widening for just a split second. 

“Alright! Alright. And I leave you alone.” Quackity turns his head away, not letting Wilbur see the mischievous look in his eye. “I won’t bother you for the rest of the day.” 

Wilbur hums. Quackity turns around, standing in front of the desk, arms crossed. They stare at each other for a long moment, then slowly, Wilbur puts down the paper in his hand, and stands up from his seat. 

Quackity’s grin is nothing short of gleeful. Wilbur can’t help but feel like he agreed to do something much more drastic than cards. 

---

The weather is fair outside. 

A cool gust carries along the deck, and the sun is warm enough that one could bask comfortably in it for hours on end. It’s what Tubbo is doing. He’s sprawled out on the floor in such a way that Wilbur would think him dead, if it weren’t for the loud snoring. 

Wilbur sits stiffly on an unbalanced, creaky old stool, a barrel being used as a table in front of him, old worn cards held in his hands. His feet are still without shoes, but not without a good effort on Quackity’s part, who yelled at Fundy that he’d play him in exchange for his. Fundy responded by flipping him off and stomping away. 

Quackity insisted that reaction was only because he stole Fundy’s coat in a bet last night. Wil wonders where that coat is now, if Fundy doesn’t have it, and Quackity isn’t wearing it. Maybe it was lost. Would explain the harsh mood. 

There are eyes sitting on Wilbur’s back, persistent and heavy. Wilbur’s tempted to turn his head and stare back, give a sort of glare as a warning, but he doesn’t have the courage to do it. He’s quite sure he knows which pirate is the one who’s watching both him and Quackity play, and he’d really rather just not acknowledge that pirate at all while out here. He’s- daunting. 

“Don’t lean your hand forward, Wil, I can see every card you’re holding.” Quackity says, and Wilbur snaps his wrists up, not having realized he was practically laying his cards onto the wood. “Luckily for you, this is the practice round.” 

“I don’t think one round is going to let me understand this.” Wilbur notes, sifting his deck through his fingers with an unhappy look. 

Quackity lights up with hope. “You offerin’ an extra round?” 

Wilbur purses his lips, keeping his eyes firmly on his cards. “Maybe.”

The air outside is nice. The sound of the waves moving around them, the sight of the water going on and on for miles, it’s… soothing. Unfamiliar and new, but so comforting in a way Wil would have never imagined. 

It’s like the first proper breath in his lungs that he’s had in his entire life, and he’s tempted to keep having it for as long as he’s able. 

But Technoblade is still on the deck, leaning by the railing, watching their game from a distance with his red eyes unrelenting. Tubbo is still laying across the floor to Wilbur’s right, and Wil can spot a dagger poking out from his back pocket, stained and well-used. Niki and Fundy are up at the wheel, keeping the ship on track, their voices faint when Wil really strains his ears to listen. 

He is still surrounded by pirates. He’s still a hostage on their ship.

Kinda ruins the atmosphere. 

“One extra practice round.” Wilbur settles on, placing his cards down before Quackity. He wasn’t doing well with them, anyway. “Just one. Then a real game, and then I go back inside.” 

Quackity grins, wide and satisfied in a way Wilbur’s starting to get accustomed with. “Ey, I’ll agree with that.”  

He takes Wilbur’s cards and shuffles them again, then goes over the game with careful instruction, honestly invested in making sure Wilbur can properly play. Wilbur takes his set of cards again with focus, and Quackity walks him through another game. 

They play the real round just a few minutes later. Quackity beats him without any mercy, and Wil’s not sure if he should be upset or not on the fact the man hadn’t dared to go easy on him. Quackity gives Wilbur a victorious little smile, egging on for a rematch, but Wilbur only stacks his cards together and places them down with a smile of his own. He’s not one to be baited. He’s the one who wins here. He gets to be left alone. 

“So, breakfast, and then I get back to reading.” Wilbur says, and he revels in the way Quackity’s smile drops, twisting up into an effort to make a pleading face. 

“One more game?” He offers, voice tilting up in pitch. Wilbur laughs lightly, shaking his head. He spares a very careful glance at Techno, who’s now turned his attention to Tubbo, who’s rolling around on the floorboards in an attempt to stretch all his limbs. 

“No thank you.” Wil says as he stands, breathing in the cool air with a small sense of disappointment. 

It’s easy to put aside. As much as he loves being on a ship, Wilbur would much rather stick to his pirates within stories than hang around the ones in person, thank you very much. 

---

Wilbur returns to his quarters in peace, with a plate of food and a half-hearted plea being called at his back from Quackity. The pirate-not-pirate yelled with fake sorrow, trying to convince Wil to come join another game, that he was actually very good at the cards, beginners luck will kick in any minute now-!

Wilbur only kicked his door closed behind him, taking a deep breath within closed walls once the doorknob clicked. The air in his lungs feels safer here, but he’ll quietly admit, he misses the salt of the sea already. 

He busies himself with papers. He rereads posters, takes in rumors, and after a lucky find with a pen, he begins taking notes. Quackity was right when he said there was only so much to read, so Wilbur will scribble down his own words and have that be his entertainment for the time being. 

He uses the back of maps, backs of posters, and begins doing what he usually did as a hobby; narrowed down stories about pirates. 

This time, though,  it’s not through word of mouth, taking complaints from soldiers and sailors at the bar. This time, Wilbur’s taking rumors and talk from newspapers, from written warnings, from old stolen letters made by the navy, stressing at how annoying pirates are to their duty. 

Foxglove is the easiest and safest person to settle on first, so Wilbur puts his attention towards him. He writes down descriptions as if he’s never seen the pirate in person, writes down all the wrongful details that people have sworn they’ve seen upon the criminal. Eyewitnesses claim Foxglove has glowing white eyes within the dark, sharp canines pointing out when he smiles, jagged claws on his fingertips underneath his gloves. Townspeople swear Foxglove has unnaturally well hearing, that he gave chase to them for their valuables until they fell from exhaustion, that he’s terribly silent when getting away, like the shadows swallowed him up. Men and women and eager children give warnings about the Fox, saying that he’s not a man at all, but an animal dressed up in a pirate’s outfit, who’s looking to eat upon a poor fool’s flesh. 

Wilbur looks over what he’s made, all the stories and fear-driven lies compiled together onto a few papers, and he finds Foxglove to be painted as a sort of legend, a feared inhuman beast. 

It’s hard to believe when Wil knows he’s in fact just a man who lost his coat in a game of cards the night before. He’s a pirate who’s fought with seagulls over a piece of bread. He’s a man who pointed a gun at Wilbur, then panicked, then ran away with a frantic air that frankly, left Wilbur only confused, rather than threatened.

For all the ways the stories are wrong and blown out of proportion, Wilbur finds a fondness for it. These are details he would have never gotten at the pub, points of view he would have never seen within the town. It’s outlandish and dramatic and bizarre, but it’s interesting. 

And Wilbur’s always loved finding ways to escape the boredom of life. 

Just as Wilbur’s finishing up a last few words, there’s a quick knock on his door, long and drawn out in a way that reminds Wil of drums. He stares at the blurry window giving a view out, and when the knocking just keeps going, he guesses he’s supposed to answer. 

“Yes?” He calls, and the door immediately swings open. Wilbur’s gaze has fallen back to a newspaper beside him, and he talks with the assumption that Quackity has come back to coerce him into another game of cards. “You said you weren’t going to bother me for the rest of the day.” 

“I never said anything about that.” 

Wilbur snaps his head up. It is not just Quackity who’s at the door. Standing in front of the man, chin raised, eyes bright, is that pirate boy who was sprawled out on the floorboards earlier. Tubbo, Wilbur thinks his name was.

He’s a scrawny looking kid, and again, Wilbur wonders how someone so young could end up on a ship so dangerous. He wonders, questions, then sees an evil little glint in the teen’s eye, and then debates on if this is somewhere Tubbo would just- belong. 

He did set Wil’s town on fire. That was a thing that happened. He supposes age isn’t really a restricting factor for piracy, is it?

“Quackity.” Wilbur warns, and Tubbo’s eyes crinkle with a sort of mirth. Maybe he hears something in that tone of Wil’s. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing you company so you can stop being all lonely and sad in here.” 

“I am not lonely or sad.” Wil sits up straight. “I’m enjoying the solitude just fine, actually. And you said-”

“I said. Me said. He didn’t say a word.” Quackity pats his palms onto Tubbo’s shoulders, making the boy practically beam with joy. “As such, he is free from any agreements I made, and you two are going to make friends.”

“Can I refuse?” Wilbur drawls. 

“No.” Quackity grins, all teeth, with pure unfiltered amusement. “Tubbo, go be- social.” 

“I’m the best at being social.” Tubbo nods, stepping inside, and the moment Quackity closes the door behind him, he looks dead into Wilbur’s eyes with a panicking expression. “I don’t know how to be social. I only came in here because he promised to help me with a trade when we hit land.” 

Wilbur blinks with surprise. “We’re going to land?” 

“Well, we’re stopping at the docks tomorrow. But just for resupply.” Tubbo nods, fidgeting with his hands in front of him. “And it’s just a quick one, as well. We can’t really dawdle, not with the amount of Navy that must be looking for us now.” 

“I would expect that would make things difficult.” Wilbur never had the experience of having his name on countless wanted posters, but now he wonders how long it takes for enforcement to just show up when you get too far from the shield of the sea. Would it take only an hour? Less? Would he be able to use that chaos, if it even got that bad? 

“Yeah, those people don’t really like us.” Tubbo shrugs with his shoulders up too high, brushing at his ears. “Can’t imagine why.” 

Wilbur raises his eyebrows with a fake, polite smile. “Maybe it’s all the war crimes.” 

Tubbo breaks out into a grin then, far too childish, far too true, and far too endearing. It reminds Wilbur so much of those bright kids back at the town, looking at him with wonder in their eyes. 

“Maybe! Could be. I’ve done nothing wrong ever, though.” Tubbo insists, and he makes his way over to where Wilbur sits, throwing himself down onto the ground to lay across from him. He clasps his hands together underneath his chin, and now, from so close, Wil can just barely see the tell of countless crossing scars on his hands. It looks unnatural, on someone so young. 

“If I recall…” Wilbur drags on, sliding his papers a bit closer, since Tubbo’s giving a curious eye. “Didn’t you say you were the one in charge of the cannons when you attacked my town?” 

“Yes.” Tubbo says simply. He purses his lips and slowly raises his gaze. “If I recall, you didn’t like that.” 

“Why would I?” Wilbur huffs, almost baffled at the kid. “You were burning the people’s houses to the ground, people’s livelihoods. Places I used to know, reduced to nothing. People left to be burnt-” 

Tubbo scoffs, like Wilbur’s just insulted him to his face. “I know how to aim. I wasn’t going for the people.” He nabs at one of the papers in reach, something Wil wasn’t able to move away in time. It’s only the back of a map with descriptions of Fundy’s skills. He squints at it anyway, to have something to distract him from Wil. 

“You weren’t?” Wilbur asks, a bit accusing in his tone. 

“Niki told me about the daycare.” Tubbo says suddenly, and Wilbur’s heart squeezes tight. “She told me about all the kids and stuff, and how you and her would watch over them every day. She really cared for them.” He lifts his eyes from the paper, and there’s something sharp sitting behind them, too sharp. He doesn’t look so young in this second. He doesn’t look quite as naive as Wilbur first took him. “Do you think I would aim at them purposely?” 

Wilbur swallows. He wonders what sort of pirate is sitting in front of him now. Wonders what stories people have cried out about him, all around the sea. Surely, there’s something, if he’s sailing with this crew. 

“The streets were on fire. I saw it.” Wilbur argues.

“Only after I set the docks on fire.” Tubbo hums, and that sharp look is gone, like it was a trick of the light. He shrugs light-heartedly, throwing the paper off onto the top of the pile. “Only after I went after the Navy. The people know when to run. The sound of things exploding is a good sign to leave.” 

“And that makes burning up the town alright, then?” 

“I’m not one to go talking about casualties and accidental property damage, if that’s what you want. That’s honestly more of Quackity’s thing.” Tubbo sighs, long suffering and dramatic, like Wilbur’s killing him here. “What I mean is that I wasn’t trying to kill any of your friends. If you had any near there.” 

A moment of silence passes. 

“I think this is an apology?” Tubbo says, like he’s barely figuring out his own words as they leave his mouth. The way he says it is so mystified and surprised that Wilbur honestly can’t help but give a snort, his hand slapping over his mouth. Tubbo snorts with him, lips curling up as he laughs. 

Wil shifts backwards in where he sits, letting the smile slip from his face, a heavy feeling coming over his heart. Friends. Did he really have any, in that town? His knee-jerk instinct is to name Niki as a friend, but she was a new face, someone looking for him in the recent weeks. Dream could’ve been a friend. But Wil supposes he never did take the time to truly consider him as one, and their relationship was never warm enough to have it be like that. 

It’s too late now, anyway. 

“Why don’t we make a truce? I have a gift of appeasement in mind.” Tubbo claps his hands together, sitting up straight with a wide smile. “If you forgive me for setting cannons towards your town, then I’ll be…a friend.” 

“You want to be my friend?” Wilbur asks, not quite convinced. 

“Well, Quackity said to be!” Tubbo slaps his hands against the floor, suddenly exasperated. Wilbur is taken back by the reaction, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “He said to at least make peace of some sort in order for ‘the least amount of hostility possible’ towards you and I don’t get all his words and strategies, but you do seem decent, and I do want to see how you’re going to turn out.” He leans forward, chin on his palms, lip pouting out. “So friends. We can be friends.” 

Wilbur takes in those little tidbits and wonders just how hard Quackity is trying at getting Wil to somewhat settle on this ship. He put Tubbo up to this, no doubt. But Tubbo’s so brutally honest with the action of it that it’s hard to feel tricked. 

Is he trying to make Wilbur feel more welcome? To get him to not lock himself in this room for the entire trip to his father? 

Wilbur wonders if he could take that offered trust and use it to make a running start for the hills. 

“Are you friends with the rest of this crew?” Wilbur asks, sweeping aside papers, cleaning them up so that they both can sit without worry of wrinkling one underneath their legs. 

“Of course.” Tubbo tilts his head to the side, eyes following Wilbur’s hands. “Naturally.”

“They’re a bit of a weird choice for friends.” 

“I have my best friends, who I usually hang out with.” Tubbo says. “But they’re back with the captain. With your dad.” 

Wilbur pauses. “With my dad.” He repeats. 

“Yeah. I came along on this mission to find you, but they stayed behind with the captain.” 

“For what reason?” Wil asks, tilting his head forward. 

Tubbo only shrugs. There’s a blank expression on his face now, something carefully crafted to only give a show of boredom. Wil’s not getting anything more from him. 

“Are we going to be friends?” Tubbo asks, because that’s his main goal here, and he’s not leaving this room without having some first step at friendship with Wil. 

Wilbur sighs lightly, throwing in the metaphorical towel. “You mentioned a gift of appeasement?” He asks. 

Tubbo jolts up, suddenly looking rather excited. “Oh, yes!” He jumps to his feet, running to the door. “Quackity gave it to me last night, and I was thinking about it right now, as we were talking, and I thought, well, that would suit him just fine, being a newcomer on the ship-” He keeps chattering as he goes out the door, and Wilbur watches him go, helplessly drawn by the enthusiasm. It’s actually a bit entertaining to watch. 

A short minute passes, and Tubbo comes back with something folded in his hands. He slams the door shut, then throws it at Wilbur’s face, Wil scrambling to catch it before it hits him against the nose. 

He unfolds it to find a worn, brown jacket. There’s scratches on the fabric and a few sewn on patches here and there to cover up bullet holes, but it’s still a decent piece of clothing. 

“It’s good, yeah?” Tubbo looks down at Wil with a glimmer in his eyes, hands held to his face. “Put it on. Do a spin.” 

Wilbur laughs, unfolding the sleeves out and standing to his feet. “This seems familiar.” He swears he’s seen someone wearing this before, out in his own town before all the shit went down. Did they rob this during the attack?

“It’s not. Well, it could be. Don’t they make all the jackets the same, anyway?” Tubbo rambles, waving his hands and watching as Wil hesitantly opens up the jacket, poking at the pockets. “It’ll keep you warm for the cooler nights. And it’s got good storage. I would know. I went through all of the pockets last night before bed.” 

“So this belongs to someone.” Wilbur notes.

“To you.” Tubbo tilts back on his heels, the floorboards creaking under his weight. “Now. It does belong to you now. I mean, I’m not wearing it. You think that thing would fit me? Probably not. And I’m not really a coat person-” 

“If you fix it up a bit, surely.” Wilbur responds, shrugging on the coat after finding nothing terribly off with it. It is a good coat. He might as well humor the teen. As soon as his arms are through the sleeves, his memory catches up with him, though, and he goes still with a frown. “Oh. This is Foxglove’s coat.” 

“Was.” Tubbo breaks out in a winning smile. “Quackity won it off him in a game of cards.” 

“I don’t think I should keep this…” Wilbur trails off, already pulling it off. 

“But it’s the gift of appeasement!” Tubbo cries, and Wil jumps, suddenly having a face too close to his. “Our token of friendship! Our item!” He holds his hands to Wil’s coat, fussing with the buttons and trying to get it all proper. “Fundy’s not getting it back, I’ll tell you that much!” 

“Even if I give it back to him with my own hands?” Wilbur asks, his arms hovering mid-air as he’s not sure on if he should be pushing Tubbo off or not. 

“You’d have to actually face him to do that. And you are quite a loner, in here.” Tubbo points out. Wilbur scrunches up his nose, refusing to frown at that. “Please keep the coat. We’re friends now. Friends keep coats that friends give them.” 

“Your definition of friendship is pushy.” Wil says honestly, taking a step back for distance. 

“Maybe you just don’t have many friends, is the problem here.” Tubbo deadpans. “You could work on socializing.” 

“Where am I going to do that, I wonder.” Wilbur mutters. “Out on the rest of this ship?”

“Well.” Tubbo steps back as well, hands held behind his back, chin tilted up as if in deep thought. “Quackity…did invite you for another game of cards, in return for a plate of dinner.” 

Wilbur blinks. He blinks, over and over, then his gaze hardens up, settling on Tubbo with a clear sort of annoyance. “Did he.” He grits out, and Tubbo’s face gains a sort of panic, but there’s also so much clear enjoyment blended within his wide eyes that Wilbur can’t figure out if he’s either about to laugh or about to scream. 

“He did.” Tubbo squeaks out. “He very much did. He said, oh yeah, tell Wil, after you’re done, that if he wants dinner, then he’s got to play a game of cards with me, out on deck.” 

“He said that?” Wilbur smiles, all kind and polite like the smiles he’s given to the townspeople that used to piss him off. 

“Oh, he said that.” 

“Well.” Wilbur looks down at the papers around him, then he runs his fingers over his new coat. “...I guess I have to go play a quick game of cards, then.” He mutters. 

Wilbur doesn’t see it, then. He doesn’t see the image of himself, and really, how could he, if he wasn’t in front of a mirror, and his focus was on something else? He doesn’t see it, but Tubbo does. Tubbo sees the tilt of his head, the shadows sticking to his skin, the set weight on his shoulders. He sees-- just for a single, quick second-- the captain standing right there, his mood a little more sour than usual. 

A surprised laugh bubbles out from Tubbo’s throat. Wilbur looks at him with a confused frown, and the image is gone, the picture is shattered.

But it was so vivid in the moment. 

---

The wind’s picked up since Wilbur’s been inside. The sun is still just as inviting and warm. 

Tubbo runs off to somewhere on the ship, scurrying out of sight as Wilbur breathes in the sea air and thinks about trying to smack Quackity over the back of the head. They had a deal, here. There was a set deal. Wilbur wasn’t hoping to be back out here, but here he stands anyway, and he knows there are eyes on him again. 

The Blood God has really got a staring problem. 

“Wilbur!” Quackity calls, from the same spot they played last time. He waves his hands up high with a cheeky sort of grin, and Wilbur wishes he had a shoe right now. He really does. If he had a shoe, he could fling it right into Quackity’s teeth. 

Wilbur makes his way over, sitting quickly onto that same unbalanced wooden stool, his elbows resting on the barrel to keep himself steady. As steady as one can be while on a ship. The boat is in an ever rocking motion, with the waves underneath. 

“I’m glad to see you outside.” Quackity says warmly, just as warm as the sun overhead. 

“I thought you had agreed to leave me alone after we played.” Wilbur says as a greeting, trying to keep his words stern. “You said, and I was sure of this-”

“I technically did leave you alone.” Quackity lifts up a finger. “Tubbo is the one who invited you out. I didn’t do a thing.” 

Wilbur taps his fingertips on the worn wood of the barrel. It’s rough and uneven on his skin. “Quackity.” He murmurs. 

Quackity goes still. He sweats. “Hm?” 

“...Let’s play a quick game.” Wilbur says, but it’s very much not what he wanted to say, and Quackity knows it well. He has a feeling he was two seconds away from getting insulted to hell and back, but there’s still a sliver of hesitance sunk into Wil’s core, a trace of fear keeping him tightly wound. 

Quackity turns his head, looking all across the deck. He stares right at Techno.

Technoblade just looks back and raises his eyebrows. There’s too much in his gaze for even begin to argue against. 

Quackity turns back to Wil. Yeah, he’s not winning that battle, no matter what he tries. He knows how the Blade gets. Might as well just try and get Wil to improve at cards, even with their persistent, ominous audience. 

He brings out the deck and shuffles up a hand for them both, Wil’s knee bouncing with impatience for the entire minute. Quackity glances over Wilbur for a second, and has his lips turn up in a grin.

“So, I like your coat.” 

“It’s not mine.” Wilbur denies. “You stole it.” 

“I won it. Fair and square.” Quackity winks, and Wilbur gives the most exasperated roll of his eyes Quackity has ever seen in the world. 

“Don’t lie to me, you stole it. Or you cheated him out of it. Either way, it’s on me now, and if any problems happen because of that, I’m blaming it all on you.” 

“Fundy’s not the type to be bitter.” Quackity reassures, and he begins the game, going slow, but not easy. “He’s a good sport in games, actually. Just, uh. Expressive.” 

Wilbur gains a furrow in his brow as he recalls over the rules of the game. He places down a card. “He’s going to be expressive when he sees me wearing this, then, I imagine?”

“No.” Quackity shakes his head, giving a reassuring laugh. “Probably.” He places his card, still laughing. “Maybe.” He keeps laughing. It’s not a very true laugh anymore. “I think we’ll have to see.” 

“Why did you send Tubbo into my room?” Wilbur asks suddenly, placing a card, and there’s a strange shift in his heart at calling it my room, rather than just the captain’s room. Quackity jerks his chin up like he’s caught off guard by the sudden question, and Wil goes on, pushing for an answer. “He says he wants to be friends. That this coat, which you did steal, by the way, is an appeasement gift.” 

“Did you accept the gift?” Quackity asks. He’s got his priorities straight. He places a card. 

“I didn’t exactly say no.” Wil places his card. “But that’s not the point, why are you trying to get pirates to make friends with me?”

“Believe it or not, Wil, all of these pirates do want to be friends with you.” 

“All of them?” Wil makes a very, very quick glance at Technoblade off by the railing. “You’re sure about that?”

“I couldn’t be more sure if I tried.” Quackity places his card and wins the game, but Wilbur’s already put his deck down. “You’re not here as a hostage.”

“Aren't I?” Wilbur frowns. “I can’t leave, can I?”

“We do still have a family reunion in order.” 

“Could we postpone that?” Wilbur asks. Quackity coughs out a laugh. 

“Ah, your dad’s been waiting some 18 years now, I don’t think he wants to stretch it out any further.”

“I like to say I need some time to process. To take it in.” Wilbur gestures at himself, brushing his fingers over the front of his coat. “I’m under a lot of stress, you see.”

“And my main goal for this entire trip is to settle you in during the weeks as we head on.” Quackity gathers all the cards up and shuffles them again. “This is what I’m here for, Wil. To get you out for a game of cards so you can see the sea, and the sea can look at you.” 

“There’s certainly someone looking at me.” Wilbur breathes out. 

“Oh, Technoblade definitely has…issues.” Quackity says delicately, and Wilbur raises a brow. “He means well. And he always does that. Granted, he’s been doing it more since you got here, but he’s always stared at people.” 

“Is this an intimidation thing?” Wilbur murmurs lowly. 

“It’s actually a protection thing, from what he’s explained.” Quackity says, and Wilbur’s taken back by that. “There’s not much to do on the ship, and one needs to stay aware. He keeps an eye on things. Literally. Most times, he’s up in the rafters, but for some reason he’s been staying on deck more often. Maybe he wants to try approaching you, who knows.” 

Wilbur leans back in his seat, suddenly feeling much smaller than he did just a minute ago. He wants to go back to his room. The room was nicer. Had less chances of social interaction with murderers. “I don’t think I would like that very much.” 

“Yeah, I gathered. You seem-” Quackity presses his lips together, waving a hand around like he’s trying to find a word. “Skittish?” He chokes out, like he’s not sure Wil’s going to take the word well. 

Wilbur just frowns deeply, holding out a hand so he can get a deck of cards already for a new game. “Teach me how to cheat at this already.” He says simply. 

Quackity’s face lights up like the damn sun. They then spend the next thirty minutes discussing and learning ways to cheat at this specific card game, and Wilbur takes the distraction wholeheartedly with the comfort that he’s going to get dinner as a reward by the end of it. 

As they’re playing another game, Quackity keeping an eye out for Wilbur to try practicing a certain trick, a slight commotion comes over the deck. 

“IS THAT MY FUCKING COAT ?!” 

Wilbur drops his cards all over the barrel they’re playing on, and Quackity fumbles to keep them from scattering onto the floor. 

“Oh, shit, shit-”

“Well, I think it’s a good time to go inside.” Wilbur blurts out, standing to his feet, as Fundy stalks over to where they’re playing. He’s frighteningly quick as he comes across the deck. 

“No, hold on-” Quackity holds a hand up, but Fundy’s already hovering menacingly over his shoulder, eyes narrowed into a threatening gaze. 

“ Quackity .” Fundy hisses. 

“Heyyyy.” Quackity twists in his seat, coming face to face with the pirate, and Fundy bares his teeth, not at all a smile. “How are you doing-? Wil, don’t you dare run off.” He jabs a finger out, stopping Wilbur in his tracks. 

“This is where you put my coat? You gave it to him!?” Fundy asks, leaning in close and forcing Quackity to lean back in a way that may give him back pain later on tonight. “I thought Tubbo had it, and I was sure he’d return it by the morning, but here it is instead!” His voice squeaks at the end of his sentence. 

“Hey, you want it back, I’m sure we can play for it.” Quackity raises his hands up in surrender, palms faced out. He turns his chin over to Wil, giving a beaming smile. “Yeah, Wil? Wanna put in that coat for a game?”

“No.” Wilbur refuses immediately, grasping his hands into the front of the coat, fingers digging into the buttons. Fundy gives a small grunt of annoyance, and Quackity opens his mouth, only to be cut off by Wilbur steamrolling over him in a slight panic. “I actually- have something to, uh- do.” He gives a vague gesture, already walking away. 

“Ah, but-!” Quackity holds a hand up.

“Goodbye!” Wil calls out, and Fundy straightens up, watching Wilbur run off to the room he’s been hiding away in, slamming the door shut at his heels. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, you scared him!” Quackity screams up at Fundy, making him jump on his feet and shrink away from the sudden raise in volume. “We could’ve played a game of cards!” 

“We could’ve- wha- he took my coat!” Fundy yells back.

“I took the coat.” Quackity holds his hands to his chest. “He was just gifted it.” 

“So now you’re admitting it-”

“We could’ve played a game of cards !” Quackity yells again, throwing his hands up, acting like the world’s gone to shit. 

Fundy tilts his head back and stares at the sky, wishing, hoping, praying for some sort of internal strength. He finds none. He hasn’t found any since the day he met Quackity at all. 

Wilbur hides behind his door with a fast beating heart, hands still stubbornly holding on to the jacket that isn’t really his.

---

He gets a plate of dinner for his efforts either way, Quackity sending it over as a silent sort of apology for that great first impression. Tubbo brings it with a question on if they’re still friends, and Wil takes with a somewhat confirmation that they indeed are. 

Tubbo smiles at him like he’s hung that stars after that. It’s too sweet and too bright, and Wilbur watches him go with a horrible feeling in his heart that feels like attachment. He focuses much more frantically on getting an escape attempt down from that second on. 

He gets another visitor that night. Niki comes in with a careful knock, and Wilbur invites her in with a yawning, open complaint that Quackity is too much of a headache, with all his meddling and his persistence upon card games. 

They laugh together in the walls of the room, never letting the topic grow too heavy. She tells him a story to let him drift to sleep. 

They do not talk the next day. 

--

The morning comes quietly. Wilbur wakes up again to Quackity at his door, but it’s much less intense this time around, thankfully, although no less persistent. 

Through another round of bickering and trading sarcastic, occasionally tense words, Wilbur figures out the system that’s being put in place here. 

He’s getting food in return for socializing. Or attempts upon socializing. The goal here is to just drag Wilbur outside, kicking and screaming if necessary, really. He doesn’t appreciate this. He makes this well known. 

“Look, I’m not looking to starve the captain’s blood anytime soon, Technoblade would have my fucking head on a spike if I even tried doing that-” Quackity argues, Wilbur again at the desk, the pirate-not-pirate leaning against the wooden edge. “-but I’m saying, it’s a fair trade. You should take it. Card game. Card tricks. Plate of food. All benefits, here.” 

“Foxglove did yell at me yesterday, though.” Wilbur faintly recalls, and Quackity gains a stress line in his forehead. “That wasn’t very fun.” 

“He won’t do it again.” Quackity reassures. At Wilbur’s unconvinced face, he leans in with a palm pressed to the top of the desk. “Hey, if he really upsets you, honestly, if he does something you don’t like, I’ll have something done. He’ll be thrown overboard or something.” He shrugs offhandedly. 

Wilbur raises his eyebrows with a curious noise. “You’d throw a crew member into the sea for making me upset?”

“Blades and blood, William, you haven’t got a clue what everyone would do.” Quackity responds, and those words are far too heavy in Wil’s ears, far too serious for this joking tone they both like to throw around. Wilbur stares up at Quackity with a lump in his throat, and Quackity stares back like he’s waiting for a wall of questions. 

Wil gives none. He stands up and agrees to cards, just to get rid of the atmosphere that’s threatening to come down. Quackity goes along with a clap of his hands and a cheery grin. 

No one bothers them out on deck during the cool morning. The wind is the only thing of bother, really, and Wilbur takes that gladly, enjoying the feeling of it brushing against his hair. Quackity complains over the cards getting thrown every which way, but Wil only laughs, and the mood is kind.

Wilbur goes back inside with his promised plate of breakfast after a good couple of rounds of cards. He finishes his plate while sitting at the captain’s desk, he returns to his mess of papers on the floor, and he hunkers down in preparation of waiting until dinnertime. 

As the morning bleeds into afternoon, though, Wil finds himself outside again. 

He hovers at the doorway with a hand still on the doorknob, the sea’s wind blowing through like a calling encouragement. The deck isn’t quiet, not with Quackity playing a fierce game with Foxglove over at the barrel, the two of them squabbling at each other over who did what, trading insults and swears until Wil’s sure it’s going to escalate into something worse. 

He’s half tempted to turn around and get back inside.

Something makes him step further out, instead. Maybe it’s curiosity, maybe it’s the boredom of being locked indoors, or maybe it’s just the craving for keeping the wind on his face for as long as he’s allowed. Who knows. 

He walks out over the two men playing cards, the wood creaking quietly at his feet. They don’t notice him coming, too wrapped up in their conversation to the point that they’ve practically abandoned the game at their hands. 

Only when Wil sits down on his stool beside Quackity do they freeze, and they look at Wilbur like he’s a ghost coming to haunt them from the grave. Fundy gives a strangled noise inside his throat, and Quackity chokes out a laugh, slamming his hand of cards down with a grin. 

“Wil!” Quackity calls, and before he can invite Wilbur into a game with Foxglove, Wilbur holds up his hand and makes him stop. 

“I just wanted to come watch.” He quickly says, his words a little stilted, a bit more hesitant than he would’ve liked. “If that’s alright…” He drags his gaze over to Foxglove, too aware of the stolen coat he’s wearing. Something horribly stubborn does not allow him to give said coat back. It doesn’t do any good for his nerves. 

“Of course, of course.” Quackity nods quickly, waving a hand. “We don’t mind.” He turns to Fundy with a very intense look. Fundy shrinks back like he’s gotten a knife pointed to his nose. 

“Yeah, no minding here, that’s fine, totally great.” Fundy scoots his seat away from Quackity. He leans over the barrel towards Wil. “We need a pair of eyes, anyhow. Maybe you can prevent him from fucking cheating at every single round.” He hisses to Quackity with the last words, Wilbur’s heart jumping up in his chest. 

“I would never cheat, ever.” Quackity gives an exaggerated wink to Wilbur. It looks like he got something stuck in his eye and he’s in pain trying to blink it out. 

“Liar.” Foxglove sighs. He gathers up his cards and gives them over to Quackity, who takes them and shuffles them with a thoughtful look on his face. “Another round, though. And we play fair!” 

“What are you going to put this time, then?” Quackity asks, keeping his eyes on the cards, not promising anything about fairness. 

“I’ll put down ten more gold pieces.” 

“You don’t even have any more fucking gold pieces on you.” 

“I’ll pick some up later tonight!” Fundy protests, and Wilbur then remembers their scheduled visit to the docks, their ship being on track to pass by land. He wonders if Fundy would even have the time to be jumping off the ship to rob someone, with their current situation of being chased by the Navy and all. 

Quackity shakes his head, much akin to a disappointed father. He looks Fundy over, like he’s a new man he’s never seen before, and then he glances over to Wil, sharing eye contact for just a split second. Wilbur looks away, but they seemingly communicate something in that second. 

A bright, excited look comes over Quackity’s face as he sits up in his seat. “I want your shoes.” He decides. 

“...My shoes?” Fundy sputters. He looks down at his boots, and Quackity looks down with him, squinting at the leather like they’re a prize he’s set on winning. “You’re not going to win my fucking shoes.” 

“Wanna bet on it?” Quackity drawls, raising his eyebrows up. “Just you and me, c’mon. Let’s go.” He shuffles up the cards, tapping them onto the top of the barrel. 

“You’re not getting my fucking shoes.” Fundy swears. “I know you, Quackity, and you’re not doing this.” 

“Quitter’s talk.” Quackity goads. He jerks his chin towards Wil, urging him to help poke at the pirate. “That’s quitter’s talk, isn’t it, Wil?” 

“Hmmm.” Wilbur just presses his lips tightly closed. 

“I’m just saying, put a better bet than the shoes I’m wearing! I kinda need these.”

“You could buy new ones later tonight.” Quackity waves off. “I’ll even give you the gold for it, c’mon.” 

Fundy furrows his brows together, a careful consideration coming over his face. He’s wary, but he’s tempted, and if he’s tempted, he’s doomed. Wil sees it in his eyes and sees the moment Fundy cracks, too swept up in the idea of entertainment for this creaking ship. 

“You know what? Fine. I’ll play.” Fundy holds up a gloved finger, pointing it so close to Quackity’s face that Wil thinks he may jab out an eye. “But no tricks.”

“No tricks.” Quackity repeats, dealing out the cards. 

“No cheats!”

“No cheats.” Quackity nods, placing the first card down. 

“Wil, you keep an eye on his hands.” 

Wilbur does no such thing. They play too quickly for him to even try, anyway. 

---

“-FOR FUCK’S SAKE-”

“Wilbur, look.” Quackity holds back the urge to cackle out into the wind. “I got you your shoes.” 

“ WHY -!”

“Oh, thank you-?” Wilbur takes the pair of shoes with a worried look to the pirate before him. 

For once, there’s no room to be afraid of him or what he can do, because with the way he’s screaming with a squeak in his voice every two seconds, it’s very hard to get any sort of fear through Wil’s head. Foxglove sounds like a dramatic, dying animal, and with his voice cracking at the worst bits, he even sounds like an overly emotional teen. 

“EVERY FUCKING TIME-!” Fundy slaps his hands to his face, pacing off and giving a high pitched scream. It echoes into the sky. Wilbur thinks he may be hearing Techno laugh, from up in the rafters. 

“Is he okay?” Wilbur asks, and Quackity just shuffles the cards. 

“Ignore him.” 

Fundy cries out with yet another string of creative swears. No one spares a glance. Wilbur starts another round with Quackity, with a stolen pair of shoes on his feet. 

---

They hit port around sundown, when the sky has gone all bright red, and the temperature has begun to drop into something cooler. Wilbur stays out on deck for once, curious to see where they are, curious to see what the company around him will do, and maybe even curious about any certain opportunities to get off the ship. 

His hopes are crumpled up and torn apart as soon as Technoblade comes climbing down, joining them all on deck. Quackity puts away his cards and sits with Wilbur as the others get the ship situated, but Techno doesn’t budge in where he is. He doesn’t watch from a distance like he did all the other times, he doesn’t lean by the railing and give them space, no, he comes near them both. 

And he hovers.

He stands behind Wil with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze looking out over the town like there might be danger coming through. Wilbur stares at the floorboards with his cheeks stinging from how hard he’s biting down. He’s not-- scared, exactly. No. Not at all. 

He’s just not appreciating having a well-known ruthless murderer loom over his shoulder like some sort of quiet threat. 

“Is it just me,” Wilbur chokes out, words barely a whisper, and yet Quackity latches onto them like he’s given a shriek. “Or is the mood…tense?”

Quackity gives a so-so expression that could be agreement. He leans his elbows onto the barrel, his smile seeming nearly sympathetic as he whispers back. “I would call the big guy off, because he also freaks me the fuck out, but we do kinda need him.” 

“Do we?” Wilbur asks, voice still kept at a hush. “Do we really?” 

“We’re not in any danger.” Quackity reassures lightly. “However, this is our first visit at port, and you are still very much a flight risk.” 

Wilbur straightens up, his lips pressed tightly shut. Quackity raises his eyebrows up like that reaction was a response all on its own. 

“Hey, I don’t blame you. It’s the first chance you’re getting. I would also go for it, if I was in your shoes.” 

“I’m not- going anywhere.” Wilbur spares a single glance back at Techno, and Techno’s not looking at him. He’s still staring off towards the railing, seeing the bustling of people out on the outskirts of the town. Even with his attention not directly on Wil, though, Wilbur has no doubt he’d be relentless in a chase if Wil were to make a break for it. “Really, I’m not.” 

“You are not, that is right.” Quackity nods, and he watches as Fundy and Tubbo work at putting a bridge down, securing ropes for one last time before having them officially connected to the docks. Niki yells out something at some people below, and the words buzz past Wil’s ears. “Here’s what’s happening, alright?” Quackity says, and Wil turns back to him. “Me and Tubbo are going to go off for a trade over at the markets, he’s been in need of some more knives, and I know a few people over there. Maybe I’ll grab something for you.” 

Wilbur gives a thin smile that turns into a frown. He doesn’t want anything, he wants off. 

“Fundy’s probably going to head off to buy a pair of boots, Niki and Techno will watch over the ship, and you-” Quackity stands up then, Wilbur’s head tilting up to follow his eyes. “Are going back into your room until this ship is back safely on the seas.” 

“...What.” Wilbur says, heart dropping down. 

“Now, I’m sorry-”

“You’re fucking saying-?” Wilbur scoffs. “You’re grounding me.”

Quackity squints his eyes, tilting his head side to side. “Ehhh- Yeah. Basically.”

“Does it count as grounding if we’re not even on land?” Technoblade adds in suddenly, and Quackity gives a snort. Wilbur curls his hands into fists at his lap, glaring over his shoulder. “We’re still on the water.” 

“Oh, don’t-” Quackity huffs. “Don’t make jokes, he’s pissed as is.” 

“For good reason.” Wilbur stands up with Quackity, eyes darting over to the railing where the bridge is placed. “You want to lock me in my room?” 

“For your safety.” Quackity insists. “For convenience.” He steps close to Wil, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking a bit more low. “Between you and me, I really doubt you’d get far, and do you really want to spend tonight trying to run away from the fucking Blade?”

Wilbur grimaces, speaking back just as low. “Well, I don’t want to spend it cooped up in my room.” 

“Funny, just yesterday you had an entirely different viewpoint about that.” Quackity hums, but then he pats at Wil’s shoulder as a parting goodbye and heads off. “Goodnight, Wil. See you in the morning.” 

Wilbur has half a mind to argue louder then, to sit back down and refuse, but Technoblade shifts his full attention over to Wil, and Wilbur’s conviction crumbles like old cake. He walks- he doesn’t stomp, he definitely doesn’t stomp-- over to his room, and Technoblade follows swiftly at his heels. Wil slams the door shut, Techno stays outside, and that seems to be that. Final. 

The sunset shifts into proper night, and Wilbur spends about one hour sitting on the floor, writing nothing of meaning, before deciding he can’t possibly just do nothing. His situation isn’t the best, and his chances aren’t good, but if there’s one thing he knows about himself, it’s that he’s persistently stubborn, and he’s not taking this lying down. 

He mentally lays out the facts for himself, pacing slowly through the room. He’s more or less locked inside here, the Blood God is directly guarding his door, but what’s to say he can’t just- go out the window? 

There’s an idea. 

The latch keeping the glass shut clicks loudly as Wilbur snaps it open. He gives a panicked glance over to the door, but Techno gives no mind from his station outside. Wilbur assumes that whatever he does, it won’t be heard as long as he’s careful. 

He pokes his head out of the opening he’s made, and he’s faced with the rush of salty wind, the night holding a sudden chill to his skin. He looks down to see dark waves splashing underneath, slamming at the base of the ship. 

Wilbur…still doesn’t know how to swim. He’ll drown down there for sure, if he jumps. 

So he won’t go down there. There are other ships nearby, not too terribly close for comfort, but close enough that Wil is willing to take the chance. For all he knows, he might never get this near freedom again, so he squeezes his way out from the window, and climbs out to the back of the ship, hands dug into the wood for dear life. 

Bit by bit, he moves across the outside, and when the waves rock him close and the wood groans near, he jumps. 

He lands rough, nails scratching across wood, knees knocking against sturdy planks, but he lands regardless, safe and alive. He clings on further with aches settling onto his skin, and then he makes his way down to the docks, climbing off and being unseen past the chaos of people constantly moving on and off ship and the dark of the night over them all. 

His mind screams for him to break out into a run, but he forces himself to walk, for the sake of not looking suspicious. He moves briskly, hands tugging at the outside of his coat, head tilted down. His heart feels like it’s climbed into his throat, and it’s awfully hard to breathe. 

If he didn’t know better, he’d say there was something like grief sitting on his chest. It could be for the sea, for the chance of what it could’ve given him. 

But he’s not leaving the sea! He’s not going away entirely. He’s just- leaving the pirates. If Wil’s lucky, he’ll figure out something for the night, and find a different boat to leave on. That wind out on the ocean was too good to give up. 

Wilbur nods lightly to himself, making his mind up there, and he continues on to the outskirts of the town, to the never dying markets that try their best to reign in every single traveler coming in. There’s crowds of people flowing through, even at this time, and Wilbur loses himself with it, getting pushed this way and that way, getting called over here, getting coaxed over there. One man tries to sell him a box of bread. Another tries to sell him a bottle of wine. One woman insists he needs a scarf, while another insists he’d do better with a new set of pants. 

They all shoo him off when he mentions his lack of money. Wilbur stumbles at his feet and tries to find less busy roads, getting annoyed with the constant noise of people. He moves off to a more quiet alleyway, walking past some people resting beside the side of their shops, smoking and drinking to the moon of the night. 

He looks down the alley with the consideration of if he should take the path, and as he strolls slowly towards darker, quieter roads, someone gives a high-pitched whistle at his back. 

It’s not a hostile sort of sound. It’s not something of trouble, or ill intent. It’s more of just to get someone’s attention, and Wilbur stops, turning around to see what it is, wanting to give a single curious glance. He thinks it’ll be someone trying to wake up a drunk. Maybe someone calling a friend. 

He freezes still when he finds Foxglove instead. 

Unnaturally yellow eyes are staring across the alleyway, too bright against the dim lanterns overhead. A pirate stands there on the path, his back to the open, busy street, and as countless people pass by, unaware and calm, he’s narrowing his eyes at Wil, tilting his head to the side as if giving a warning. 

Wilbur holds his breath, looking desperately at the people sitting and drinking around, and he knows immediately they won’t be any help. It’s getting late into the night, and no one ever wants to purposely start trouble with a pirate. 

He knows it’s stupid to run. Foxglove is the fastest out of all of them, out of all his rumors, they all agree he could chase down anything within a heartbeat. Wilbur wouldn’t even make it to the next street. 

Despite that, his legs still move, and his feet push against the stone. His boots skid against the dirt, and he sprints, not hearing a sound behind him, but feeling the eyes sticking on his back regardless. 

“Shit, shit!” He swears, twisting past the corner, barreling out of the alley and into another street. It’s less busy and less crowded here, but there’s still some market people scattered around, trying to sell to whoever passes. 

Wilbur weaves through groups of strangers, trying to keep moving quick, and when he spares a look behind him, he swears he sees Foxglove’s face, swiftly hidden behind someone in the crowd. He’s too close for comfort. Far too close. Wilbur runs faster, but he doesn’t get any farther, and he makes erratic turns in the road to try and lose what’s on his tail. 

In his rush to move and his panic to escape, he can’t help but make a mistake. He trips over something in the road, stumbling badly and landing hard into someone’s shoulder. He falls back, sprawled across the ground, and voices shout down at him in offense. 

“Fucking hell, watch where you’re going!” 

Wilbur kicks his feet and scoots back, lifting his hands up as he gives a short cough. “Sorry, sorry-” He apologizes, trying to get up, to get back on his way, but big hands are grabbing at the front of his shirt, and he’s now getting dragged up by force. 

“You’re sorry? You’re just sorry?” The man before him is big, burly and tough-looking. He’s backed by someone smaller, but just as upset, and behind that one, there’s the person Wil ran into. They’re all wearing sour expressions, bitter, stupid anger in their eyes. Wil knows these sorts of people. They’re only ever trouble, and they’re no good conversation. “That’s all you got to say, boy?” They ask, like Wilbur should be bowing at their fucking feet and begging forgiveness for touching them. 

“I’ll go, I’ll just go.” Wilbur offers, trying to heave himself away to move back, but they’re not letting loose. He gets yanked closer, more towards the darker side of the street, and there’s the soft sshk of a knife, a pressure pushing to his side. Really?

No one notices the sudden threat. It’s all hidden away by the lively market around them. A man is yelling out prices for herbs. The people are still chattering away into the night, walking past. Who wants trouble at this time?

“You know who this is?” The man holding him by the shirt asks, shaking Wil and putting closer to the edge of a knife. Wilbur turns his head, looking to the offended, and- 

Fuck, he hasn’t have a clue who that is. Some fucker trying to make a name on the seas? A navy officer? Wil can’t properly get a look at his clothes to know, and honestly, he doesn’t care. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, and then there’s another shove of hands, and he’s falling back to the stone of the street.  

He scrambles to sit up and move back, and strangely enough, the clatter of the knife is what makes him pause. 

He looks up, leaning back on his palms, and he sees Foxglove in front of him, standing far too close to the man that was holding him at knifepoint before. He’s gone still, they all have, and Wil shifts up on his knees, looking closer with confusion. 

Then he realizes there’s a gun held to the big man’s throat. 

“You know who that is?” Fundy asks, low and quiet, a near hissed whisper. It’s so calm, you can barely even pick out the anger simmering underneath. Something like sharp fear runs through Wil, making him shake. “You know who that boy is?”

“Hey, hey.” One of the people hold their hands out, looking frantically around at the passing crowd. No one’s giving a glance. “We don’t- we don’t want no trouble.” 

“You reach for that gun, this bullet is going through his head.” Fundy says, readjusting his barrel, and one of the people goes still, their hands drifting away from their sides. Wilbur stays on his knees, breathing hard, hands shaking underneath him. 

“Fuck, we don’t want no trouble.” The man pleads, tilting his head up further to try and ease the gun that’s pressing on his throat. Foxglove bares his teeth in a mimicry of a smile. 

“You know who I am?” He asks, just to keep the question going. All three of them nod. “You know who I am?” He repeats. 

“We’re sorry, we’ll go, we’ll go.” They choke out. A small bag is thrown to the floor, giving a jingle of coins. “Take that, leave him, we- we’ll go.” 

Fundy breathes out slow. He holds his gun where it is for a moment more, then he steps back, steps away, and moves towards Wil, holding a hand out behind him and pressing it over Wil’s hair, like he’s got to make sure he’s staying right there. Wilbur doesn’t shift away from his palm. 

“Walk.” The pirate says, and the idiots all run, disappearing into the road, trying to get out of the range of danger. Some people give them looks as they shove against their shoulders and bump into strangers, but they’re lost into the night. 

Fundy makes a long sigh, taking his hand away from Wil’s head and discreetly putting his gun away. Wilbur’s eyes stay on it as it hides back underneath his shirt. He tilts his chin up at Fundy as the pirate turns to him, and then he blinks innocently like he didn’t just escape off the ship, run off into a chase, and nearly get stabbed in the span of an hour. 

“Pleasant night we’re having.” Wilbur starts, and Fundy gives a garbled noise of frustration. 

“Oh just- you get up, come on.” He pulls Wilbur to his feet, then swipes the bag that was dropped earlier. “You- are definitely grounded now.” 

Wilbur twists his face up in a scowl, giving a sharp huff. He gives a single glance out into the crowd. Fundy grabs him by the arm while poking at the coins he’s gotten. 

“Don’t. Believe me, you’re not outrunning me.” 

“I believe you.” Wilbur nods, and Fundy lets go of him. He whistles out into the air, like he needs to stim the energy off, and Wilbur has a faint urge to whistle back. “For how long were you following?” He asks instead. 

“Since you got off the ship.” Fundy says simply. He closes up the coin bag and crosses his arms. “Technoblade saw you and sent me after you.” He sighs. “I should’ve just grabbed you before you left the docks.” He mutters. 

“But you didn’t?” Wilbur asks, upset that he didn’t ever have a chance. 

Fundy keeps a serious face, but there’s something dancing behind his eyes, like a hidden mischievousness wanting to be set free. Wil wonders the sort of trouble this man gets up to on a regular basis. “I thought you’d appreciate the chance to stretch your legs. What can I do once you’ve gone off into the crowd, I can’t make a scene .” He’s exaggerating, and Wilbur can’t help but be a bit amused by it. Fundy nods to the markets around them. “It’s a busy place, isn’t it?” 

Wilbur looks and takes it in, all the noise and bustle and constant movement. “I would’ve thought it’d be quieter at this time.” 

“Nah, this place isn’t known for that.” Fundy shakes his head, and he gestures for Wilbur to follow close, the two of them heading on. “There’s towns, and there’s places like these, which never sleep. It’s a good place to resupply, since no one usually asks too many questions. They’re all just here for profit.”

Wilbur hears a shake of coins, and he turns his head to see Fundy throw up his coinbag, catching it firmly in his palm. 

“Now we- we got this profit. What do you say we buy something real quick before you have to head back and get chewed out by the Blade?” 

Wilbur’s stomach turns at the idea of having to get back on that ship, knowing they’re going to keep a closer eye on him. “Can we just not go back at all?” He asks hopefully. 

Fundy grins back, all teeth. Wil has the slight urge to go running again, even if he’s never going to get far. “I’m lenient, captain’s boy, but not lenient enough to lose my head.” 

---

When they return to the bridge on the docks, Technoblade and Niki are waiting for them on the railing, like a set of disappointed parents with heavy, disapproving looks. 

Fundy waves at them both with an outstretched arm. “We’re back!” He announces, like they don’t have eyes. Wilbur climbs up first, taking Niki’s hand over the hill. “And we got bread.” Fundy elaborates, holding up a bag in his hand, filled to the brim with freshly baked pastries. The man selling them had been quite convincing. Wilbur…had kinda really wanted the bread. 

“You bought bread.” Techno repeats, staring down Fundy, who purses his lips and sorta scurries off, leaving Wilbur entirely for himself. Wilbur chews at the half piece of loaf in his hands, picking at the crust with his fingertips. “Bread.” 

“They sell quite a lot of stuff over there.” Wilbur defends lightly. Niki at least smiles. Technoblade just narrows his eyes, and looks over to where Fundy is trying to stay out of sight, out of mind. 

“You were meant to bring him straight back, Fundy.” 

“It was on the way!” Fundy yells back, and Niki gives a light laugh. “Blame him, he was relentless about it-”

“I was not!” Wilbur yells. 

“-and was I supposed to say no , to the captain’s pride and joy-?”

“Yes.” Technoblade deadpans, and he honestly looks like he’s near moments from flinging Fundy off the ship. “You were supposed to just bring him back, not-” He holds a hand to his face with a strong huff, and Wilbur rips at his bread with his teeth. “Wilbur.” He says. 

“Yes?” Wilbur chokes out. 

“Go inside.” Technoblade waves him towards the same room he escaped from earlier, but Niki stays at his heels now, seemingly to follow him inside. “And no more explorin’ off the ship.” 

“Right.” Wilbur chews at his bread and heads into the captain’s quarters, pleasantly surprised to find a plate of hot food sitting on the desk. 

“You missed dinner.” Is Niki’s explanation to Wilbur’s slight surprised reaction. Wilbur gives something of a sorry look, not really sorry, and he sits down at his chair, eating the food with the freshly bought bread in his hand. “How was your trip off into the markets?”

“Loud. Too much.” Wilbur says simply, mouth half-full. “How pissed is the Blood God, be honest. Am I dead?”

Niki laughs, light and easy like how she has for all these nights. Wilbur smiles at her like there isn’t still a weight trying to dig into his heart. “He’s not going to do anything.” 

“He was glaring into my fucking soul, I swear, Niki.” Wilbur shakes his head, and Niki leans at the edge of the desk, laughing again. “He has a glaring problem. Or a resting murder face.” 

“He doesn’t smile much.” Niki confesses. “But it’s not like he never smiles. He’s stressed, I think.” 

“He’s stressing me out.” Wilbur huffs. 

“You did run off without warning.” Niki notes, and they’re crossing into uneasy territory here, no longer joking and speaking simple, useless things. “You weren’t in the room when I came in to check and- gods, I had first thought you threw yourself to sea.” 

“Can’t swim.” Wil reminds. 

“Not yet.” Niki says hopefully. “You can learn, right? We’ll find the time for that. I promise.” 

Wilbur shifts his jaw, even with nothing more in his mouth. He goes to take a bite, staying silent, and suddenly the floorboards shake. Niki snaps her head up to the door, a gun just- appearing within her hand, and Wilbur sits up straight with wide eyes. 

There’s another slight rumble. Someone’s shrieking from outside, and the sound of faint gunshots ring out past wood. 

“I think you should move that dinner to under the desk.” Niki suggests. 

“I think that’s a great idea.” Wilbur nods, taking his food and taking cover as Niki moves over to the door to peek outside. 

There’s more commotion as she gets near the door, and it opens before she even grabs the handle. Techno’s figure is a hard thing to miss through the glass, and that’s the only reason she doesn’t raise the barrel of her gun on instinct. 

“What’s going on?” Niki asks, and at Techno’s look glancing over the room, she waves a hand. “Wil’s under the desk, he’s fine. What’s happening?” She tries to glance over his shoulder. 

Technoblade takes a deep breath in, letting it out through his nose. “Well. Quackity and Tubbo got back.” 

A sound of an explosion goes off, one of the cannons being shot into the docks. The high pitched voice is shrieking again, and only now does Niki register it as Fundy. Tubbo’s cackling maniacally from somewhere by the railings. Techno closes his eyes for a moment of peace, and when he opens them, he looks slightly annoyed. 

“Didn’t they have a trade out in the markets?” Niki asks slowly. 

“They did. This is the aftermath.” Technoblade clicks his tongue, looking back on deck, scrunching his nose when another cannon is shot. Quackity is swearing profusely as gunshots ring out again. “I’m not sure if I should help or just watch.” 

“We have Wilbur onboard, now isn’t the time for random squabbles.” Niki pushes at Technoblade to leave the doorway and get things done. “Go kill some men or get the ship moving.” 

“Aye, aye.” Technoblade hums, and another explosion goes off, Tubbo screaming with sheer joy. 

Niki closes the door. It doesn’t really muffle the noise, but she likes to pretend. When she turns back around, Wilbur’s eating his food still from underneath the desk, and he gives only a questioning look over at Niki when she leans into his sight. 

“Am I going to die in the near future?” He asks, and Niki snorts, sitting beside him. 

“No. It’s just-” She fumbles for a quick explanation. “Haggling.” 

“Huh.” Wilbur isn’t convinced. He flinches at the next explosion, and he takes a furious bite of bread. “Pirates.” He mutters. 

“Pirates.” Niki repeats, like it’s a good joke. She then offers a story about pirates, and they continue their night like they always have been, acting like this is normal and they’re only two friends with late night conversation. 

There’s just a few more explosions outside than usual. It goes quiet eventually. 

---

The next morning, they’re back on sea, with only a couple burn marks to show for the whole ordeal. 

Wilbur yawns over the barrel they’re playing on as Fundy complains over Quackity’s cheating, again. Technoblade sits up in the rafters, watching the waves and watching Wil. Niki stays at the helm, Tubbo mops at some marks here and there, and the mood is calm. 

“Just start the round already.” Wilbur mutters, when Fundy and Quackity’s arguing has gotten too much for him to bear. He’s been waiting for them to start for a while. He’s been making a plan in his head since he woke up to a knocking on his door. “I’ve got something to bet.” 

Quackity’s entire being brightens up like he’s taken in the sun. Gone is whatever grumpy drowsiness that was sticking to him before, now he’s giddy with the idea of Wil getting in on bets. “Really?” He asks. “Honestly? Whaddya got, captain’s blood?” 

Even Fundy looks curiously at him, eyebrows furrowed together, his usual bite lessened for the sake of hearing Wil out. For a moment, Wil is almost sorry for what he’s about to do. But then he remembers how Quackity encouraged stealing, and how he got chased through the streets last night, and he’s well over it. 

Wilbur looks straight at Fundy, the wind cool against the back of his neck. “Yeah. Fundy, I want your gun.” He orders. 

Quackity chokes on air. 

“My what ?” 

“Your gun.” Wilbur lifts his head up, resisting another yawn. “Bet on it, I want to play you for it.” 

“I’m not-” Fundy coughs out a laugh. “I’m not betting my fucking gun on the table.” 

Wilbur expected that. He shrugs his shoulders high up, giving a low hum. “I wonder what the captain would think about our first meeting.” 

Quackity gives a short, confused laugh. Fundy stares at him like he’s just murdered seven orphans in front of him, eyes wide and in slight horror. 

“What?” Quackity questions. “What- what’s that mean?”

“I really wonder what he’d think.” Wilbur goes on, and- he doesn’t really know his dad, doesn’t know him entirely, but he knows the man has got a reputation, and apparently, clearly, Wilbur is important. He hasn’t forgotten what Fundy first said, after pulling that gun away in the alleyway. “You wonder what he’ll think? I mean, I’m considering mentioning it, since it was a funny first impression-”

Fundy slams his gun down onto the top of their cards, Quackity giving a loud scream of surprise. Wilbur smiles, and makes Quackity shuffle the cards. 

He cheats the first chance he gets. Fundy faceplants into the barrel with a wounded cry. 

Pirates. 

Chapter Text

It has not even been a minute after the end of the last game-- with Wilbur’s winnings barely even being passed over to his hands, Fundy’s forehead still red from where he face planted out of frustration-- when Quackity gathers all the cards up, adjusts them into a neat pile, and then slams the deck down with a hearty declaration. 

“Men. I think it’s time.” He says, nodding his head solemnly, clasping his hands together and placing them over the top of the barrel. At both of the questioning/baffled looks he gets in return, he goes on with a light shrug, speaking very matter-of-factly. “Our dear William now needs to learn how to shoot, seeing as how he’s suddenly come into possession of a firearm and all.” 

“...what?” Wilbur blurts out at Quackity, more with shock than anything, because he hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. He’s only just gotten the gun. Fundy’s hand hasn’t even lowered from the air. 

“What.” Fundy echoes, his words said far more bitterly, gritted through his teeth. Wilbur discreetly slides the gun out of reach, moving it to the other side of him, just in case the pirate wants to try snatching it back before Wilbur can do anything with it. 

“Shooting lessons!” Quackity insists, hitting his palms to the barrel and standing up from his seat in such a flourish that his stool goes clattering back on the floorboards. “Tubbo, get bottles!” He yells and points out to the teen mopping on deck. Tubbo gives an enthusiastic salute, drops the mop, then runs off. 

“What- No. No, no-!” Fundy stands up with him, holding a hand out. “I can still win it back, can’t I?” He turns to Wilbur, pointing a gloved finger at where Wil’s trying to hide the gun out of sight. “I am winning that back.” He stresses, and Wilbur gives a crooked sort of grin, trying to look supportive of that endeavor. There’s no way he’s getting the gun back, though. Foxglove will have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands. 

Quackity sucks in a wincing breath through his teeth. “Ooh, no. Tough luck, my friend. I’m actually done with the card games for today. Sick of them, actually. Don’t you feel the same, Wil?” Quackity asks, and Wilbur flicks his eyes to Fundy, who looks at him with a warning look, and then he looks away from the pirate and nods. Quackity nods along with him. “That’s that, then! No more gambling.”

“ You of all people are saying that to me?” Fundy scoffs skeptically. “We can’t be just done with gambling, it’s not even afternoon-”

“Fundy.” Quackity’s voice goes low and serious. He leans in with a whisper, fake concern laced over his words. “Do you have a gambling problem?”

Wilbur suddenly coughs behind his hand to poorly cover a laugh. 

Fundy bristles at the question, his shoulders rising up to his ears as his lips twist into a frown. “I do not have a gambling problem-” 

“Then great playing with you, good game, I have things to do now.” Quackity grabs his hand, shaking it swiftly and letting go so as to step right past him. “Wilbur, get up, you’re gonna learn how to shoot today.” 

“Right now?” Wilbur asks, eyeing the way Fundy’s glaring into the back of Quackity’s head, much like the gaze of an animal about to lunge. “Are you sure, I mean-” He stammers, wondering if he should duck to the side before a fight breaks out. He’s got the gun, that’s all he wanted, he is not prying apart two pirates who have a bad gambling habit with each other, by the looks of it. 

“Well, I would think that your dear old dad would want you to have some basic skills by the time we get there.” Quackity responds, and at the mention of his father, Wilbur turns his attention onto Fundy again, finding the man to have lost all his frustration and instead replaced it with the same panic from before. His eyes are wide, scowl now turned into a thin grimace. It only becomes worse when he realizes Wilbur is looking at him. 

“Right.” Wilbur says. Suddenly he can’t help but be a little antagonistic for the fun of it. “When we get there…” He trails off meaningfully, and Fundy turns and quickly runs off, hardly happy, but willing to let a gun go over the risk of being snitched on and getting the captain’s wrath. Quackity looks over his shoulder and watches him go with an amused tilt of his head, confusion still lingering on the edges of it. Wilbur wonders if he should explain. He chooses not to. It’s kinda funnier that way. 

With the matters of Wilbur’s gambling prize of a stolen roulette gun now dealt with, Quackity turns back to Wil and forces him to his feet, starting a long winded lecture about the type of gun that Wil’s got in his hand. Wilbur’s not too bothered over the sudden barrage of information. It’s unexpected, but plenty helpful, and he listens attentively as he can as Quackity goes over how to hold it, how to load it, how to clean it. He even goes into the details about the history of the gun, explaining some of the nicks and scratches in the metal, saying that Fundy’s grip on the thing has never been the best during a high-tension shoot-off. All the while, Tubbo’s dragging a crate across deck, setting a few empty bottles on top of it in a neat little line, looking excited to see them soon shattered into pieces underneath a bullet. 

A few minutes later, when Quackity’s finished with his spiel and sure that Wilbur won’t somehow accidentally shoot himself in the foot, he puts him a moderate distance from the crate with the bottles, adjusts the gun in Wilbur’s grip, and tells him to fire off a shot. 

Wilbur stalls in his movement, blinking at the targets up ahead. He gives a double-take at Quackity with an unsure face. “Right- Right here?”

“We can put you closer, if you’re not all that confident in your aim.” Quackity assures, taking a step towards the crate. Wilbur quickly pulls him back. 

“No, that’s not what I-” He cuts himself off, looking around the deck. 

Tubbo has moved to the side, sitting on a barrel with swinging legs. His discarded mop is still laying abandoned on the floor. Niki’s at the wheel, Techno’s up in the rafters, Fundy’s walked off, so there’s no threat of shooting someone by accident, but Wilbur still feels uneasy at firing off bullets right on deck. There’s still a present danger in it, but Wil supposes the danger is exactly what he was hoping to have.

This… is why he wanted a gun, after all. So he could hold his own, have an added assurance, and protection on his own terms. Fundy used this exact gun to ward off those people at the marketplace. Wilbur wants to be able to do the same, to be able to point the barrel and speak a threat and be left alone. But to do that, he’d have to be willing to actually go through with it. 

And unlike Fundy, he’s never killed anyone before. 

Wilbur raises the gun up with a slight hesitation in the motion, trying to brush past the thought. That’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets to it, and who’s to say he actually has to cross it? Even a stray warning bullet would be enough to scare most off, he’s sure. And this right here, a line of bottles on top of a crate, this isn’t killing someone. This is- practice. To possibly kill someone. 

The self-assurance doesn’t entirely settle Wilbur’s nerves, but it’s going to have to be good enough. 

Quackity watches with a hint of eagerness as Wil takes aim, and the tremble in his hands isn’t something that escapes the man’s focus. Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath and pulls the trigger, and a bang echoes into the air. He flinches back at the feeling of it. None of the bottles move. 

“Again, again!” Tubbo cheers, still optimistic and giddy to see a bottle explode. 

“I missed.” Wilbur says to Quackity, as if expecting for that to be the end of it. Quackity pokes at his grip and nudges him to lift the gun back up and aim again. 

“Hey, we’ve still got bullets.” He makes a gun gesture with his fingers and pretends to shoot. “Honestly, don’t think too hard about the aim. In an actual shoot-out, you’re not gonna be standing there getting the angle right. You’re just firing and ducking for cover. Most times, you’re gonna miss.” 

“Right.” Wilbur nods. He hopes that he never gets caught up in any shoot-out, ever, but he is traveling with pirates, so the chances of him avoiding such a thing is practically zero. There’s bound to be trouble one day, and he doesn’t intend on hiding in the cabin for the entirety of this trip. 

“Try using all your shots in one go.” Tubbo calls out as advice, pointing his finger out and waving it side to side through the air. “I always do that, and usually, I hit something!” 

“And you also waste most of your ammo in the process.” Quackity points out. 

“But I hit something!” Tubbo repeats, pretty confident about that fact. 

Wilbur considers Tubbo’s strategy for a moment. He’s certainly not going to be someone with perfect aim, seeing as how he’s never touched a gun before in his life, so honestly, the idea of going overkill sounds like the more effective approach for him. He lifts the gun and fires five more consecutive shots at the bottles, lips pressed tight and shoulders hunched up until he’s left with a resounding click of the chamber being empty. 

One of the bottles get knocked over, scratched on the side with a graze of the last bullet. It falls. Then it rolls. It rolls and rolls right off the crate, hitting the ground with a bit of an anticlimactic shatter. 

Tubbo makes a delayed cheer either way, throwing his arms up with a yell after a second of awkward silence. Quackity lifts his palms up to give a light applause, smiling encouragingly, but Wilbur isn’t looking at him. He just stares ahead at the broken pieces of the bottle, gun lowered to the ground. There’s a sort of conflict written all across his face. 

He looks- scared. 

It’s not a vivid thing, not as obvious as that first night on the ship, but it is a thing of dread regardless. Like Wilbur’s bullet has hit something far more than just the glass of a bottle. 

“Good shot.” Quackity says, patting him on the arm to move his attention, to ease up the mood. Wilbur turns to him and looks at his hand with a slow blink, as if having forgotten Quackity was right beside him. 

“Oh- thanks.” He says, nodding with more ease on his shoulders. The look in his eyes is still shaken, however. Quackity’s smile can’t help but become a bit strained at the sight of it.

“Want to try again?” He asks with a lift of his chin, lips quirking up into an evil little smirk. “I could go weasel more bullets out of Fundy.” 

Wil gives a light laugh. It’s a bit forced. His hands have not stopped shaking. “No, I’m-” He stops. Shakes his head, his eyes drifting back to the pieces of glass before pulling away entirely. “I think I’m good. This was good enough, I’m- I’m going to head back inside.” 

And so he does. He walks over to the direction of the cabin, a tight hold around the handle of his newly acquired weapon. Quackity doesn’t miss the way a tense weight sticks onto his shoulders as he disappears behind the door, and as soon as that lock clicks, his encouraging smile falls from his face. 

He clicks his tongue with a short sigh, nearly disappointed with how the morning has gone. It went off with a good start, didn’t it? Wil had even willingly put a bet in, he even cheated with the same pirate he was hesitant to stand beside at not a week before. 

And yet. 

Perhaps the shooting lessons were a touch too much. Wilbur had wanted the gun, he set his goals on it, and Quackity followed that train of thought because the idea of giving self-defense seemed like a good chance to let him settle, find safety amongst apparent threats. But it seems like the reminder of violence has only brought the walls back up, tenfold. Wilbur is uneasy, and rightfully stressed with this kind of environment. If they don’t get him to breathe for a bit, Quackity worries Wil’s going to end up shattering like that bottle on the floorboards. 

With a thoughtful stare to the sea, Quackity gives a long moment in considering the rocking waves, considering the things Niki has told him about Wil when she was still undercover. 

He looks away and tells Tubbo to clean up the glass. He moves over to the helm, walking up the stairs with heavy steps against the wood. 

“Niki?” He calls, and she’s already looking at him from the wheel, no doubt curious about the shooting lessons, and curious about what he’s going to say. Quackity answers neither of the unspoken questions. “I’m gonna need us to take a detour.” He says instead, standing still at the top of the stairs.

She blinks at him, then flicks her eyes up in a way that Quackity knows means she’s checking with Techno, to see if he heard that. Quackity cranes his head back too, but he doesn’t quite spot Technoblade up in the rafters. Maybe he’s already climbing down. 

“Why?” Niki questions, fingers tapping against the wood of the ship’s wheel. “If it’s for a supply matter, the next stop at port is a week from now-” 

“It’s for Wilbur.” Quackity cuts her off, taking a few steps forward, walking past her. He rubs a hand over his face with a huff. “He’s too wound up.” 

Niki’s lips press tightly together, her grip tight around the wheel. “Wound up?” She asks for further elaboration.

“He’s scared.” Quackity grits out, and it’s so filled with defeat, Niki can’t help but give a pitying frown. “He’s so constantly scared. I’ve tried making friends, and I’ve tried making him feel comfortable, and I think the gun helped some--? I mean, it’s a good self-defense for him-- but he’s also scared of the gun itself, so he’s backed against a wall, and I’m fairly sure if we keep going on like this, he’s going to shoot someone.”

Niki hesitates on her words for a second, then nods. “What do you suggest, then?”

“He needs off the ship.” Quackity says.

“No.”

Both Niki and Quackity turn their heads to find Technoblade at the top of the stairs, not even a creak of wood having announced his presence. The look in his eyes is nothing short of stern, protective, and despite the slamming of his heart in his chest, Quackity meets it with a matching determination. 

Technoblade walks up to Quackity with a shake of his head. “The navy is already trailing us at every stop, and they’re looking all over the seas. Phil’s waiting, and we can’t-”

“You want me to get him to settle in?” Quackity interrupts, jabbing a finger against the pirate’s chest. “Then he needs a breather. He does not trust you, he barely trusts me, and right now, he needs something good. He needs a break. That cabin is hardly someplace he considers safe, it’s just where he hides for most of the day.”

Technoblade’s expression doesn’t move an inch at Quackity’s words, but the hostility in his gaze dies down. “It’s a risk.” He reminds. 

“We’re always at risk. And we can be quick about it. One afternoon, in and out, we’ll be back on our way before anyone even notices our ship.” Quackity crosses his arms over his chest. “You can come and hover behind him when we head off, if you’re so worried about something going wrong.” 

“I don’t hover.” 

Niki makes an unconvinced noise. “You kinda do.” 

Techno’s slightly offended look has Quackity holding back the urge to laugh. “I keep watch. There’s a difference.”

“Maybe die down that constant murder vibe around you, and Wilbur will actually believe you’re not out to get him.” Techno actually outright frowns at that, and Quackity grins. “Going back to my point- we are making a detour, for dear William’s sake. Are we in agreement?”

Both Niki and Techno share a glance. They nod. 

---

The day passes and night comes and goes. 

There’s a knock on Wil’s door sometime around the next afternoon, quick and insistent in a way that he’s familiar with. It’s definitely Quackity, but he’s in the middle of compiling rumors and information about the deadly Pink Delilah , so he doesn’t look up when the door swings open and the pirate-not-pirate comes waltzing into the room. 

“We’re here.” Quackity calls, and Wilbur doesn’t process the sentence at first, his hand still moving with a pen and writing down some officer’s first hand account about how Niki is a terrifying master of disguise that all the spies in the world could only ever dream of achieving. Part of him is proud of such a statement, another part of him is frustrated and bitter. 

He lifts his head after a delayed second, his eyebrows furrowed together. Quackity looks oddly excited, standing tall with his hands clasped behind him. “...Where?”

“Here.” Quackity says unhelpfully. At Wilbur’s unimpressed stare, he relents. “I made us stop somewhere for a bit. I think you’ll like it.”

Wilbur puts his pen down with intrigue. “We’re stopped at a port?”

Quackity shakes his head. “No. Just an island. Uninhabited, if the maps are right.” Quackity leans back and forth from his heels to his toes as Wilbur processes that, then he turns and waves a beckoning hand as he goes out the door. “Come on, captain’s blood, we aren’t staying all day, so get a move on.”

Wilbur debates on throwing out a question, asking for more information, but Quackity’s already walked out of hearing range, and he’s not going to be one to pass up a chance to get off the ship for a bit. He leaves his papers where they are, pulls on his coat, and tucks his newly obtained gun into his pocket with only a hint of a pause. When he walks outside, the air is wonderfully fresh, and Wilbur breathes in deep and takes in the sight of land nearby. 

There is indeed an island. It looks mostly like jungle, an untouched beach before it, and from that first impression, Wilbur doesn’t understand why they would take a stop here of all places. The towns make sense, they need supplies to keep going, but anywhere else? They’re in a hurry to get him back to the captain, aren’t they? What are they doing here?

“Wilbur!” Quackity calls, and Wilbur turns away to find the rowboat set up, Niki already sitting inside with Technoblade standing by the ropes, Fundy and Tubbo lingering by him. Quackity is leaning by the railing, probably about to climb over to join Niki. “Come on!”

Wilbur does not want to be in a rowboat again. But he does want to go check out a deserted island, and his curiosity overpowers the caution, so he makes his way over. Both Quackity and Niki help him climb on, and he sits down across from Niki, settling into his spot as Quackity hops in and sits next to him. 

“Lower us down, ‘blade.” Quackity gives a twirling gesture with his finger, and Technoblade obliges without complaint, lowering the boat down to the water bit by bit. 

“Remember, what do you do if any trouble comes by?!” Niki yells up, her words directed to Fundy and Tubbo as they go further and further down. Tubbo leans over the railing with his cheerful response. 

“Make lots of noise!” 

“That’s right.” Niki nods to herself, and Wilbur has no doubts that if a Navy ship appears in the distance, Tubbo will demolish it using every single cannon and explosive on deck. Gods help any enemy in range of that boy. 

As they hit water and untie the ropes, Technoblade comes down on a rope of his own and steps into the rowboat with an easy, sure energy that tells he’s done this thousands of times before. He sits down and takes charge of the rowing, and as subtly as possible, Wilbur gives a disappointed look towards Quackity at having to be in a boat with the red-eyed pirate. 

Quackity only looks back with an amused smile. Wilbur deems him to be no help at all and turns to the ocean instead, immediately finding interest in the waves underneath. Both Techno’s efforts and the sea pushes them along to land, and Wilbur keeps his eyes on the water the whole way, so much so that as they get near, Niki makes an offhand joke about him not jumping off the rowboat again. Before Wilbur can assure that he probably won’t, Quackity makes an insistence about the importance of patience, saying that Wilbur will “get his chance.” 

That makes Wilbur take an interested pause, but he doesn’t dare pull his sights off the waves until they’re well on shore and both Niki and Techno are pulling the boat onto the sand. He climbs out with Quackity when they’re securely at land, and Wilbur can’t help but still turn his head over his shoulder, looking at the lapping waves with a yearning pull in his heart. 

So many times, he’s been told to step away when he’s gotten this close. So many times, he’s been at this point and been wrangled back by force, most times, with a lecture about his safety, about the town laws. There’s no one stopping him now. If he just makes a run for it, a leap, right now-

“God, don’t make that face, you’re making me sad.” Quackity says lightheartedly, holding his hand to his own chest, and Wilbur turns to him with a bewildered expression. 

“What face?” 

“I don’t know, the- your face!” Quackity throws his hands out. “It’s like looking at one of those starving dogs at the side of the road.” At Wilbur’s soured expression, Quackity quickly changes the metaphor. “Or- more like, a kicked puppy or something.”  

“I’m not a kicked puppy.” Wilbur mutters. 

“Ehhh.” Technoblade adds as his input, and Wilbur wants nothing more than for something spontaneously violent to happen to the pirate right now. That would make his day. 

“Moving on, let’s get going.” Quackity ushers Wilbur along, moving them away from shore, much to Wilbur’s disappointment. “Niki, lead the way?” 

Niki nods and sets the path for them, moving down the beach and into the jungle. Wilbur sticks on Quackity’s heels, not wanting to fall behind with Technoblade behind them. 

They walk with only the noise of wildlife and plants crunching underneath their boots, and after a few minutes, Wilbur finds his discontent to be only growing with each step they take. It’s not insufferably hot, but it’s uncomfortably stuffy, within these trees. The lack of conversation isn’t a tense thing, but it is kinda awkward. On top of all that, they’re on land, out of the sea, for seemingly no good reason other than taking a random hike. 

“Where are we going?” Wilbur asks, his impatience obvious in his tone. Quackity smiles back at him with a hum. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“Ruin the surprise, just tell me.” Wilbur deadpans. Techno snorts from behind him. 

Quackity doesn’t seem very surprised at that response, and he thinks over what to say for a moment. “Do you want to learn how to swim, Wil?” He decides on asking. 

Wilbur frowns, taken off guard by the seemingly unrelated question. “Yes?” More than anything, he just wants to touch the waves and let himself drift within them. To not be pulled out, to be left to his devices in the water. To be left alone with a semblance of freedom. 

“Good.” Quackity claps his hands together. “Because, well, I’m not the best teacher, but if you’re giving an effort, and I’m giving an effort, then I think we can at least make some progress today.” He nods with a bright smile, and Wilbur can’t help it- he stops in his steps. His feet freeze, and hope surges up through him so quickly that it makes his throat tight. 

“...Really?” He asks, and both Quackity and Niki stop in their steps, looking behind them. Their faces look vaguely distressed, like the expression Wil is giving is too much to bear. Technoblade nudges Wilbur along, unaffected with his view from the back, and the group keeps moving. “Quackity, wait-” Wilbur rushes forward and reaches out, grabbing onto Quackity’s sleeve. “You mean that? Today?”

“Well, yeah.” Quackity nods, not tugging away. “Or, more like- Right now.” 

“Right now?” Wilbur repeats incredulously. “We already walked away from shore, why would…” Wilbur’s words die off in his mouth as they approach an opening through the trees, a cave in their path. Except it's not a cave, really. It’s more of a doorway, an opening in the rock that offers a sight of the sea within a shaded, sectioned off cove. 

“Surpriseee.” Niki sings, waving her hands up, but Wilbur is hardly paying her any mind. He hardly pays attention to any of them, really, they might as well have just disappeared into thin air, because they’ve become a second priority in his head. His legs are on autopilot as he lets go of Quackity, going ahead to walk out on the sand, his shoes sinking into it in such a familiar way. 

His eyes are drawn to the gentle waves washing in, covered in cool shade from the ceiling of rock overhead. It’s peaceful here. Quiet and untouched. The ocean is in reach. It’s right there, practically his. 

“The pirates can hold onto our stuff while we swim, so just throw your coat at Techno’s head.” Quackity says jokingly, shrugging off his own coat as they all head to the shore, Wilbur leading them along. Despite his words, he doesn’t give his things over to Niki, but rather places them upon one of the big rocks sitting in the sand, placing a hand onto the stone and leaning against it for balance as he tugs his shoes off. 

Wilbur ignores him and finds himself walking over to the waterline, standing before it with a heavy anticipation weighing on his back, near crushing. He stares at the way the ocean pushes back and forth, at the way the water touches at the tips of his shoes, almost too good to be true. A part of him expects to hear a scolding in his ear any moment now, expects for someone to grab at the back of his collar and yank him back with insults of him being a fool, getting so close and risking his life like that. 

“Wil.” Technoblade calls, and Wilbur holds his breath, twisting his head with a tight feeling of disappointment in his throat. “Your coat.” The pirate only reminds, holding a hand out. 

Wilbur blinks. That’s all? 

Techno doesn’t say anything more. Wilbur doesn’t dare wait to let him change his mind. He takes the tiniest step back from the water and nods, quickly pulling off his coat and actually chucking it at the pirate with very little care. Technoblade doesn’t seem to mind. He just catches it out of the air and folds it. 

Wilbur yanks off his shoes with none of the patience or grace Quackity had, and he leaves them where they land, not bothering to properly roll up his pants either, instead just stepping right into the water. His hands are cautiously raised up into the air as he walks in, and his eyes are glued to how it swirls around his ankles, never quite still. 

He breathes in the smell of saltwater and earth, and there’s a shuddering hitch in his lungs with it. Something in him wants to scream with a smug victory, or cry with a terrible, devastating relief. He kinda wants to lean forward, fall into the waves and let them envelop him entirely, like how he did on the rowboat in what feels so very long ago. He wants to let himself dissolve into the sea, melt against the tide. He wants so many things that he’s frozen a bit in indecision, and all he can truly do is look down at the evermoving ocean.  

There’s a gentle splash from beside him as Quackity joins him at his right, standing in the shallow water with him. 

“Wil?” He calls, quiet, careful, and a little entertained by how entranced Wilbur seems to be, simply standing there. 

Wilbur doesn’t respond to him at first. Then, abruptly, he jerks his head up and looks at Quackity. “Huh?”

Quackity’s face breaks out into a grin. Wilbur can only mirror it, too content not to. “How’s the water?” He asks casually, hands slipping into his pockets. 

“Cold.” Wilbur responds. It’s said very fondly. “It’s cold.” He looks down at the waves again, smiling as he crouches down to dip his hands in as well, dragging his fingers through the sand at the bottom, drawing circles that disappear as soon as they’re made. “It’s so fresh.” 

“Yeah, it’s a bit frigid.” Quackity agrees, watching Wil mess with the sand for a moment. “Wilbur.” He calls again, so that he is looking right at him. He holds up a finger. “Number one rule here is to not drown, alright? They’re gonna have my head if you somehow manage to drown, so don’t go too far out.” Quackity jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the two pirates standing on the sand, as if to remind of their presence. 

Wilbur follows the gesture, and he looks at Niki and Technoblade for a long second, before looking back at Quackity with a tiny, distracted nod. His eyes fall back onto the water underneath him. 

“No drowning.” He agrees, remembering fully now that this is not just a gift of letting him touch the shore, but rather also a chance to let him learn how to swim. 

 He turns his gaze towards the deeper section of the water. It’s suddenly become so incredibly tempting, and where he is standing right here? It’s not nearly deep enough. 

“No drowning.” Quackity repeats, shaking his finger at him like a stern parent. “None of it, got it, Wil?” 

“Got it.” Wil nods, eyes lit up with a renewed joy and a flicker of mischief. “I understand perfectly.” Then he breaks out into a run, rushing further into the water with a wild, wide smile. Quackity shrieks from behind him, hurriedly following. 

“Wilbur! Wilbur, what did I just say-?!”

Wilbur pays his panicking no mind. He only lunges and dives into the ocean with a laugh as soon as it’s deep enough to allow it. Nothing, not even Quackity’s high pitched screaming can tear him away from the solace he finds underneath the surface there. 

---

They swim around in the water for the better part of the afternoon, no more than two hours. 

Again and again, Quackity has to pull Wilbur by the shirt to get his head above the surface, to prevent him from finding a watery grave in a shallow pool. With the first few instances, Quackity has a wonder on if Wilbur has a death wish or a severe lack of self-preservation, but as it continues on and Wilbur only continues laughing when he comes up and smiling brighter than he’s ever seen him do, he realizes it’s not that. 

Wilbur loves the water. That’s just what it is. He takes to it like a damn fish, which is surprising to absolutely no one, considering his bloodline and all. He throws himself into it again and again like he needs to breathe it in, soak it into his skin before it’s all torn away, and for that, Quackity has plenty of patience with how unmindful he is with learning how to actually swim, rather than sink like a rock to the sand underneath. He pulls Wilbur up as many times as he’s able, and when his arms tire out, he yells at Wilbur through the water until his throat aches. It somewhat works. 

Wilbur doesn’t seem to swallow any of the seawater, at least. He doesn’t cough or sputter or give distressed noises of drowning, so all’s well. Quackity finds success in that.  

At some point, Wilbur does settle with the need to rush to the waves like they’re going to disappear from his hands at any moment, and he listens well enough to Quackity that he learns how to float on his back. It’s an easy lesson, and a giggly one, with both Quackity and Wilbur laughing at each other as Quackity tries to keep Wilbur from floating off in random directions. The sea is messing with them, he’s so sure of it, and with the smiling looks he gets from the pirates on the sand, they know it too. 

Regardless, Quackity is able to get Wilbur to float, having him laying back on the water with his eyes closed and his face relaxed. Like this, he looks as if he’s asleep. Or dead. Asleep is the better option, though. Quackity stands beside him, the water at hip level for him, and he keeps his hands by Wil to keep him in place and to pull him up if he slips under at any point. 

It’s a soothing, calm point of the entire experience, and Niki’s voice calling for them to return back is the thing that breaks it. 

Quackity clicks his tongue at the shore with a short sigh, turning to look down at Wil with a sympathetic smile. He really doesn’t want to disturb the guy, with that peaceful image on his face, but they are on a tight schedule, and lingering in one place for too long only calls for trouble. 

He leans down and pats a palm onto Wilbur’s chest. 

“Time to go, Wil.” 

Wilbur doesn’t even react to Quackity’s words, and Quackity is hardly surprised by it. His words have been disregarded plenty of times today in favor of the water. He takes Wil by the shoulder and nudges him in the chest again, trying to pull him out of his daze.  

“Come on, Wilbur. Up and at ‘em. You’ve had your fun, it’s time to head back to the ship.” 

Again, no response. Wilbur’s eyes stay closed, and he stays floating gently upon the ever rocking ocean. Quackity nudges him a bit harder, and when that doesn’t make him stir, he grabs Wil by the face, squishing his fingers into his cheeks. 

“Williammm.” Wil’s eyes flutter, and then they close again. The sight makes Quackity take pause. He shakes Wil more insistently by the jaw, but he doesn’t respond. “Wilbur?” 

Niki yells for them again. Quackity stares down at Wilbur’s unresponsive face, and worry crawls into his throat. He tries to pull Wilbur up, with little success, because Wilbur is hardly helping him with the load. He just lays limp, pressed against Quackity with all his weight. His head rolls against Quackity’s shoulder, and Quackity’s heart fully drops then.

“Uh- Niki?! I think something’s wrong!” Quackity yells, and he grabs Wil by the arm, shaking him as hard as he can. “Wil, you’re freaking me out, come on. Wil!” Still nothing. Wil’s eyes stay stubbornly closed, and panic slams into Quackity hard. “TECHNO!” He screams, wanting Wilbur out of the sea, now. 

Technoblade rushes into the water without a second of hesitation, quickly wading over to them with outstretched arms. Quackity freely hands Wil over, and they both move out to shore, Technoblade moving far faster than Quackity. He puts Wil down on the sand as Quackity is still moving through the water, and he leans close to Wil’s chest to check if he’s breathing. 

“What happened?” Niki throws herself down onto the ground with wide eyes, and upon needing to do something to help, she reaches out to support Wilbur’s head. Concern is written all over her expression as she gingerly lays his skull against her legs, wiping his hair from his face. “Techno?” She asks again, just as Quackity catches up, stepping out of the waves. 

“Is he okay?” Quackity asks, sand sticking to his feet, water dripping from his clothes. “He’s breathing, right? Is he breathing?”

“He’s breathing fine.” Technoblade confirms, and that lessens some of the weight, at least. They can check drowning off the list. “He’s not wheezing or anything, he’s just-” He grabs onto Wilbur’s shoulder, shaking him again in an effort to wake him. “Wil.” 

“Wilbur.” Niki calls, her voice shaky. “Wil, can you open your eyes for us? Can you hear me?!”

A quiet noise leaves Wil’s throat, and his eyes flutter again, his head moving to the side. It’s a mere glimpse, but Quackity swears that instead of the dark brown he’s used to, he sees a blue behind Wilbur’s eyelids. A blue as deep as the ocean they were swimming in. He doesn’t think too hard about it, still caught up in the matter at hand. 

“I think he can hear us.” Technoblade murmurs. 

“Maybe he’s- he’s just tired?” Quackity offers, rambling a bit in his worry. “The swimming might’ve been a lot, and it’s not like he’s been getting out much, cooped up in the cabin, all hunched over papers, I don’t know if he-”

“Wait.” Niki says, both Techno and Quackity go still at the way she breathes the word out. “Is that-?” Quackity takes a step closer, arms crossed over his chest to ward off the chill of wet clothes. Niki grasps onto Wilbur’s left sleeve, yanking at the fabric. “There’s- His arm. Techno, his arm-” 

Quackity looks further down as Technoblade takes hold of Wil’s wrist and lifts up his arm, and there, just underneath his sleeve, there’s a glimmer of something shiny poking out. Technoblade falters for a second, his other hand hovering mid-air, and then he goes and rolls up Wil’s sleeve, revealing what looks to be scales scattered over Wilbur’s skin. They’re barely visible, but clearly there, a dim, pale blue scattered around his elbow. 

Quackity’s eyes go wide. He takes a large step back, hands raised as if to acknowledge they’ve firmly stepped out of range of his abilities. “That’s- That’s your people’s- thing .” He stammers out, still as caught off by this, as he is every time it happens. 

Niki opens her mouth like she means to say something, then she makes a breathless, relieved laugh, head hung low with her hair hanging past her face. She gently presses her forehead against Wil’s, hands cradled to his face. Technoblade slowly lowers Wilbur’s arm to the sand again. His fingers stay wrapped around his wrist, though, as if to keep the heartbeat underneath pressed against his palm. 

“This is your guys’s area.” Quackity mutters, not really sure what else to say. He can’t pull his attention off of Wilbur’s arm, can’t help but wonder if those scales stretch out further as well, up his arm, past his shoulders. 

“It is.” Techno says to Quackity, and as he leans back on his knees, he looks out to the water. The ocean stays ever constant, waves stretching out farther onto the sand as if to try and wash underneath them all. “I hadn’t considered-” He stops himself. He seems thrown off. More than Quackity has ever really seen. It’s a bit daunting. 

“He did-” Niki takes a steadying breath, sitting up with her eyes kept on Wil. They’re a touch brighter than usual. “He did say he was never allowed too close to the water. It was apparently some- town law they made up. No one could ever swim in the ocean-- especially him.” A sliver of anger runs through her tone, sharp and dangerous, and the offness on the edges of her voice makes Quackity’s hackles rise up, something in the back of his mind telling him to find a place to hide. He doesn’t budge, though. He knows he won’t find danger here, he’s a friend. 

“So it could have- side effects? For him?” Quackity asks. Niki looks up at him with a bitter smile. 

“It has side effects.” She says with full certainty. The grief in her face is almost, almost enough to mask the sheer rage fighting to be set free. 

Quackity nods his head with a rough swallow and turns away, walking to go gather his shoes and coat. Technoblade turns away from the water and gathers Wilbur back up in his arms, lifting him from the sand with as much ease as carrying a coat. 

 “Come on, Wil.” He says quietly. “Back to the ship with you.” 

---

(By the time Wilbur wakes up later on in the day, he’s pleasantly happy to find that the entire experience wasn’t a dream, and rather, he just- ended up drifting off from the exhaustion of the day, and had to be carried back to the ship. 

That’s what they tell him, at least, and it’s what Quackity sticks to. The blue in Wil’s eyes have faded, as have the scales. For the rest of the day, Wilbur’s more at ease, even content with the company on deck, although there’s always the hint of wariness that stays glued to his skin. 

He still handles his gun with a hesitance, though, still eyes Technoblade with a frown, still stays in his cabin often, and for that, Quackity thinks that he’s not ready to know the whole truth yet. Better to let him at least meet one parent, get to fully know the pirate side of his blood, before learning about the grand entirety of the other side.

Because gods know Quackity isn’t going to be able to properly explain the Other side.)

---

A crow comes to the ship a few days later, having flown a long way with a paper gripped in its claws. It dives low and lands on the deck with an anxious hop, seeming mindful of the way the sky has become cloudy. 

Technoblade soothes the hyper bird with a scritch of nails against its feathers, and he takes the letter with a quick, careful motion, rolling it out to read over the inked words as the crow flies up to perch onto his shoulder. It leans in by his cheek, as if to read with him, and Technoblade pays it no mind. He just reads what Phil’s written for them, and as he reaches the bottom of the letter, he stops, and looks at the crow as if to communicate surprise with it. 

He folds and tears the letter to break off the section on the bottom, then passes it over to Niki, who’s the closest in his vicinity and probably more suited to pass along the message written down on the paper. Niki reads it just as he did, and when she reaches the end, she wastes no time in moving down to the cabin door, knocking gently, but insistently, and calling Wil’s name. 

It’s no good time to bother him, though. Wilbur’s not in the mood to speak with pirates today, having woken up with a particularly upsetting dream that was filled with falling ash and a spreading fire eating up his childhood town. He’s been on edge ever since opening his eyes this morning, a deep dread sunk into the depth of his heart, his wariness insisting upon the danger of pirates. His constant writing about all the rumors of them doesn’t help matters, only spurring the uneasiness further, making him hesitant to come outside. 

As such, when Niki walks in, Wilbur wants no part of what she might want to say. At this part of the day, she’s not Niki, the one who tells him stories at night while he’s half asleep and trades bickering conversation on top of the crumpled blankets of his bed, but rather, she’s the Pink Delilah, the pirate who’s tricked and stabbed hundreds of people in the back. Including himself. 

“It’s early.” Wil gives as a greeting as Niki closes the door behind her, wanting to keep the chilly air out. His tone is as cold as the ocean breeze before this oncoming storm. 

“Our crow brought a letter in.” Niki answers back, holding up the torn paper with a determined look. Wilbur’s chin lifts a bit, his hand slowing in where he was writing something in the margins of a newspaper. “It’s from- Phil. There’s a part for you.” 

The pen clatters onto the desk as it drops from Wil’s grasp. He sits up straight in his seat with a stuttered inhale in his throat, and Niki walks forward without pause, placing the paper onto the desk and taking a step back, hands clasped behind her.

Wilbur only stares at it for a few long seconds. He glances up at Niki, questions twisting around in his lungs and not being able to find a place past his teeth. He lifts a hand, meaning to take the letter, then he stops, and hesitates at the thought of if he even wants to know what’s on it. Surely, he does. He does want to see, wants to read what his father has said directly to him, but another part of him refuses vehemently. It spits and cries and wants to tear the paper to shreds, out of spite and out of justified anger. 

Slowly, he stands up from his chair, the wood creaking with the shift of weight. The ship around them rocks to the side with unsettled waves underneath, and Wil’s pen rolls across the desk. Wilbur stops it, catching it with his fingers, then he grabs the letter and holds it up to his eyes before he can take it back and throw it away. 

The writing is neat. That’s the first thing Wilbur sees. It’s neat and scrawled out in a way that’s also a bit messy, somehow. There’s an ink smear on the edge of the paper, and he presses his thumb to it as he looks upon the first words. 

To my son, it says, in that half neat, half messy writing, I want you to read these words yourself. 

There is nothing I can write to explain how much I’ve missed you since the day I lost you. Anything I say here will probably sound like random noise from a stranger, me being a man that you have never met, so I won’t go on too much, but I hope you believe me when I say that I want to meet you. I want to know you, Wilbur. 

It kills me that I have to wait still to hear you and see you, see how much you’ve grown, but I can be patient. Don’t dare worry about if you’ll be enough when we meet. I have loved you since the night you were born, there is nothing that can change that. 

I do hope the crew is treating you well, and the journey here will be kind. Ask Technoblade about the time we found ‘trouble’ with that bank with the lion on the front. I think that story is a good one. Maybe you’ll find some humor in your old man’s adventures.

And there it ends. 

Wilbur's heart sits in his throat as he rereads the paragraph again and again, trying with an futile effort to scrape some extra information out of it. The paper crinkles underneath his grip, and he holds the letter against his face, as if he’ll be able to smell anything more than the faint scent of ink and salt, feel anything other than the cool texture of worn paper. His breaths are shaking as they escape through his lips, and the ship rocks heavily back and forth against the waves crashing underneath. A desperate, devastating want is bleeding through him, and he can’t believe he’s never found a motivation to search for his father the same way the man has been searching so relentlessly for him. 

“Wil?” Niki says, and Wilbur’s shoulders lock up, a sudden fury ripping through him so quickly that it nearly hurts. 

He’s reminded again where he is, not just in how he’s forgotten himself within written words, but in how he’s forgotten himself under the pretense that this is actually a safe fucking place to be. 

He’s in a closed room with the Pink Delilah, who lied to his face and lured him in with the pure intention of getting him on this boat. He’s in close quarters with murderers and criminals who are delivering him to the worst of them all, who says that he loves him as if he knows Wil, as if-

He wants to know you , a little voice tells him in the back of his mind, echoing the words he’s just read, and Wilbur grits his teeth and twists his lips into a nasty scowl. He crushes the letter in his hands, crumpling it into a little ball, then he throws it to the wall and watches it hit against it and fall to the floor. 

“Get out.” Wilbur says, and when he looks at Niki, she’s staring with wide eyes, her focus stuck on the crumpled letter discarded on the ground. She looks shocked, hand held out from her side as if she’s going to pick the letter up, and Wilbur wants to slam his foot down onto the paper and let it be crushed even further by his boot. “Get out!” He yells, and Niki looks up, mouth open. 

“Phil-” She goes to say, and Wilbur doesn’t want to hear his name. He doesn’t want to even think of the man, doesn’t want to remember any word he wrote, even if it’s all been burnt into his mind the first time he read it. He holds his hands to his ears and shoves past Niki, going to the door for a semblance of fresh air. 

He can’t breathe. His chest is too tight. It hurts, from both an anger he can’t control and a grief he can’t swallow. 

The weather is ugly outside, clouds dark overhead, wind howling through, the ship leaning dangerously side to side. Wilbur walks with stumbling steps, his balance miraculously kept even with the moving ground. He looks up at the forming storm, breathes in the salt on the harsh breeze, and still finds comfort within it. It is still the sea, after all. At least there is a consistent, unrelenting fact in that. 

“Wilbur!” Niki calls, and Wil looks over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, walking further away from her. 

“I don’t want to hear a word from you, pirate.” He yells out, and Niki falters in her steps, mouth half-open with a hurt look in her eyes. Great. Let her hurt. Maybe it’ll be enough to make her stop coming by every night to tell those pirate stories in a way so similar to how she was before. 

Wilbur moves across the ship and grabs onto the railing, feeling the spray of the ocean hit his face, soaking the front of his shirt with a chill. He shivers but doesn’t dare think of returning inside. He doesn’t want to sit within those walls and try losing himself into stories again, the same way he always did before. What’s the point in it, anyway? The stories are real, and they’re on this damned boat with him. He can’t ignore them forever, try as he might. 

God, that makes it all the more infuriating. He craves nothing more than a chance to be alone, to be absolutely isolated with only the sea as his company, but this crew is as stubborn as a barnacle on the side of a ship. They’re all here for him, to take him across the seas, to get him to meet his father, who’s sent these pirates to search for him. 

His father sent pirates to search for him. Wilbur wants to scream at the fact and yet also cling to the feeling of being so wanted that people were sent out for years to go looking. 

The clouds over his head grow dark with the threat of rain, and the sound of footsteps against wood are faint to Wil’s ears. He hears Quackity beside him, voice loud to be heard over the wind and the waves crashing underneath them. 

“Hey, man.” He speaks so casually, and Wilbur digs his nails into the railing, staring out into the sea. He wants to climb over and fall in, but he refrains, because he knows that someone would only go jumping after him. He’s both annoyed and comforted by the thought. “Look, Techno’s sure the storm is only going to get worse, so we gotta get you inside, it’s not safe out here.” At no response, Quackity tries again, taking a step closer, hands held up to cover his face from the bits of water beginning to rain down. “The others are going to be worried if you catch a damn cold or something-”

“I think I can survive a bit of fucking rain, Quackity.” Wilbur snaps out. The sprinkle of water from the clouds grows into something more like a shower of rain. Quackity covers his eyes with his hands to see. 

“It’s a storm, Wilbur.” Quackity stresses, and Wilbur only shrugs. “Just come inside, I can- We can play a round of cards or something.” 

“I’m not in the mood.” 

“What, you’d rather stand outside in the middle of a thunderstorm? You find that more enjoyable?”

“Compared to the company I have here,” Wilbur grits out through his teeth. “Yes.” 

Quackity grimaces at the bitterness in those words, and he gives a spare look behind him towards Niki, who’s returned to the helm with her attention only on the ship, and nothing more. “You can’t stay out here, Wil.” He insists.

Wilbur turns to him with a smile that’s more like a baring of teeth. “No?” He asks, and Quackity stares, eyes wide. “Watch me.” He turns away with all the rebellion and spite one can have, and Quackity continues staring, but it’s not for the response. There’s something else in Wilbur’s gaze, and it’s not something he’s capable of handling. 

He swears, looking one more time at Wilbur’s face, then turning away and retreating to get someone who will absolutely be able to drag Wilbur back inside. 

Technoblade comes to replace Quackity at Wilbur’s side, and Wilbur doesn’t acknowledge him one bit as he walks up to him, his eyes gleaming red as the rain begins to pour down even harder. Wil stays standing at the railing, hands gripped fiercely at the wood as the ship sways and the waves reach up, as if trying to catch him and pull him in.   

The look given to him burns into his skin, but Wilbur doesn’t falter. He stays staring out to sea with an anger festering through him, and the weight of the gun on his hip feels increasingly present. He knows he could shoot it, not as an attempt to kill, but as a warning, a threat. Quackity managed to give him extra bullets just a day before, and they sit in the chamber, waiting to be used. His stomach twists at the thought of firing and having it actually hit, though. 

“Get inside, Wil.” Technoblade speaks after a few dragged out minutes of silence, and Wilbur turns his head the other way, not wanting to even look at the pirate. The tone in his words gives a prickle of danger on his skin. 

“I’m not going to fall overboard.” Wilbur says, a bit too quiet against the noise of the storm around them. The rain against the ship practically drowns him out, but somehow, Technoblade still hears him. 

“We’re not risking anything.” Techno seems to step closer, because his voice is closer when he speaks again. “Head back in with Quackity, he’ll sit with you while we wait the storm out-”

“I don’t want to go inside with him.” Wilbur cuts him off, leaning against the railing as the ship leans one way. His hair is sticking to his face with how soaked it is, and he’s not going to bother to wipe it back. 

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. And I don’t want to talk with you, so fuck off.” Wilbur insults, trying to force that same angry spite that he gave to both Quackity and Niki before. It’s died down a bit in the face of a pirate like Technoblade, but Wilbur can manage to build it back up with a little effort. All it takes is some courage alongside it. 

Technoblade huffs with Wilbur’s words, hardly offended. More amused, if anything. “I’m not leaving till you head inside and cool off.”

Silence. Very stubborn silence. Wilbur chooses to end this conversation right here, and he keeps his lips firmly shut as the storm continues to soak them both down to the bone. 

Techno moves from where he is and goes to stand beside Wilbur, holding onto the railing with him. Wilbur twists his head away to try and get him out of his sight, and he would step away too, if it weren’t for the way his feet feel rooted to the floor. His heart is thrashing against his chest so intensely that it hurts, and he can’t tell if this is still anger or panic. Either way, he wants to hit something. It might end up being Techno’s face, soon. 

They stand there in the worst of the storm, the wind cutting against their skin and the rain slamming against their clothes, and when Techno speaks again, it’s not in a yell. It’s softer, and with his proximity, Wilbur is able to hear. 

“We just-” He pauses, making a short sigh, like he’s at a loss. “Wil, I want to keep you safe here.” 

Wilbur scoffs. He lifts his head and looks dead on to the vast ocean, the waves wild and relentless. “I do not feel safe.” 

“How do I make you feel safe, then?” Technoblade responds back, sounding earnest in it. 

Wilbur bites at the inside of his mouth to keep composure, then he gives up entirely and laughs, turning to Technoblade with a near frantic smile, eyes glowing brightly blue. “You can’t. How am I supposed to feel safe with you?” Wilbur bites out, and thunder roars over their heads as he screams out. “All of you are pirates !”

Technoblade looks at him with a flicker of shock on his expression, then it melts into a deep consideration that Wilbur can’t pick apart. He turns, one hand still held to the railing, then he nods, serious and still. 

“Yes.” He says, in such a way that Wilbur can’t dare deny the conviction in it. He’s a pirate, he knows it, knows that it runs right through his veins. “You’re right.” 

A dread swells from within Wilbur’s throat, and he takes a tiny step back from Techno out of fear for the man deciding to prove that he is indeed a pirate. He waits for him to do something, to grab Wil, to drag him back to the cabin with nothing but determination. There is a threat in the red of his eyes, and Wilbur wishes he could spit out an apology to make it all go away and have the tense peace back. 

“We’re fools to think you’re going to feel at ease anytime soon, even with Quackity making his efforts.” Technoblade then says, looking away from Wilbur to observe the storm around them. It’s not a natural thing, Techno is sure of it now. 

Wilbur blinks with the calm statement given, no anger or frustration being struck out towards him. “Huh?” The rain lightens into a sprinkle again, just from the shock running through Wilbur. 

“I’m a pirate, and all you’ve ever known about pirates has been that we’re terrible, dangerous people. Murderers and criminals and people without morals, right?” Technoblade asks, and Wilbur blinks again, mouth half open. “How could you ever trust us? Hell, I held a knife to your throat when we first met, remember?” He makes a smile towards Wil, a little sheepish with it, but still- genuine. 

Wilbur sucks a breath in, finding a relief he didn’t even know he could find. Techno gets it. He’s put words to it, the last person Wil thought would even care-- he’s gotten it. 

Technoblade reaches down and takes that same knife he’s mentioned off from his hip, holding it up like he’s inspecting the blade. Then he flips it over, and holds the handle out to Wil. Wil’s eyes go wide. 

“Take it.” He says, and Wilbur does without even thinking. Technoblade lets his hand drop as soon as the knife is held in Wilbur’s grip. “It’s not very much, but it’s a start. I want to keep you safe, and I mean that. I want you to feel safe, too. Let that and your gun be the start of it.” 

“You want me to fight you?” Wilbur chokes out, baffled. 

“I want you to feel that you can ward us off, if need be.” Technoblade tilts his head to the side. “If we scare you, then you do whatever you need to do to feel alright again. Even if that means holding a knife to our throats.” He shrugs, far too casual for how Wilbur is feeling at the moment. “Maybe along the way we’ll find some sort of tentative trust.” 

“I doubt it.” Wilbur mutters, but he’s staring at the newly acquired knife with a calmer heart. The rain has stopped. “Maybe I’ll just kill you.” He mutters, knowing that he could never manage a thing, even if Techno were to offer his heart up without a single bit of struggle. 

Technoblade grins, all teeth. “Try if you want. I won’t stop you.” 

Wilbur can only think of the pirate as mad with that. 

---

The next time they stop at a port, it’s late into the night again, with the moon high in the sky. Wilbur looks out over the railing with Technoblade not far from him, and he’s easy enough to ignore now with the somewhat honest assurance that he won’t be causing harm to Wilbur anytime soon. 

The staring is still a bit much, though. The pirate has got issues. 

“No climbing out of the window this time.” Quackity says as he steps up next to Wilbur, leaning onto the railing with him to look out at the docks, watching the people climb on and off their ships, loading or unloading supplies. “You’re staying out on deck, to prevent any harrowing escape adventures.” 

Wilbur holds back the urge to scoff. “I would never do such a thing.” He says, in such a dry tone that Quackity actually rolls his eyes at him. “Can’t I at least go and check out the markets, like last time?” He asks, looking at Quackity with a slightly pleading look. Even being out there with a pirate at his heels the whole time would be better than sitting on the ship for hours, knowing that better curiosities wait just out of reach. 

Quackity gives a sorry smile, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, no-” He goes to refuse, at the same time as Techno says- “He can come with me.”

Both Wilbur and Quackity pause, looking behind them as Technoblade stands in place, not retracting his statement. The rest of the crew are giving looks of surprise, pausing in their efforts to secure the ship and ensure that everything is ready in case someone brings trouble again. Fundy in particular looks so baffled that Tubbo snorts at him. 

“Wait, really?” Quackity asks after an awkward moment of silence, and Technoblade shrugs, moving towards the bridge with not an ounce of hesitation. “You’re fucking serious?!”

“Come on, Wil, maybe we can go find you a sword or something.” Technoblade just responds, waving a beckoning hand as he steps off the ship, past Niki, who’s looking increasingly confused with every second that passes by. 

“Are you actually going to head out with him?” She asks, Technoblade resting a hand on his sword with a nod. 

“It’s not like he’s going to go running.” Technoblade says back. “Right, Wil?” He asks, and Wilbur pauses midway down the bridge, mouth opening with nothing coming out. 

A beat passes. 

“ Right , Wil?” Technoblade repeats. 

“....right.” Wilbur says unconvincingly, and he hops onto the docks with as innocent of a smile he can muster. “I would never.” 

“Fundy, you’re trailing after them.” Quackity mutters, and Fundy resigns himself to the fate of having to chase down Wilbur again at some point of tonight. 

They head out with a goodbye and wishes of safety for both parties, and they enter the town to find the place twice as lively as the last town before, but not in such a way where everyone is looking to buy or sell, but more as if everyone is looking to find a brawl. 

There’s drunken people around every corner, some singing loud carols and others fighting it out with people yelling on the sidelines. The air smells of sour beer and bitter, rotten food. Wilbur passes by quite a few bodies on the ground, and he hopes for their sake that they’re just passed out, rather than dead. The shops and stalls they do pass by all contain either alcohol or weapons of some sort, guns and bullets, gunpowder and bombs, and all the sellers eye Wilbur like he’s going to try and steal something, and they’ll break his fingers for it. The place is loud, gunfire sounding off here and there, but never close enough to be of any true danger. 

Either way, Wilbur immediately does not like the town, and he sticks close to Technoblade, voicing his dislike. 

“It’s not known for its peace, I’ll give that.” Technoblade admits, walking down the street like he knows the place well. He doesn’t blink at the sight of someone getting thrown out a bar window, the glass scattering everywhere. Wilbur stares with an urge to hold onto the back of Techno’s shirt, wanting to use him like some sort of human shield against the dangerous chaos within the streets. 

“It’s known for violence?” Wilbur asks, glancing behind him in an effort to find Fundy in the crowds. Usually, he would think the sight of the pirate trailing him to be a bad thing, but right now, in the face of such an environment, he thinks the assurance of backup would be enough to soothe his nerves. 

“For its fighters, actually.” Technoblade grins, and there’s something nostalgic in it. “It’s the best place to find a fight if you want one. Most of the bars have a no killing policy, so it’s not a danger to go and start swinging. It somewhat calms down around noon, I think.” 

Wilbur gives a look of horror at Techno, and he swears that Technoblade’s smile only grows. “Why would someone go here?” He hisses. 

“They’ve got a particularly nice selection of swords I like.” Technoblade simply responds. “And, well. Free fighting.” 

Wilbur regrets ever taking a step off the ship, and he continues following Techno along as they head to a specific shop that Technoblade seems to know and favor in terms of getting weapons. As they turn and head down another chaos filled street, people begin to step out from the side, gathering at the end of the street to strand in their way. They stare at Technoblade and Wilbur with a focused intensity, and Technoblade slows in his steps before them, a furrow in his brow showing his annoyance. 

“Blood God.” One of them says, as a few of them circle around, trying to trap them into a circle of enemies. Wilbur eyes the movement with a strong panic, and Technoblade frowns with a sigh. 

“Not now.” Technoblade waves a hand. “I’m not here for a brawl.” 

A few smiles are passed around, some of the people chuckling goodnaturedly. The mood lightens, then it nosedives right back down. 

“As much as I miss it, we’re not here for you.” One of them says, stepping out with their hands on their hips. Technoblade tilts his head with confusion, and Wilbur steps back with a lump in his throat. Is it just him, or all the gazes here falling onto him? “We’re here for the boy.” 

Immediately, a hand reaches out and snatches Wilbur by the arm, yanking him backwards, and Wil screams in surprise, stumbling and trying to tear his arm away. Before he can even manage to get his balance under his feet again, Technoblade lunges at the person grabbing him and slams a fist into their face, a crack of a broken nose sounding out. They let go, focused now on the stream of blood over their lips, and Technoblade pulls Wilbur back out of reach, head twisting around to count how many are around. 

“Don’t make this difficult, Blade!” Someone yells out, and two more people jump out, Technoblade kicking the first one in the stomach and sending them on the ground, curled up with pain, then punching the second one across the face with such force they go rolling against the street. 

“If any of you so much as touch him again, I’m breaking your fingers.” Technoblade spits out, and the rest of the group hesitates a bit at that. Technoblade pulls Wilbur to stand behind him, and Wilbur hardly protests, breathing hard. “I mean it. Whatever you’re getting paid, it’s not worth the pain.” 

Looks of hesitation flash across faces as Wilbur looks around, and there’s a moment of quiet acceptance, the fight over. 

Then someone pulls a gun. 

Technoblade pulls his own before they can fire a shot, and his bullet lands straight through their hand, making them scream and drop their weapon. Wilbur yells as he’s suddenly pulled by the hand, Techno leading them down the street in a run, rushing away from the group. 

“Follow them!”

“Don’t let him get away!”

Wilbur stumbles as Technoblade turns the corner, and they weave through a couple of stray drunks in the middle of the road. 

“Where’s Fundy?!” Wilbur yells, looking behind him and seeing the people follow with raised fingers. 

“He probably ran back to get the others!” Technoblade yells back. He stops suddenly at seeing a couple of faces pop up at the end of the street, and he takes a detour through an alleyway, shoving aside two women who were in the middle of a scathing argument. 

They run faster as gunshots ring out and bullets whizz past, and Wilbur shrieks at seeing them hit the walls beside them. Technoblade pulls him out to the open street again, then makes another sharp turn and goes to the door of a closed bar, the windows dark and the front having a few passed out people on the steps. He slams the door open, the lock breaking underneath the force, then he pushes Wilbur inside and closes it behind them, leaving them in the dim dark, only the light from the street allowing them to see. 

Wilbur stumbles backwards with heaving breaths as Technoblade looks out the window, watching a few men run past with yelling voices. “Why are they after me?! What did I do?!”

“Nothing. It’s not what you did, it’s more- who you are.” Technoblade says, tilting his head and looking up and down the road. 

“Oh, great.” Wilbur chuckles. “So this is my father’s fault. I’m- that’s fine. I’m fantastic.” He leans over at the hip, hand over his side. “God, fuck.” 

Technoblade immediately turns with a burning worry. “Are you hurt?” 

“What?” Wil lifts his head, and he’s met with hands patting him down, making sure none of the bullets actually landed on their target. “Get- I’m fine!” He moves to the side, swatting Techno’s hands off. “Nothing is bleeding.” 

“Good.” Technoblade takes his sword and unsheathes it with a nod. “Let’s keep it that way.” 

Wilbur wants to agree wholeheartedly, but then comes the sound of loud voices at the other side of the door, and before Technoblade can even go to barricade it, it’s being slammed open with two men rushing inside. 

“They’re here!” One of them yells, and the first man lifts his gun up with a fury in his eyes, Technoblade knocking his aim to the ceiling with his sword, the bang echoing through the room and making Wilbur flinch back. The gun clatters to the ground as Technoblade cuts at the man’s hand, a scream of pain being given. 

“Wilbur, behind me!” Technoblade yells, holding his sword up to block the blade of another as it swings down. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Wilbur is moving to safety, and in his second of distraction, the edge of a sword slices across his cheek, making a stinging wound that bleeds over his jaw and down to his neck. 

“Technoblade!” Wilbur yells, seeing the drops of blood hit the floor. He reaches for his gun with shaking hands as Techno tears through the first man, plunging his sword into his ribs and taking out a leg so that he’s left dying on the ground. The second man comes with a cry of anger and determination, and Technoblade blocks off the first attack, wiping the blood on his chin with his other hand. 

They move across the room, past the body on the floor, swords hitting and missing and not quite landing a hit. Wilbur holds his gun in his palms, but he can’t lift it, can’t dare to shoot it. Techno’s got it, surely. He’s killed hundreds of men before, so this fight isn’t-

The man takes a step back as Technoblade swings down again, and he pulls a gun from behind his shirt, lifting it up not to Techno, but to Wilbur. Wilbur’s breath freezes in his lungs as Technoblade snarls and jumps forward to divert the shot, and as he does, a blade sinks right into his chest. While the bullet lands into a wall, the sword has gone right through Techno’s heart. 

“ NO !” Wilbur screams, guttural and terrified, and the man pushes with all his strength to dig the sword deep, to push Technoblade onto the ground and let him bleed out there. Techno slams into the ground with blood seeping into his shirt and Wilbur lifts his arms, aiming up with a sudden anger that’s so strong he’s near choking with it. 

The man only realizes Wilbur has a gun the moment his finger pulls the trigger, and the shot rips into his side, making him stumble and cry out. Wilbur shoots again, and this time, it’s in the leg, so that he can fall and die on the ground too, right beside his friend. 

As the last man falls and Wilbur lowers the gun, silence grows heavy in the room. It drags on, heavy and suffocating, and as the seconds go by, it dawns on Wilbur what he’s done. 

And why he’s done it. 

He turns his head to Technoblade, hands trembling so harshly that his weapon slips from his fingers, and tears burn in his eyes with a sudden grief. He gasps a stuttering breath in, seeing a pool of Techno’s blood soak into the floor, and he breathes out, feeling both sick at the sight and sick at the fact he’s shot someone. It was for a good reason, he’s telling himself. It was self-defense. It rings empty as he lowers himself down to kneel on the floor, his legs not quite feeling up to the task of supporting himself. 

“Tech-” Wilbur chokes out, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the body. “Techno?” He calls.

Technoblade gives a ragged, harsh breath, and Wilbur jumps back at the sound of it. Suddenly, the pirate is sitting from the pool of blood he’s made, and he grabs at the handle of the sword, yanking it out with little care. Wilbur means to tell him to stop, his hand held out to maybe support him, but then Technoblade turns to him, and Wilbur goes still. 

The cut on Techno’s cheek is stitching itself back up. The blood still sticks on his skin, it’s still stained into the collar of his shirt, but it closes up and heals into not even a scar, and Technoblade rubs his knuckles against it in a vain effort to clean the bloodstains off. The sword he’s pulled from his chest gets thrown to the floor, and he breathes in a steady breath, despite the fact he should be struggling with breathing at all. 

He stands, eyes gleaming red, his injuries fading away, and as the dead man stands before Wilbur with a wild look still lingering from the battle, Wilbur can only do one thing. 

He screams. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur kicks and scoots back so quickly he doesn’t even process he’s doing it, his back slamming up against the wall as his chest shakes with the scream in his throat. 

Technoblade stares with wide eyes, slightly panicked, looking torn between trying to give some semblance of a reassurance or turning away to make sure that no other enemies will come running in from all the noise. He does a compromise between the two, holding a hand out to Wil, but still keeping an eye on the open door. 

“What the FUCK!?” Wilbur shrieks out, trying to melt into the wall behind him, trying to get away from the pirate who just rose from the dead as if it were an inconvenience, at most. 

“Wilbur, Wil-” Technoblade tries to speak, his eyes glancing away from the road once, twice, and then leaving it altogether as he makes the decision of Wilbur being the more important priority here. He rushes to close the door, then moves away with both his hands held up. “Calm down, calm down!” He takes a step towards Wil, and Wil’s voice only rises up in pitch. 

“You were DEAD!” Wilbur responds to that. “You were dead-!” He repeats, both frantic in disbelief and in a still stinging despair. His words shake against his teeth, trembling with anger, fear and grief all at once. “I thought you-! You were fucking dead, on the ground-!”

“Wilbur.” Technoblade repeats, and he sounds far too calm for the situation at hand. Wilbur thinks it’s not fair for him to be sounding so calm when he literally was dead. The pirate takes a knee down on the ground, putting himself to Wilbur’s eye level, hands carefully raised out like he’s attempting to tame a wild animal. 

“I killed a man for you!” Wilbur hisses out through gritted teeth, and as soon as those words pass his lips, his heart sinks down to hell. He takes pause entirely, gasping and bringing a shaking hand up to his mouth, stomach twisting and making him sick. “I-” He swallows, looking away, and even with Techno trying to keep Wilbur’s eyes on him, his gaze still trails off to the dying man on the floorboards. “Oh god, I-”

Technoblade follows his eyes and looks over his shoulder, spotting the last man breathing. His looks shifts into a nasty glare. The poor soul is on death’s doorstep, his lungs wheezing badly, his limbs twitching on the ground. There’s two gun wounds on his body, and Technoblade knows he wasn’t the cause of them. One second, that man was standing and he was falling, the next, he was climbing back up, and the last threat was gone. 

“...I killed a man.” Wilbur breathes out again, grasping onto the curls of his hair with his eyes going glassy again. He pushes back against the wall, trying to curl up into something small, and Technoblade suddenly stands to his feet, making him jump. 

“No.” Techno says, and his look is nothing short of withering, such horrible anger in it that Wilbur forgets about the guilt of murder and instead is just filled with a very present type of fear. He barely holds back a scared noise at his next words, said so sharply it can’t be anything but a threat. “He’s still breathing.” 

Wilbur is barely able to process what that sentence means before Technoblade goes leaning down, grabbing the gun Wilbur dropped to make his way to stand over the doomed man and point the barrel directly down at him. 

He fires. He fires again and again, until there’s no bullets left, Wilbur jerking backwards with his head hitting the wall, mouth wide open with a scream stuck in his lungs. 

When the gun clicks with no shots left and the man is surely dead, Techno turns to Wilbur with a kinder look, the empty gun left hanging at his side. The anger has come and gone, no longer burning in his eyes. 

“I’ve killed him.” He tells Wilbur, and Wil has a strange urge to giggle a little bit. He also wants to puke. 

He instead just mostly stares in a baffled, choked silence, not being able to look away from the body until Technoblade shifts his stance, and his attention is drawn to the pirate’s face again. There’s no anger, no, not anymore, it’s been put out, but there’s something determined in there. 

“You just shot him, I killed him.” Technoblade continues, and he walks towards Wilbur, kneeling down again. It doesn’t sink in what he’s truly meaning until he says the last line. “Your hands are clean, Wil. You didn’t kill anyone.” 

Wilbur’s breath drains out from his lips. 

Oh.

Oh, for fucks sake, Wilbur doesn’t have any clue how to even begin to feel about that. He lowers his head and breathes hard, chuckling a little under his breath, not sure if he should feel grateful for the gesture or just outright terrified for having a clear maniac standing in front of him. 

He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised, though, honestly. He knew Technoblade was a murderer of a pirate anyway. This is on brand for him. 

“Techno.” He chokes out, feeling near tears, feeling like he should try screaming again until his throat stings and burns. Technoblade leans in towards him, all his attention Wil’s and Wil’s alone, and Wilbur wants to grab him by the face and shake him until his damned head pops off. He wants to dig into the ground and hide under the floorboards. He wants to maybe shoot someone again. “You- are- a fuckin’ madman!” 

Wil means it to be something of an insult. Technoblade grins regardless of the intent, knowing full well what sort of person he is, that phrase feeling familiar, and Wilbur wonders for a passing second if now there’s no need to fear anything, if this sort of man is on his side, willing to shoot an already dying man for the sake of Wil’s morality. 

“Yup.” Techno nods, and he stands to his feet to retrieve his sword, to reload his gun and keep an eye on the door all the while. Wilbur takes the short moment to catch his breath, wiping the palm of his hand against the corner of his eye. It comes away wet. 

God. Yes, indeed, he is a madman. He’s a murderer and a pirate and a man without a single bit of remorse or virtue. But he’s also alive. He’s moving around and not even giving a sign of pain, not even bothered by his injury, and that by itself is something so…relieving. 

Wilbur catches his breath with furrowed brows. Techno’s alright. He didn’t think this would be a detail he would ever truly care about, but he very clearly does, judging by the fact he shot a man for him upon assuming that he got killed. He pushes his palms against the wall, standing up on shaky legs, eyes staring distantly towards his feet. Why did-?

Why did he even shoot the man? Self-defense, wasn’t it? He was going for Wilbur right after, yes, that’s right, that’s a good justification, but that wasn’t what Wilbur was thinking at the time. That’s not true. He was angry, just so furiously enraged by the fact the pirate was struck down in front of him, that he wasn’t thinking, he was just avenging as he saw fit. 

Wilbur holds a hand to his heart, feeling it slam against his ribs, trying to escape with all the action from today. He killed- (no, shot. Technoblade killed him, the poor fool was still breathing--) Wilbur shot a man. For a pirate. 

For the same pirate who threw him over his shoulder and kidnapped him from his home. The same pirate who murdered the brave men of his town, who played a hand in the commodore’s death. Why did Wil do that?

“Wilbur.” Technoblade calls, hovering by the door that’s cracked open, making a beckoning motion. “We need to keep moving.” When Wilbur falters for a response, Techno turns back to the door, peeking out into the street. “I can give you another minute, but we can’t stay.” 

Wilbur wants to ask for that minute. He wants to lean back against the wall again and keep gasping in air until it feels like he can properly, truly breath, but all that comes out when he opens his mouth is-

“You were dead.”

That fact is true, Wilbur knows it. The stain on Techno’s chest is a deep, dark red, and the pool of blood is still sitting on the floor, fresh and far too much for the pirate to be moving around without even a wince. Wilbur shouldn’t be caring this much. He shouldn’t worry, he shouldn’t have even grieved in the moment, he should’ve celebrated for the chance of escape.

But Techno was dead, and he was just so angry for having him taken away like that-

“I’m better now.” Technoblade responds, making a light shrug. He wipes his fingertips on his shirt and they come away red. “He missed my heart, it didn’t get anything important-”

“Bullshit.” Wilbur sputters out, a little offended for the pirate to even try saying that. “It went straight through you, I saw it-!” His voice shakes as he makes a step forward, hands fisted tightly at his side. “I saw it!”

Technoblade opens his mouth and hesitates. The split second of it is enough to make the worry come roaring back up, Wilbur’s vision going blurry all over again as his sinuses burn with the urge to cry. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure about that!?” Wilbur asks, but it’s more of an accusation. 

“Yes.” Technoblade nods, and Wil shakes his head. “Yes, I’m sure, Wilbur.”

Wil isn’t wholly convinced, and they both know it. Technoblade makes a conflicted expression, like he can’t choose whether to pull Wilbur outside for them to make a run for it or to let Wil sit back down to process a bit more. In the end, he decides to walk closer to Wil, ignoring how Wilbur moves away from him, instead taking his hand in his and making it so two of Wil’s fingers press down onto his wrist. 

Wilbur nearly goes to wrench his hand away, not realizing what he’s doing at first. He’s more confused than anything, wondering if the pirate is going to try and drag him, and then-

Then he feels the faint pulse under his skin, the proof of a heartbeat. When he blinks up at Techno, he can practically hear the words in his ears.

I’m alright. 

Even if Wilbur saw his body drop, even if the blood is still warm on the ground. He got up, and he’s here.

“I swear it.” Technoblade breathes out, so gravely that Wilbur feels off-balanced with such a tone being pointed towards him. He frowns at Techno, but presses his fingers down against his wrist, finding a short comfort in the way it stays beating steady, stubborn against the many forces wanting it to stop. 

“...Okay.” Wilbur nods. “Okay.” He pulls his hand away. Technoblade is still looking at him with far too much in his gaze, so Wil redirects it. “I want to go back to the ship. Now.” He orders, and while his voice wavers in it, a part of him feels like Techno would honestly follow whatever he said.

Technoblade nods at him with a silent agreement. Immediately, he moves to the door, checking out on the street with his sword held tightly at his side. Wilbur moves behind him, clinging to his heels, hearing the faint sound of fighting and arguments, violence scattered around, but none coming for their direction, thankfully enough. 

“If we move quick, we should come out alright. The noise of everything is a good cover, and I’m sure the others are waiting back on the ship.” 

Wilbur nods with a tight throat, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing onto the back of Techno’s sleeve. 

“Please don’t die on me.” He says, quick and quiet, and when suddenly Techno turns his head to him with wide eyes, Wilbur gives him a glare. “I can only handle so much today, Techno, I shot a man and everything-”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Techno reminds. 

“No. You killed him.” Wilbur says, and it comes out as bitter through his teeth. Technoblade doesn’t seem all that bothered by it, simply satisfied with Wilbur knowing he hasn’t taken a life today. “You killed him.” Wilbur repeats, and that one comes out like a murmured reassurance to himself. 

“Stay close to me.” 

“Right.” 

And they both run out into the open street, disappearing into the chaos of a town whose fighting spirit never dies.

The crew’s waiting back on the docks is nothing remotely peaceful. 

With Fundy coming back, yelling of an attack, he brought men on his heels, all of them trying hard to kill him before he could get the message through. Unfortunately for them, Foxglove is a very hard man to shoot, unless you’ve got a terrifying aim, which they don’t. 

Niki readies herself to run back off the ship with Fundy to try and bring back Techno and Wil, but before she can even think of taking a step off their vessel, there’s a crowd of enemies trying to set fire to their ship, throwing bombs and firing bullets, hoping to bring the thing down and the crew with it. 

Tubbo finds it all rather annoying, at first. Then he finds it to be the best night of his life the moment Niki screams for him to give them hell. The docks then proceed to be set mostly on fire, people screaming and running away as he cackles maniacally into the night. 

“That’s right, fucking run!” He screams, voice shrill and still young, but more fearsome than any grown man nearby. “You turn tail and never come back, or I’ll burn you to hell!”

“Ease up on the explosives!” Fundy yells out, the ship shaking again as Tubbo sets off a cannon and reduces some poor fools boat to smithereens. “The others are going to need a dock to return on!”

“I’m just sending a message!” Tubbo whines. 

“I THINK THEY FUCKING GOT IT!” Quackity screams from the vague direction of the helm, Tubbo laughing brightly with his eyes gleaming against the light of the fires. “There, there! I see them! Over there!”

Niki runs across the deck to lean up against the mostly broken railings, squinting out past the fire and smoke to find two figures running across the dock, weaving through the areas that are still intact.

“Technoblade! Wil!” She calls out, cupping her hands to her mouth, and Fundy runs to throw a rope overboard, seeing as the plank they first used to get off the ship is currently broken into three pieces and is floating somewhere in the water. 

More voices yell out from a distance, people trying to crawl back at the sight of Wilbur, and Tubbo immediately fires a cannonball in that general direction, causing a general panic and more pained screaming. He starts laughing again. Quackity gives his best effort to ignore the sound of it whilst he waits for Wilbur to climb aboard. 

“Grab onto the rope!” Niki yells out when they come near, Fundy swinging the rope out so that Techno can grab on and let Wilbur get a hold of it first. “We’ll pull you up, just stay holding on!”

“Techno?!” Wilbur doesn’t immediately cling to the chance of getting onboard, more preoccupied with the fact there’s only one rope, and Technoblade is looking behind them as if he’s ready to fend off any stray followers on their trail.

“Let them pull you up, I’ll be right behind!” He tells Wil, sheathing his sword in exchange for a gun. 

“GET ON THE BOAT.” Quackity shrieks at them both. 

Wilbur gets a grip onto the rope and nods, and his legs flail as he’s heaved up, lifted past the broken railing and sent sprawling out onto the floorboards from too much momentum. He immediately pushes himself up on his knees, ignoring Niki’s cry if he’s okay, shoving off Quackity who’s trying to make sure he doesn’t have any serious wounds. He stands up on stumbling feet and goes back to the edge of the ship to ensure that Technoblade will be right behind him. 

“Pull him up!” He yells, Fundy throwing the rope out again as people try to run up the dock, cursing Techno’s name. Tubbo fires a close shot at them to get them to stay away. “Pull him the fuck up!” 

“Get back, Wil, get inside-!” Quackity struggles at getting Wilbur away from the railing, practically hauling him backwards with little success. Wilbur kicks and pulls and refuses to move, watching with all his focus as both Niki and Fundy pull the rope and lift Technoblade high enough for him to climb onboard. “Wilbur, get inside!” Quackity’s voice goes high-pitched as bullets fly up from the dock, hitting the wood and sending splinters flying. Both him and Wil slam into the ground, Quackity trying to get them behind some sort of cover. 

“Technoblade needs medical attention!” Wilbur screams out, leaning forward with Quackity’s arms straining to hold him still. 

“I do not!” Technoblade refuses, running up to the helm with Niki to get the ship moving away from the town. “Wilbur, get inside!”

“You were stabbed!” Wilbur argues. 

“You were what-?! Oh god, Techno, your shirt!” Niki realizes, Technoblade wincing not for pain, but for the fact that he made the mistake of getting stabbed in front of Wilbur. “Were you shot-!? Was Wilbur there?!”

“We are discussing this when we are not being shot at!” Technoblade responds, quickly leaving the conversation to help Tubbo and Fundy with the sails. Niki steers the wheel with a now pressing concern on the back of her mind that Wilbur is going to require a good few explanations when things settle down. She doesn’t even know how to begin to get him to believe immortality, she was still starting slow with the pirate stories she would tell-

“Get Wilbur inside!” Technoblade yells as he runs down the stairs, Quackity dragging Wilbur up on his feet and towards the captain’s quarters. 

“What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do?!” Quackity shrieks back. “Wilbur, we will give the pirate medical attention when we are not in a current threat of losing our lives, now fucking haul ass!”

“I’m moving!” Wilbur goes, the two of them retreating inside as the ship lurches forward towards the sea, escaping the fiery dock and the angry mob of people who were hoping to put a crew six feet under today. 

“If any follow, shoot it down, Tubbo!” Niki calls out, and Tubbo keeps a keen eye out, waiting to see if anyone is climbing onto their ship to give chase. As they sail farther and farther away, the fires getting tinier and tinier, bullets missing as they’re futilely shot from shore, it seems they’re in the clear. 

“That went bad.” Technoblade says as he climbs back up to the helm, looking exhausted and a bit rough. The bloodstain on his shirt hasn’t gotten any better looking. His hair is falling out from its braid. Niki eyes his injury with a deep frown. “That went so bad.” 

“What happened?” Niki hisses out, her fingers tightening around the wheel. “I thought you said Wilbur would be fine with you-- you seemed confident of it!”

“I expected a person here or there wanting to pick a fight, not a coordinated effort amongst an entire crowd trying to kidnap him!” Technoblade answers, throwing his hands up. He breathes deep for a moment, lifting his face to the wind, then he steps closer towards Niki’s side, voice going low. “They were there for him. Not me, not us, just him. They just wanted to grab him.” 

Niki glances at him with disbelief, and when Techno’s stare doesn’t give, she swears under her breath. “Shit. I thought we would’ve had time before that-”

“Clearly not.” 

“They shouldn’t have gotten together so quickly! By now, I would’ve assumed there to be rumors spreading now, but not the immediate attempt to get a ransom.” 

“Never underestimate the ambition of pirates wanting to get rich.” Tubbo says cheerfully, climbing up the stairs and joining the conversation with a bounce in his steps, clearly happy for the fact he was able to set something on fire today. “Are we going to have to start early on the bodyguard thing?” He asks, pointing to each of them.

“Here I was hoping to let Wilbur have a bit of freedom before that phase.” Niki mutters under her breath. “He’s going to hate it. Hate us. More than he already does.”

“He’s had us followin’ after him at every place we’ve been at so far, I think he’ll adjust fine, especially if it’s about the matter of life or death.” Technoblade deadpans.

“Speaking of life or death.” Niki says, and Technoblade immediately wilts a little, trying to turn away to not let her see the entirety of the bloodstain on his shirt. “Your shirt?” 

“Just a scratch.” Technoblade brushes off. Niki makes a face like she’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry a little in despair. 

“Man, you look like you bled out in a ditch somewhere.” Fundy calls out from the deck, Technoblade narrowing his eyes at the unwanted comment. 

“Please tell me that wasn't in front of Wil. Please say he somehow hid somewhere and was safe and didn’t see that.” Niki pleads. “Didn’t see you-?”

“Well, I got stabbed.” Techno starts. Niki hangs her head low in defeat. “Through the heart. And then he shot a man. And then I revived, and I shot the guy he shot before that guy died, so that he wouldn’t worry too hard about the morality of killing a man, and then we ran and now we’re here.”

“...Wow!” Tubbo exclaims, Niki banging her head against the wheel. “You fucked that up so badly!”

“We got jumped by like twenty people! I tried my best!” Techno defends. 

“Your best sucked.” Tubbo says. 

“He lived.”

“You didn’t!” Niki cries out. 

“I got better.”

“Technoblade!” Quackity’s voice calls out from below, and all three of them turn their heads to see the man waving frantically for Techno to come down. “You get over here right now before Wil gets a stroke from the fact you’re bleeding out!” 

“I’m literally fine.” Technoblade says, but he comes down anyway, glad to reassure Wilbur of that as many times as needed. “I just need a new shirt, honestly.” 

“That’s great, I totally believe you. Dearest William, however, was believing in the concept of mortality about an hour ago, though, so he’s having a tough time with processing this.” 

“Tubbo, steer the ship, don’t crash us.” Niki says, going after Technoblade to follow into the captain’s quarters.

“T’was one time.” Tubbo murmurs, taking the wheel with a huff. 

“Look, he’s here, he’s not dying, he just bleeds a lot-” Quackity is speaking quickly as Niki walks through the door, Wilbur sitting on top of the desk with his eyes glued onto the bloodstains on Technoblade. His hands are pressed up against his mouth, clasped in a way that almost makes it look like he’s in prayer. “-it’s a pirate thing, or a Technoblade thing, really, he’s probably fine, he’s gotten stabbed plenty of times-”

“I saw him die, Quackity.” Wilbur cuts him off, and the room freezes. Wil lowers his hands into his lap, looking down at the ground with a furrowed brow. “He fell, he died, and then he got back up, and he’s- he’s not-” He stops for a moment, biting at his lip. Quackity shares a quick look with Niki. “Don’t we have any sort of medical supplies?” Wilbur asks quietly.

“I don’t need anything.” Technoblade insists. “I’ve already stopped bleeding.” 

Something distressed crosses over Wil’s face, and Niki wants more than anything to rush forward and take him into a hug. She almost does it, until Wil glances up and realizes she’s in the room with them, and his look goes a bit cold. It’s not the time, clearly. 

Wilbur turns away from her, trying to pretend she’s not there, and after a beat of hesitation, he holds his shaking hands out to Technoblade, as if asking for something to be placed into his palms. Both Niki and Quackity stare with slight confusion, but Technoblade complies, and does what he did before; he puts his wrist into Wilbur’s hand and puts his fingers to his pulse.  

Techno’s heart beats steady. 

He looks like a murder victim and smells like smoke and blood, but his heart is beating steady, and the reminder of it is enough to ease Wilbur’s panic whenever his mind brings up that image over and over again whenever he closes his eyes-- Techno’s body falling to the floor, a sword through his chest-

“I don’t understand.” Wilbur says, but it’s not said with confusion. It’s stated like a demand, a hint of anger peeking through, and Wilbur lifts his attention straight towards Quackity for him to explain. 

Quackity very much doesn’t want to, judging by the pinched look on his face. His shoulders are tensed up and his heartbeat is very much not calm, because this part of the pirates? Isn’t his area. This is not his area. He glances towards Niki for a plea for help, wanting her to explain it, and she takes a step forward, willing to try. 

“Quackity.” Wilbur says, and Quackity sweats, internally cursing the fact that Niki and Wil’s relationship is still terribly rocky at the moment. He tries to think, tries to pull up a good way to lay out the fact that Technoblade is incapable of being harmed in any meaningful way, and his mind blanks from sheer panic.

“Techno’s cursed.” He blurts out.

“...What?” Wilbur blinks.

“What.” Technoblade repeats, not entirely pleased to have the blessing of the sea be called a curse. 

“What I mean-!” Quackity laughs nervously. “Is that…there are otherworldly forces at play… that have made it so that Technoblade-” He lifts his hands up, gesturing to the pirate in question. “-no matter the means- can’t quite die.” 

Wilbur stares at him. Tilts his head. Squints a little. “He can’t…die?” 

“Nope.”

Wil waits for a few seconds, waiting for the actual answer. Quackity just stands there in an awkward silence, and as the seconds continue dragging on, Wilbur realizes he’s not going to say another answer. He gives a short huff of disbelief.

“What, you’re- you’re telling me he’s-” Wilbur nods his chin up to Techno. “He’s immortal?”

“Uh-huh.” Quackity nods. Wilbur waits again for the punchline. The joke. Silence keeps dragging on. Quackity’s face keeps going more sour by the second, and Wil’s skepticism bleeds into a sort of shock.

“...You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious.” Quackity’s lips twitch into an anxious smile. 

“That’s-” Wilbur tilts his head further, then abruptly laughs, a short chuckle leaving his lips. “Really? You’re fucking joking me, Quackity. That’s not possible.” He turns to Techno to get the real truth, but Technoblade isn't laughing, nor denying it. 

He actually looks a bit nervous.

Wilbur stares up at him, then turns his head over to Niki, who honestly looks like she’s dreading for the moment it’ll sink in, like it’s going to be a bomb that gets set off. Everyone’s holding their breath a bit. Wil wonders if he’s gone delirious from the adrenaline of tonight. 

“No.” He says, but Niki’s silently nodding anyway, and Quackity starts talking. 

“How do you think he never loses a fight? It’s not because he’s that good.” He pauses and thinks for a second. “Well, no. No, he is that good, he’s terrifying with a sword, but he’s also cheating with the whole can’t die thing.”

“It’s just a slight physical advantage.” Technoblade says. 

“You have inhuman healing.” Quackity deadpans. 

“Slight advantage.” Techno repeats.

“What the fuck.” Wilbur chokes out. He pulls his hands away from Techno, moving off of the desk so he can take a couple steps back from the pirate. “No, that’s not-” He thinks of that slash across Technoblade’s cheek, stitching itself back up before his very eyes. “No! That’s not possible!”

“Want us to prove it?” Technoblade asks. “You still have your knife?” Wilbur’s face turns horrified, his head immediately shaking no as he backs up even further. “The healing, the healing- we can prove I heal with a small wound, nothing more, Wil.” Technoblade quickly says, holding his hands out.

“Still no!” Wilbur spits out.

“I can stab him. Like a tiny bit. A scrape.” Quackity offers. Niki rolls her eyes. 

“You’re not doing anything, because you’re all lying to me. Immortality isn’t a thing. Curses aren’t a thing, those are- that’s stories and tales.” He glances over to Niki, thinking of the same tales she would tell, the ones he would drift off to thinking they were nothing more than rumors she managed to collect while living at sea.

“Then how did I live?” Technoblade asks.

“You-” Wilbur stammers over his words, looking at his shirt, the blood the only evidence that he was ever hurt at all. “I don’t-” He doesn’t have a response. He goes quiet. 

“Here.” Quackity pulls a knife and approaches Techno before Wilbur can protest, swiping out at the pirate’s arm and making a cut across skin. Technoblade doesn’t even flinch at it, but he does frown at Quackity, holding his arm up and letting them all watch as it bleeds for a few seconds, only to suddenly stop, and close itself up without even a bit of mark.

“That’s still so freaky.” Quackity mutters.

“It’s useful, is what I’d call it.” Technoblade says back.

“Wil?” Niki calls, and they all turn to Wilbur again. 

Wil’s eyes stay on Techno’s arm, his expression frozen still, both worry and shock rippling across his face. It takes a solid minute for him to finally look away, and it takes another for him to actually respond, his fingers pressed against his lips.

“Are you-” Wilbur stops, mouth opening and closing, and then he tries again. “Are you sure you don’t need any medical attention?” 

Technoblade looks a bit touched. He rubs a hand over his arm, trying to wipe off the blood. “I’m sure.” 

“So, with that done,” Quackity puts his knife away, placing his hands on his hips. “What are your questions? I know you have them. Lay them out, go on ahead.” He may not have the answers himself, but surely the other two pirates can do it for him. He can adjust any wording that might come off as a bit too much, they’ll have it all worked out by the end of the night.

Wilbur shifts his jaw with his head tilted towards the ground, hands fisted tightly at his sides. He nearly paces for a moment, his feet shuffling underneath him like he’s not sure what to do, where to go, how to act. He glances at Technoblade, then properly looks up, looking as if he’s about to speak loud.

“I’m-” He falters, then makes a single, short nod. “I’m going to sleep now!” 

“What-?” Technoblade says.

“Wil-” Niki reaches a hand out.

“No, no, yeah.” Quackity cuts them off, waving a hand in front of him, practically shooing Wilbur off. Wil moves towards his room with unsure glances still being thrown over his shoulder. “Go on ahead. It’s been a long day.” Quackity gives a shrug. “You should probably sleep over it.” 

Wilbur doesn’t make any response, only hovering by his door for a split second before slipping inside, closing it behind him with not even a goodbye. The click of his doorknob is practically deafening. Niki makes a quiet, upset noise, brushing her hands past her hair, and Technoblade leans against the desk with his fingers rubbing against his forehead, like he’s got a headache coming on.

“This is going so badly.” Technoblade mutters under his breath. Quackity turns to them with an uneven smile, trying to be optimistic.

“He’s processing! He’s taking in the information. He just needs some time.” He argues, trying to not let worry seep into his tone. “I’m sure he’ll be throwing questions at us in no time.”

“So badly.” Technoblade mutters again.

“Let’s…let’s give him some space.” Niki suggests, tucking her hair behind her ears and moving on to walk outside. “You’ll check on him in the morning, right?” 

“Yeah.” Quackity nods. 

He looks at Wilbur’s closed door, only imagining the face on the other side, trying to swallow down another sliver of information that realigns the world he thought he knew. He could be terrified, back there, thinking Technoblade is a monster. He could be intrigued. He’s probably just mostly in shock, though. 

Yeah. Quackity thinks back on the day he first found out, and he remembers the frozen feeling, disbelief in every vein. He’s definitely in shock.

“Of course.”

The sun doesn’t show in the sky when dawn finally does come. 

There isn’t a sign of sunrise, only the crashing waves of the sea growing restless, thick clouds circling overhead with the threat of a storm. Rain comes slowly, bits of water sprinkling down, nothing more than mist for a while until it begins to grow more heavy. When it finally does fall in droplets, it pours, and the ocean underneath the ship heaves and shoves with the suddenness of it.

The crew stays holding on with little worry, confident in the fact they’ll never sink, but as the winds shriek harsher and the sky goes dark, there’s unease about what might be causing it. 

Who might be causing it. 

Wilbur wakes up in his bed to a crack of lighting outside, sitting up with a jolt as his breaths wheeze in his lungs, his throat gasping for air. His hands are cold and sweaty as he grasps at the blanket that’s barely sitting over him, and he feels as if he’s going to shake out of his skin. His stomach churns, a phantom of a memory still pressing against his skull, and he rubs at his eyes to try and force it away. 

His chest hurts. Not from the effort he’s giving to catch his breath, but from a deeper, more internal sort of pain. He rubs at the front of his chest with a trembling shake of his head, as if disagreeing with the feeling, like it’ll leave if he just says no . An uneven humming goes through his throat, his legs swinging off to the side of the bed so he can look to the floor and calm himself down a little more. He isn’t sure what song he’s singing, it’s probably not even a song at all, just notes strung together in an effort to focus on something that isn’t-

There’s a knocking on the door, then, and the unexpectedness of it makes Wilbur jump so hard that he’s losing his breath all over again. He rubs at his chest and hums one long continuous note that warbles a little too high to be normal, hearing Quackity’s voice come through the wood. 

“Wil?” He asks, a knowing worry in his tone. “Are you okay in there?”

The ship leans hard with the waves outside, and Wilbur leans with it, falling sideways onto his bed with his face to the blankets. He breathes in the smell of the fabric, presses his nails through the cloth of his shirt, and he twists his neck to free his mouth up. 

“Wilbur?” Quackity asks, having stumbled a bit with the movement. 

“‘echno.” Wilbur chokes out, and swallows back the urge to begin just sobbing at the fact he can’t even pull out a proper yell. “Get-” He pushes an arm against the bed, sitting up again. “Get me Technoblade!”

“Technoblade, okay! Okay, I’ll be right back, Wil, give me a second!” Quackity responds, hitting at the door again in his panic, his footsteps stomping off as he rushes to retrieve the pirate. Wilbur hears him go, and feels regret washing over him, his hands grabbing at his hair and twisting the curls. He should’ve just called for Quackity to come in, should’ve told him to help him calm down. That would’ve been better than the wait, the return to having nothing but himself struggling to breathe in this dark, dark room. 

He can’t stay in here. He can’t- he can’t breathe. 

Outside. There’s better air outside, no matter if the waves might be a bit rocky, Wilbur needs the wind, the fresh, cold temperature against his face. It’ll help. He knows it.

Scooting off from his bed, Wilbur goes to stand, but his legs are unsteady underneath him, and the ship lurches without warning. He goes slamming into the ground, knees aching, his blanket slipping off the bed with him and pooling around his ankles. His arms shake as he leans over the floorboards, vision useless against the dark. He feels weak, unbearably and hopelessly weak and vulnerable, as if any one could come in at any moment and send him back into unconsciousness with just an easy kick to his ribs. 

 A whine lifts through his teeth, too sharp sounding against his ears, more akin to the wailing cries of an animal. His forehead presses to the floor, another cry going through his lungs, and it wavers in such a way that makes him wonder if something is wrong, if something is broken in him, if Techno missed seeing an injury from earlier and now he’s dying here on the ground-

Someone’s hand brushes over his shoulder. Wilbur cracks open his eyes and finds flickering light stretching out on the wood underneath him, warm and familiar. It’s like a candle. 

A candle?

A hand goes over his shoulder again, holding it firmly and pushing him to sit up. Wil lifts his head with a great effort, his skull seeming too heavy for his neck, and he meets a pirate’s red gaze looking down at him, worry written through his face. 

“-bur. Wilbur. Hey.” Techno sighs, glad to have gotten him to sit up, but not entirely relieved with how brightly blue Wil’s eyes are. “Are you- Are you with me?” Technoblade asks, trying to keep his focus steady. Wilbur’s never been one to be intimidating, he’s never learnt how to be, and Techno isn’t a person who gets scared, but there is-- something. In that color of his eyes. 

A quiet part of Techno compares it to looking into the deepest depths of the sea itself. The gaping, incomprehensible depths, with daunting unknowns lurking at the very bottom. 

Wilbur’s attention shifts to the lantern in Techno’s other hand for a second, and the flame inside flickers dangerously, as if shaking underneath the weight of his gaze. He looks back at Techno. Technoblade doesn’t look away. He won’t look away. 

“Do you know how to braid hair?” Technoblade asks, and Wilbur blinks with sheer bafflement, still panting with a lingering edge of panic on his skin. “Have you ever actually- tried?”

Wilbur opens his mouth. He doesn’t know if he wants to ask why the fuck he’s asking that or if he wants to say, no, I’ve never really needed a reason to. 

“Here.” Technoblade doesn’t wait for his answer, and he puts the lantern on the ground to the side, pulling at his braid behind him and dragging his fingers through the strands to undo it. He lifts part of it up in Wil’s direction, and at his order, Wilbur doesn’t really think, he just listens and takes it gingerly into his hands. It’s wet from outside, but it’s soft against his fingers. 

Technoblade takes his own section of his hair and demonstrates what to do, all while giving instruction. 

“Split it into three parts. Somewhat even. Take the right one and put it over, into the middle. Same on the left. Again on the right.” He does it with ease and without even looking, having managed his long hair for years. Wilbur struggles to copy, more just twisting the strands than braiding them. His fingers are shaky and it’s hard to listen, but Techno doesn’t seem to care if it’s bad. He just keeps telling Wilbur what to do. 

By the time Wil’s braided down to the end of Techno’s hair, the strands looking like a mangled attempt of a braid, the storm outside had lessened into just a hard rain. Wil’s eyes have dimmed down, no longer uncomfortably bright, only a glint of blue hiding amongst brown. 

“I-I fucked it up.” Wilbur’s first words are, laughter dancing across his voice, and Technoblade laughs with him, running a thumb over Wilbur’s braid. 

“Eh, you can practice later. You’ll get better with time.” 

Wilbur nods, then pauses at the implication that he’ll be able to braid the Blood God’s hair again for the sake of just getting better at braiding hair. He freezes even further at the fact he just braided the pirate’s hair right now. He goes so still that he stops breathing, and Techno nudges him in the ribs to get him to suck in a gasp. 

“Breathe. Breathe steady. No one is in danger, nothing is hurt.” Technoblade says as picks up the lantern, so sure in it that’s like a fact set in stone. “I’m not hurt.” 

“I know.” Wilbur nods, but no, he didn’t really. Why else did he call to see Techno? All he knew is that he woke up with the sight of Techno’s body still fresh behind his eyelids, and he had to make sure things were okay. 

“I’m healed.”

“I know.” Wil huffs, glancing up at Techno’s shirt to confirm that. He’s damp from the storm outside, but there’s no stain on his chest, no blood to be seen. It’s a good sight. 

“How about we get up off the floor?” Techno suggests, and Wilbur nods, pushing himself with a sudden determination to not let himself keep sitting here. His legs aren’t quite up to the challenge, but he stays standing, Technoblade holding out a hand to help him balance, Wilbur taking it and letting him pull him along to sit down on the bed. 

He crawls back to his spot beside his pillow as Techno picks up the blanket on the ground, placing it down by Wilbur’s feet. He sits down then at the very edge of the bed, lantern held up in the air. Wilbur refrains from looking at his face, instead just staring at the light of the flame. 

“Is it late?” Wil asks, unsure if he’s woken up Techno in the middle of the night or not. 

“It’s morning, technically. Early morning.” Technoblade responds, not seeming very bothered, or tired. “You can go back to sleep if you want.” 

“I’m not tired.” Wilbur lies. His entire body aches with exhaustion, tired with the fit of panic it’s gone through. He doesn’t want to put his head back down, though. He doesn’t want to have another nightmare. 

Technoblade tilts his head. “Just lay down, then. It’s ugly weather right now, I doubt you’ll want to go outside anytime soon.” He shifts in where he’s sitting, and Wilbur’s heart jumps. 

“Don’t-” He goes to say, and he bites down on the word before the rest can come out. Techno’s eyes on him feel like they’re burning. 

Technoblade doesn’t press. He just does that staring thing he always does, because he’s a man of great words when it’s needed, but he’s also a man of very intense hovering stares when it’s also needed. 

“Don’t leave.” Wilbur croaks out, his fingers picking at the end of one of his nails. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Techno hums. “I’d say Quackity is a better person for conversation than I am...” 

“I don’t want him to be here right now.” Wilbur says, and that’s that. Technoblade leans over to the bedside table to place the lantern down, and Wil glances up at the clink of metal, looking over his poor attempt at a braid again with an inkling of embarrassment in his chest. He will get better at that. For his pride’s sake, at the very least. 

“Will you at least lay down?” Technoblade asks, not forceful with it, more a light suggestion than anything. Wilbur listens anyway, soothed by the idea that he’ll at least have company for a while. He lays back with his hands clasped over his stomach, eyes to the ceiling above. Technoblade leans on a palm behind him, a finger tapping against the fabric like he’s wondering what to do now. 

Wilbur cuts the silence first, curiosity floating back up through him with the memory of everything that’s happened lately.

“How is it that you got cursed?” He asks, thinking of Quackity’s words, his poor explanation. It didn’t really make sense at the time. It still doesn’t, honestly. Too many details left out.

“It’s not a curse.” Techno says sternly, the slightest bit of anger in his voice at having it considered to be such a thing. Wilbur raises his eyebrows. “Maybe other men would consider it as one, but it’s not. Not to me.” 

Wilbur frowns up at the ceiling, confused. “Then what is it?”

“A blessing.” Technoblade answers simply. There is nothing but sureness in the words. It can’t be anything else.

“A blessing.” Wilbur repeats, slow and thoughtful. “From… who?”

Technoblade doesn’t respond for a beat, and Wil supposes it might be more complicated than that. 

“From what.” Wilbur rephrases. “What did it? How did it-?” He stops, not sure how to ask it.

Technoblade understands, though. He sits up straight with a quiet creak of his weight shifting, and while his tone hasn’t risen one bit in volume, Wil feels like his voice is filling his ears. 

“I’ve been at the sea for a long time, Wilbur. Practically since I learned how to walk. I’m on a ship more often than I’m on land, and I’ve sailed to countless places where hundreds of men have never returned from.”

Wilbur turns his head to Technoblade- finding red eyes looking down at him, a little too bright against the dimness of the room. He feels as if he should be off-putted by the sight. He’s…not.

“Living like that- changes a person.” Techno says, and Wilbur wonders.

He thinks of the other’s eyes, of Foxglove’s stare down the darkness of an alley, too yellow, too precise. He thinks of Tubbo, the glint in his eyes whenever he’s given the chance to aim and fire.

He thinks of Niki’s eyes, back when he was still in the town, still just a fool hoping for a dream. He thinks of her, thinks of her smile, the cruel and the kind, and he thinks of the way her eyes had always gleamed a little too brightly against the sun. 

The sea changes people. 

What sort of people is Wilbur onboard with?

They manage to stop at a port a few days later, on an island that’s not quite a town, more rather a few buildings that happen to be together by the shore. 

Quackity climbs off the ship with a singing greeting to the people on the docks, the words strange against Wilbur’s ears. The people seem to respond to it fine, though, very friendly with smiles all around. They seem to recognize him. They pat Quackity on the back, gesturing at him and at the ship, making exclamations at the crew when they stand by the railings. 

“Yeah, yeah-!” Quackity grins at them, walking up to the ship with laughter in his throat, his mood cheery. He yells up at the others. “Okay, we’re all good! They’ll let us stay here without problem, and I got a guy who can do repairs on the ship, for whatever really needs it. Low pay, he owes me a favor.” 

“Can he do it quickly?” Niki asks, taking hold of the rope that Quackity used to get down. “The faster, the better, he can skip over the small things.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind the bullet holes, but I would like us to have decent railings back, for the record. I don’t trust not getting pushed overboard again.” Fundy calls out, Technoblade climbing off the ship with Niki to help sort out pay. 

“Who would ever push you overboard?” Wilbur asks, crossing his arms over his chest, a bit amused by the thought. 

“Yeah, Fundy, who would ever do such a thing?” Tubbo asks, a bit more evilly, leaning up close to the pirate. Fundy takes a meaningful step away from Tubbo. Wil feels like there’s a story there. He chooses to ask about it later, following after the others to lower himself onto the dock, Fundy and Tubbo not far behind, moving with Wil to join the group all discussing the matter of the ship and its need of repairs.

“Hey.” Wilbur says to Fundy. “If we’re all going to be off the ship for a while, then can I go explore?” He nods his head over to the small street past the docks, curious as to see what’s over there. 

“Not alone.” Niki holds a finger out, looking away from where Quackity was translating conversation. “After last time-”

“I’m not going far.” 

“And we’re not taking chances.” Technoblade says, a few of Quackity’s friends giving him nervous looks at the tone of the pirate’s voice. Quackity makes a vague gesture that it’s fine. “I’ll go with you.” Technoblade leaves Niki’s side, going to join at Wilbur’s left. 

“Fundy, you too. Stay close with him.” Niki orders, and Wilbur sputters a bit as Fundy steps to stand at his right.

“It’s a tiny village!” He protests. “Who’s going to jump me here?”

“You’d be surprised how many times I’ve gotten shanked in places with low population numbers. It’s always the isolated communities you gotta watch out for. They’ve always got a weird set of laws.” Tubbo says knowingly, and Wilbur is now a little worried for the fact the young teenager has gotten shanked more than once. “I’m fine now, though.” Tubbo adds, at Wilbur’s look. “I haven’t been stabbed in so long. I’m holding a record.” 

“He’s not lying, he’s been good about it lately.” Quackity cuts in, a hint of pride in his voice. Tubbo beams a little, grinning wide. Wilbur heaves a sigh through his lungs, from both exasperation and incredulity. 

“Okay, well. I won’t get stabbed. No one is getting stabbed.” He makes a pointed look at Techno. He lifts his palms up at Wil. 

“Hey, it won’t do anything to me, we’ve established this.” 

“No one is getting stabbed.” Wilbur grits out. 

“Yes, sir.” Fundy makes a salute, looking honest in it, and Wilbur wonders if he should even go into the village at all, if this is going to be the company sticking to his side. 

“There should be a few shops around down the road, Wil, maybe you could buy something.” Quackity suggests, and after a few words from one of his friends, he looks a little more eager. “There’s a bookshop. Maybe you could get something to help pass the time?”

Wilbur is tempted by that. He almost wants to protest again at having both Techno and Fundy go with him, but if he’s entirely honest, there’s something reassuring about knowing they’ll be watching his back like a hawk. He doesn’t want to be grabbed again. 

“Alright.” Wil says, and he turns his back, moving down the dock with quick strides, Fundy and Technoblade following at his heels. They pass by a few people who give obvious stares, knowing of the fact they’re not from around, but the looks don’t linger very long, the people not seeming very bothered by the sight of strangers. They won’t be staying here for long, most visitors never do.  

The road isn’t very long as Wilbur walks down the middle of it, and while all the signs of the shops and buildings are in a letter he doesn’t recognize, he knows the image of an open book, and he can see rows of bookshelves past the window. He goes straight for it, pushing the door open with a bell ringing overhead, and he makes a beeline to the bookcases, not even glancing at the person at the counter. 

While Fundy stays right beside the door, Technoblade makes a quick pass through the shop, checking around the corners for if there might be anyone else in the building. It’s a small place, though, and there’s only one person who was already inside; the man at the counter. 

Wilbur wanders down the aisle with little interest, the few books he had picked out not really seeming like anything he’d want to read. They’re in the words he knows, they’re stories written by ambitious authors, but they’re…boring. 

It’s not like the other readings Wil’s been pouring over for the past weeks, those newspapers and posters and stolen letters in the captain’s quarters. Those are all real, filled to the brim with emotion, kept intriguing by the fact the subjects of said words all reside on the same ship as him. Those are the rumors of pirates, a topic that Wilbur’s been drawn to nearly all his life. Any other written story couldn’t really compare. 

Wil traces his fingertips past the spines of the books, eyes passing over title after title, eventually leaving the books altogether to look past the bookcase, to find a shelf up on the wall in the corner of the shop. There’s books sitting on top of it, but with how they’re separated from all the others, he wonders if there’s something special about them. 

He goes to grab one and cracks it open, flipping to a random page to find absolutely nothing. No words, no writing, no print. He looks through a few more pages, and a sudden eagerness rises through him when he realizes that it’s all empty. It’s not a book. It’s a journal.   

Fuck, yes, this is exactly what he needed. He’s been running out of space lately to write back on the ship, and it’s not that he minds writing on the back of the maps or in between the free spaces of a newspaper, but it all makes it a bit hard to keep together. This is a grand upgrade compared to that.  

Moving across the shop again, passing by Techno and Fundy guarding the door, Wilbur walks up to the owner of the bookshop and places the journal down on the counter. 

The seller immediately shoves it back, almost sending it into Wilbur’s gut. He barely catches it in time, thrown off by the sudden action. 

“No.” The man refuses, a thick accent on his words. He crosses his arms over his chest with a cold glare pointed right at Wil’s head. “No sale.”

“Uh.” Wilbur falters a little, glancing towards the door where both Fundy and Techno have turned their heads to him. “I thought this was a shop-?”

“I don’t sell. Not to you.” The man insists, venom dripping from his tone. “No pirates.” 

“Ah.” Wilbur’s mood takes a nosedive at that comment, the joy of finding a journal from before now gone. He shares the sentiment, honestly. The guy no doubt has a good reason to not like pirates, considering their reputation, but Wilbur’s been having a long week, alright, and he’s really running out of paper back on the ship. “I understand, but I’m- I’m not with them, I’m not a pirate-”

“No pirates.” The seller repeats, nearly hissing it out from his teeth. Wilbur goes to push the journal back, and it gets shoved away again. Wil opens his mouth to try and bargain, but the man won’t listen, and with his anger, he leans forward and spits at Wilbur, Wil jolting back. 

“Wha- Are you serious?” Wil wipes at the front of his shirt, disgust crossing his face.

“Go! Out! And no book!” 

“But-”

“Out!” The man yells, lifting his chin and turning away, finger pointed right to the door, where two pirates are staring with a quiet fury, hands inching towards their weapons.

Wilbur’s not getting through to the guy. The reasonable thing now is to just put the journal back where he found it and go, no fuss, no harm. 

But. 

There’s spit sitting on Wil’s shirt, the sheer hatred of the insult sitting like a rock in his stomach, and the journal in his arms is perfect. It’s what he needs, it’s what he wants , and after the long, harrowing experience he’s had on that damned ship for the sake of meeting his father, he needs a little something to keep his sanity. It’s necessary, it’s deserved, even, for all the shit he’s been putting up with. 

Wilbur turns his back to the man, but he doesn’t walk towards the door. He doesn’t make eye contact with Techno or Fundy, even if they’re both looking at him. He goes right up to the shelf where he got the journal, and he pulls out another one. And another. 

He takes four journals from the shelf, piling them up in his arms, running a quick finger over the leather to just make sure they’re all well made, and then he goes across the shop, looking at a set of pens by the window.

“Oy.” The seller calls, and Wilbur picks through the items without a hint of acknowledgement, a fiery spite starting to run through him. “Put that down! I said-”

“Technoblade.” Wilbur says, and in just a few short, quick strides, there’s a knife slamming into the wood of the counter, digging in like a threat. The seller’s mouth clicks shut, and Wilbur has to bite at the inside of his lips to keep a smile off his face. It’s not good to threaten people, it’s not good to threaten people. 

But it is a little satisfying. Just a little, if it means he can actually do what he wants without a yelling argument in his ears. It’s no harm done, it’s not like Techno’s going to actually murder the man. 

Once Wil’s gathered up everything he’s wanted, he steps over to Fundy by the door, lifting his arms up with a nod. “How much do you think these are?” He asks, not bothering to question the seller, because the man looks pale and won’t move his eyes away from Technoblade at all, as if the pirate is a wolf waiting for a little sign of weakness to go for the throat. 

Fundy makes a disappointed noise. “Man, you got me all excited, I thought we were going to rob the place.” 

Wilbur scoffs. “No. I’m not a pirate.” 

“I dunno, I see potential.” Fundy looks him up and down, seeming considerate. 

Wilbur only rolls his eyes. “Techno, can you pay him?” He asks, going for the door, Fundy opening it for him and following at his heels. Technoblade waits for the door to shut before yanking out the knife, then he takes whatever gold is in his pockets and throws it onto the counter, letting them scatter. 

“P-Pleasure doing business.” The man says, scooping up the coins without complaint. Technoblade doesn’t say a word, only watching with a knife in hand until every last coin has been gathered up. The man shakes, wondering if he should give the coins back, wondering if he’s going to die, and then Techno just leaves. 

The bell rings behind him as he goes out into the street, both Fundy and Wilbur chatting about if they should stop by a bakery to get a loaf of bread. 

They return to the others with Fundy holding a bag of bread, Techno having a couple of journals in his arms, and Wilbur chewing at a muffin. There’s people working on the ship, a plank set up so that they can actually walk on, and as Wilbur looks up to the helm, seeing Niki and Quackity give a wave, not doing much else other than watching over the people repairing their boat, an idea comes across Wil’s mind. 

Later, when the repairs are done and they’re sailing away with the town growing farther and farther behind them, Wilbur steps out onto deck, looking up at Quackity at the helm, the man no longer busy and simply just watching the sea with the occasional comments shared with Niki. 

“Quackity.” He calls, beckoning the man down, a journal held in his arms. “Could I talk with you?” 

They go to sit in the captain’s quarters, the door closed, a chair brought in so that both Quackity and Wilbur can sit across from each other. Wilbur leans onto the desk with his new journal opened in front of him, a pen in hand to write down anything that he might acquire during this conversation. 

“Nice book.” Quackity compliments, glad to see that Wilbur got one good thing out of today’s trip. 

“Thanks. I got spat on for it.” Wilbur deadpans.

Quackity chokes. “You what.”

“The seller didn’t like pirates. He spat on me.” 

“Is he still alive?!"

Wilbur gives him an incredulous look. “No one’s gonna kill a guy for spitting on me.” 

“I don’t know, I’ve seen people turn to violence for less.” Quackity laughs a little, and Wilbur brushes it off. Pirates. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I want to ask you questions.” Wilbur says. He makes direct eye contact with Quackity, communicating the sort of questions he means. Quackity immediately looks a little nervous. 

“You sure you won’t want to ask them while Techno is in the room? I mean, if it’s about him, he’s probably better suited at answering these sorts of-”

“Not just about Techno.” Wilbur shakes his head. Quackity freezes up a little. Wilbur pauses for a moment, and then takes a breath. “...It’s not just Techno, is it?”

Quackity furrows his brows. His smile goes a little crooked. “What do you…?”

“It’s not just Technoblade.” Wilbur repeats. “He’s not the only one who’s…like that. Is he?”

Quackity stares for a long minute, then he leans back with a sour look, his seat creaking underneath him. Wilbur’s heart falls a little from that expression alone, knowing that it’s not going to result in something he likes. 

“Look.” Quackity starts off, and Wilbur digs his fingers into the leather of his journal, trying to stab his nails through. “I’m going to be honest.”

“I don’t like where this is going.” 

“Entirely honest.” Quackity raises his hands up, as if in surrender. “This isn’t my area.”

Wilbur can’t help the frown on his face. Quackity clicks his tongue at seeing it. “Really?”

“This isn’t my thing! I’m an info person, I know people, I know humans.” Quackity defends himself, Wil’s heartbeat jumping a bit at the implication of whatever that means. “The crew- that’s outside of my range. They’re not exactly open about what they are sometimes, and I don’t ask, because that seems kinda rude, and I know to not poke my nose in things that are far, far beyond me.” 

Wilbur puts his journal down, the pen clicking insistently against his thumb. “You’re not like them?” At Quackity’s shake of his head, he narrows his eyes. “You don’t know anything about them?”

“I know some. I know the pirate parts, like- you want their criminal records? The times they broke out of jail? Their nicknames and the infamous stories about them and where they like to drink? I have that. I have all that. But the immortality, and the- the other stuff, that’s not something I’m well-researched about. It’s a bit hush-hush with them, honestly. Kinda private.”

“So I…” Wilbur slowly takes that in, a curiosity gnawing away at him. “I won’t be able to get it from them.” He says slowly, disappointment sinking through. 

“Hm.” Quackity scrunches his nose a bit in thought. “No. You’re a different story. You’re crew.” 

Wilbur tilts his head. “You are, too?”

“Well, yeah. I’m on their boat. I work with them. But I’m not crew." He leans closer. "I’m not- they’ve offered me a spot, gods know your father is persistent about me coming on-- but I’m not a part of them. I’m hired, I’m more like-” He makes a considering noise. “An ally. Family friend.” He leans over the desk, tapping a finger onto the wood. “You, though? You’re family.” 

Family.

The word rings through Wil’s thoughts for a second, and he blinks down at the open journal in front of him.

“So…” Wilbur trails off, fiddling with his pen for a second before just putting it down. “You think they would be honest with me? If I just asked?” 

Quackity shrugs. “Yeah, probably. I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t. They could be hesitant about it, because they don’t want to overwhelm you, but if you pestered them, they’d probably tell you anything you’d ever want to know.”

Wilbur is a little off-centered with this sudden power placed in his hands. The idea of getting all the answers so easily sounds too good to be true, but from everything he’s ever seen, he doesn’t actually feel like any of the crew would ever say…no. 

He taps his pen against his chin, biting at the inside of his cheek before looking up at Quackity with a revived fire in his eyes, the curiosity still eating him whole. 

“Could you do me a favor, then, Quackity?” He asks, with an ever so slight grin pulling at his lips. Quackity thinks there’s a flash of blue in his eyes there, but that could just be memories of the kid’s father coming up in his mind. “Go tell Niki I want to talk with her.”

Quackity nods, and barely resists the urge to say of course, captain. That would be funny, but he doesn’t want to have Wilbur throwing his pen at him.

Chapter Text

Wilbur’s door creaks open with the familiar sound of boots stepping across the creaking floorboards. 

He doesn’t look up from his opened journal, partly out of a small, petty little spite, partly because the act of making himself look at her to begin this conversion makes his chest go unbearably tight. He sits in a short silence until Niki’s knuckles tap against the edge of the door to announce herself, and her voice towards him makes him feel oddly in charge. As if he’s got the cards in his hands, when really, he’s quite sure he’s steering the ship blind. 

“You wanted to talk to me?” She asks, polite and to the point, too much like a subordinate coming to speak to their captain. Wilbur makes a slight face, dropping his pen and letting it roll a little against the desk. He leans back in his chair with a jerky nod, hands coming together in his lap. 

“Yeah.” He responds, clearing his throat before meeting her eyes. He makes an attempt at a smile, and she smiles automatically in return. “Hi.” He greets awkwardly, upon impulse. The fond look Niki gives him eases something in his heart. It becomes simpler to hold her gaze. 

“Hey.” She closes the door behind her, coming up to the desk, sitting on the chair before it. “What did you want to talk about?” Her tone has warmed into casual noise, but Wilbur’s nerves still shake through him regardless, anticipation pressing down into his spine. He stares down at his journal, at the words scrawled out upon the top of one blank page.

Angel of Death - Phil Watson

The lines of the paper are staring up at him, waiting for information to be drawn in. Wilbur intends to do so, wants to try his hand knowing his father like this, but it feels dishonest to do it with scattered reports and biased rumors from scared men. He wants something a little more authentic. Something outside of the exaggerated stories.  

He wants pure truth. Who else better to ask than one of the very pirates who have sworn themselves to the Golden Traitor?

“Could I ask you a few questions?” Wilbur asks, fingers tapping rhythmically over the top of his knee, underneath the table. “Like an interview of sorts? Quackity didn’t really have answers to what I wanted to know…” He trails off, looking back up at Niki. 

Niki’s face flickers into something confused, but there’s no outright refusal. “Of course. I don’t mind. I’ll- tell you whatever I can.” She shrugs her shoulders up. “What did you want to know? What were you two talking about?”

“It’s…” He considers for a second, before lightly shaking his head. “Before that, Niki-” He hesitates. Will you be honest with me?” 

Niki’s confusion falters into a frown. 

“Yes.” She says, like lying to him is something unthinkable, even if she did it for weeks back when they first met. He supposes that was different, then, though. That was for the sake of a mission. She’s taken the mask off now. He just can’t be sure if he’ll know when she’ll put it back on.If he asked her, would she confess it?

“You won’t lie to me?” Wil insists. “You’ll tell me anything?” His voice does not waver, but his heart jumps against his ribcage, eager and nearly desperate to be free of such gnawing mystery. This is more than just tales about faraway pirates breaking the law. This is the crew who watch over him, the crew who serve his father, all connected down into himself. 

“No lies.” Niki promises. There isn’t a hint of hesitation in her eyes. They almost gleam against the light.

Wilbur takes a steadying breath, then picks up his pen, the point hovering over the paper as he settles into treating this like nothing more than an curious interview. A chance to pull out an interesting story, like his old habits. 

“What do you know about my father?”

“Phil?” Niki blinks, seeming caught off guard. Wilbur nods, and he restlessly underlines Phil Watson beside the title of his journal, ignoring the lump in his throat that comes with seeing a last name that is supposedly meant to be his.

“Yes.” He nods. “I mean- I want to know, he sent you all to go searching for me. Why didn’t he come along? Why did he send you? Why-” He falters slightly, stopping himself. “Why?”

Niki straightens up, pausing for a moment in thought. She takes in Wilbur as if she’s trying to figure out his motives, pick his mind apart. Wilbur raises his eyebrows, and she moves on. 

“He didn’t want to risk your safety. He’s… a recognizable sort of man, and the same people who took you swore that if he ever showed his face again, they’d dole out punishment on you before he could stop it. So he sent us in his place, for we could move easier. We weren’t exactly associated as his crew in the first months of searching. There were rumors and sightings of us being beside him, but- how could the Navy ever be sure of our flimsy alliances?” 

Wilbur supposes that’s fair. The Angel is an infamous criminal, seen all around, known across the sea like a legend carved in stone. 

His stomach turns at thinking of the fact there had always been danger over his head, even as a kid. If his father ever decided to try coming for him…

Should he feel betrayed by the place he grew up in? The very people he grew accustomed to living with, the town he called home -- he wonders. Would the villagers have harmed him the second the order came? Circled and trapped him in, like a stray dog they never meant to keep? Maybe they had always been waiting, hoping for it. Maybe they all didn’t even know. He can never be sure, but he imagines there’s a pretty price to be had at keeping an eye over such an unusual hostage. 

“So he’s stayed in hiding?” Wilbur swallows down the fear trying to crawl past his lungs. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not like he’s going back to that place. He’s hundreds of miles away at sea now. He’s as free as he can be. No one will hurt him here. And if they try- he’s well armed. He can fight back.

Niki looks down at Wil’s quick writing, the words pushed together in something messy as he takes in her answer. “Off land. He hasn’t really set foot in any town since.”

“And where is he now?” Wilbur questions. “You once mentioned a ship.”

Niki hums in agreement. “He and the rest of our crew are there now. It was sitting anchored for a while, but it’s since gone on the move again, ever since we sent word that we’ve got you. We hope to meet it halfway.”

“Halfway.” Wilbur repeats, surprise settling over him. He lifts his head. “How long until-?” 

“Optimistically, a few more weeks.” Niki answers, eyes soft against his shock. “But we do have Navy beginning to spread out to find us, and people are beginning to become aware of you, so. Who knows what trouble we’ll run into.” 

Wilbur can’t decide if he’s hoping for trouble or hoping against it. On one hand, he wants to delay meeting his father for as long as possible, on the other, the last time he got caught up in trouble, he shot a man. It seems like a lose-lose option, there. 

“What sort of person is the captain?” Wilbur moves on, stepping ever closer to the question he truly means to say. He fiddles with the end of his pen, ink smearing on his finger. “I imagine he’s the intimidating sort.”

“Well.” Niki says. Her lips purse together like she’s trying to keep back a smile. “He can be. Probably.”

“...probably?”

“He’s never intimidating towards us .” Niki explains, holding hands to her chest. “It’s been quite a while since he’s come face-to-face with any enemies I’d imagine, so, with that, there hasn’t been a reason for him to act coldly.” She lifts a finger to her chin in thought. “If anything, I’d say he’s rather friendly in personality. Or distracted, maybe? Oh, he used to wander on the ship a lot. It was a bad habit.” 

“He’d- wander? To where ?” Wilbur asks, his mental view of his father being shaken and torn. How can such a feared person be described so plainly? He expected to hear about his terrible cruelty, or his unwavering determination, or, something. Something to build him up to the legends. Niki speaks as if he’s just a man, some odd friend to know. 

“Anywhere. He used to head up to the crow’s nest fairly often. We’ve had to fish him out from the sea a couple times, for he would tend to let himself float. At some point, Techno ended up tying him to the mast to get a hold on his pacing, but that hardly lasted. The captain has plenty of knives. He cut himself free when he realized he wasn’t moving. It was funny for the minute, though.” 

Wilbur blinks. “Techno tied him to the mast?” 

“With a rope around the middle!” Niki laughs, reminiscing on the memory with a grin. She sighs, eyes falling down. “But he was just unfocused then, I guess. He’d always seemed a bit lost, sometimes, ever since I first joined the crew. Like there was too much noise in his head to hear anything around him.” She looks back up. “Once we properly began making plans to find you, he came back to himself. Became the captain everyone knows. I feel like he came alive.” She speaks the last sentence in wonder, in clear pride. 

Wilbur doesn’t know what to make of that. 

He wants to tell himself that it was his absence that was the reason behind it, that his father missed him so dearly in every year he was gone, that it made him go astray, but he can’t admit such a thing, not even within his own private thoughts. To be so loved by a stranger who was meant to be his father-- to be loved by a pirate who is a part of the sea as much as the sea is a part of him-- he can’t look it in the face. Isn’t he supposed to be angry? Scared or upset at having his dad send criminals across the ocean to take him from his home? He only feels whispers of grief, digging into the crevices of his ribs. He was missed. He was. 

The captain’s very title stares up at Wil like a trying reminder. Angel of Death. The Golden Traitor, an angel of death . A terrible, horrible man, who’s pillaged and killed and hurt-- a pirate.  

Or something beyond that completely. 

Wilbur’s throat turns tight as he closes his journal entirely, abandoning any attempt to write something new. It’s all unneeded, isn’t it? This is more than curious rumors. His fingers press hard at the leather of the cover, and he stares at the ink smeared around the edges of his nails. 

“Wilbur?” Niki notices the shift of the mood near instantly, her face turning worried. 

“The captain-” Wilbur starts, and he clears his throat, starting again. “My father. Is he anything like Technoblade?” 

Niki’s worry melts off into a blank sort of look. “...What do you mean?”

“As in-” Wilbur hesitates on saying it, the words taking a second to be said. “The healing? The time when Techno was hurt- When I asked, he said it was because of a life at sea, that he was given some- some sort of blessing-” Wilbur stumbles through his sentence for a second, Niki patiently listening. “Men don’t die and come back like that. It’s not human.”

Niki’s eyes stay focused on Wil, not an ounce of emotion given over in the light of them. Wilbur can’t tell what she’s thinking. It’s almost unnerving. There was once a time Wil liked to think he could read Niki like a book, but now he’s wondering if that’s only because she let him do so. 

“Is he?” Wilbur asks. “Is my father human?”

Am I human? He means to say. A father passes down his blood to his children, that much is true, so if Phil is something else than mortal, then Wilbur-

“Do you remember the stories I’ve told you?” Niki asks out of the blue. Wilbur blinks, taken aback. “The ones about the pirates, about the sea?” 

“What?” Wilbur scrunches his nose with a slight frown. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“It’s just that I’ve already told you everything you hope to know. That you’re planning to ask for.” Niki explains, and Wilbur only grows more confused. “Wil. Do you remember them?”

Wil sighs quietly, pressing his face into his hands, elbows leaned onto the wood. “Yes. I remember.” 

“And do you know what the stories were?” Niki asks, leaning forward. 

Wilbur exhales harder into his palms, slumping even further against his desk with a frustration spilling out over him. “Children’s tales.” He mutters. He picks his head back up and sits straight again, hands falling back down onto the wood with a soft thump. “I mean- I know, I know what you mean.” He offers a hand out at Niki. “They’re your stories, aren’t they? Inspired by your adventures, inspired by my dad’s adventures. With- added elements to get the children to listen, of course.” 

Wilbur thinks back on their days at the daycare, the kids sitting at their feet, eyes wide with wonder, each one of Niki’s words drawing them in. It feels like it was centuries ago, now. 

“Yes.” Niki confirms. “They’re our stories.” 

“Okay. What does that matter?” He asks tiredly. “I don’t want an exaggerated retelling, Niki, I told you to be honest to me, you said you would. My father-” 

“The honest truth is that they’re our stories.” Niki responds, standing up from her chair and leaning in, the legs of the stool screeching on the floorboards. Wilbur’s shoulders hit the back of his chair as Niki’s voice goes into a hush. “If I tell you now, swearing on my grave, on my life itself, that the children’s tales I tell you are often more true rather than not-- will you believe me?”

Wilbur feels an urge to scoff, to let the joke being played right now be known and acknowledged, but the look in Niki’s eyes is too intense to try brushing it off. He’s suddenly frozen to his seat, heart pressed into his throat. “Niki.” 

“Will you?”

Maybe he already does. A part of him is already aware, seeing it with open eyes, and that is why he called Niki in to talk at all. To confirm it. Curiosity pushed him to know more, to hear more, and fear is pulling him to retreat and deny it vehemently again, because this- he can’t be so intertwined into something like this. 

He shakes his head. It can’t all be true. “You- They’re stories you made up. It’s not real. It can’t all be real.” It’s rumors and tales, but Wilbur’s seen firsthand the rumors come true. 

How many times has it been said that the Blood God can never lose a fight? That not a single sword in the world can bring him down, that he’s an undying warrior? Wilbur never quite believed it, only assuming the claims to come from the pirate’s fighting ability, but he saw what happened when Techno did lose. 

He saw a man come back from the dead. 

What if that’s just the tip of the iceberg here?

“I’m not trying to trick you, Wil. I’m not trying to play some game or hide a message in words. Everything I’ve told you has been true in some way. Even if it sounds impossible -” 

“I believe you.” Wilbur cuts her off, closing his eyes as if a headache has overcome him. He rubs at his temple, shifting his hair out from his face. “But you told me the pirate fell in love with the sea.” He feels a little foolish, childish, saying the sentence like that. “My father, yes? He fell in love with the sea? Am I correct in that interpretation?”

Niki’s posture falls at the way Wilbur’s gone quiet. “You’re right.” She speaks softly. 

“Who’s the sea, then?” Wilbur looks up at her as if he’s found the mistake, called her out on her hiccup. “My mother? You talked about her like she’s a concept. You described her as the ocean itself. Like a goddess come alive, a force of nature, but such things aren’t true. You were making it up.”

Niki’s brows furrow together, and before she can say anything in response, Wilbur pulls together a conclusion, heart falling. 

“She’s gone, isn’t she? Dead.” 

Niki steps away, shock rippling over her face as she stands up straight. “What? No. No, Wil-” She looks at a loss for words for a second, head shaking. “She’s not gone.” 

“No?” Wilbur isn’t wholly convinced. “Then where has she been all this time?” He hates the anger that’s snuck into his voice, but he can’t help it. His mother might be dead, might’ve run off, and his closest friend would rather repeat pirate stories than admit that to him. “Stop telling me stories, tell me what happened to her.”

“I’ve told you what she is.”

“And that’s not true!” Wilbur yells, joining Niki in standing to his feet, hands slamming to the desk. “That isn’t true, she isn’t some- goddess of the sea, because- what does that make me?!”

Niki looks at him in silence. Wil waits for her to admit it, to explain the actual events, to explain away the impossible, but she doesn’t. She only looks at him. 

“Wilbur.” She says, oddly calm, deathly still. “The ocean is far more than just moving waters and storms. You know that, don’t you?”

Wilbur looks at her with the life of those water and storms hiding in the color of his eyes. He makes a shaky smile with a hint of fear around the edges. “You want me to begin trusting in the gods, Niki?” He goes for a dry tone, but there’s something nervous within it. “I’m not really one for religion.”

“This is not religion.” Niki smiles, and Wil tilts his head with a matching, mocking smile. “And I’m not lying to you. Our captain fell in love with the sea. And for his devotion and his love, the sea gave him a child.”

Wilbur’s face falls a little, skeptical still, but a hint of panic flaring in his chest. “Niki.”

“He loved his son more than anything, swore he’d do everything in his power to raise him well. But when the captain’s first crew found out about the origins of said child, they assumed the worst out of fear. They thought Phil would make a monster, someone who would rule the whole sea and refuse to let them conquer it, so they-” She tilts his head, turns her eyes away. “They stole him.” 

“Stop.” Wilbur stands up straight, trying to make his words stern, ignoring the shakiness of his voice. “Stop it.” He insists, trying to force anger at being so blatantly lied to, but it’s not a lie. He knows it’s a lie. He knows. 

But it can’t be true. 

“They took the sea’s very creation.” Niki tells him, Wilbur hearing the waves roaring under him, crying out a past anger. “Phil’s only son. And all suffered for it. You were traded over, hid away, the bastards responsible thinking you’d be kept at bay if you were forever kept on land-”

“Stop!” Wilbur slaps his hands to his ears, feeling like a child who can’t bear it all. He steps away from Niki, words turned sharp. The floor underneath them rocks with the sea heaving the ship up. “Just stop it! I don’t want your stories, I don’t want you to-” He breathes hard, feeling it hitch in his throat as he bends at the hip, his swarming thoughts weighing too heavy. “This is real life, and I’m telling you to tell me the truth! Tell me the fucking truth, Niki!”

On the windows of the cabin, there’s rain falling, pit-pattering on the glass. It reminds him of when he woke up in harsh dreams, the sea echoing his distress. It reminds him of when he saw Phil’s letter, when he was eaten up in anger, and a storm came beside it. 

When did that start?

“I’m not lying to you, Wil.” Niki’s hands touch carefully at his side, trying to keep him steady. “I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“No. No. ” Wil denies it, stubborn, foolish, and he takes another sharp breath in, crouching down so low that he’s put to his knees on the floor. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, fingers digging into his own hair, and Niki pulls on his arm to try and ease him. He can’t help but think of every instance of the sea before, every time he’s touched its waters, turning it over in his mind. 

The first time he fell into the water, someone called to him. 

He knows what he heard. 

The rain continues pouring on. Wil lets his hands fall slightly, feeling them tremble against his chin as he looks down at the floor. 

“You’re telling me the gods are real.” He chokes out after a long minute, Niki sitting on the floor beside him.

“The sea is.” Niki answers, with a certainty that makes Wilbur flinch. “I can’t say for any others, we’ve never cared much for them. Maybe Phil would know. Maybe she’s told him about them.” 

“She?” Wil repeats, in nothing more than a whisper. 

“...Your mother.” 

Wilbur closes his mouth with a hand held to his face, and the rain outside comes to a sudden halt. The ship under them still sways, rocking so far to one side that Wilbur simply lets himself lean with it, resting so low, he’s nearly collapsed into the ground, his other arm holding him up.

“Wil?” Niki asks carefully. She crawls a bit closer, a palm to the back of his shoulder. He tenses with a gritting of his teeth. 

“Am I even truly Phil’s son?” He asks, suddenly placing a cold focus on Niki, his eyes wide and blue as he turns his head up. “I’m not his, am I?” 

“You are in name and soul.” Niki bargains, feeling too small in his gaze. She refuses to take her hand away from him, as much as her heart pounds in her ears. “By blood- that’s a different matter. You are of the sea entirely, from what I’ve known.” 

The ship lurches to the side, a wave crashing up against it outside. They both move a hand out to the ground to stay steady in where they sit. 

“That doesn’t change anything. You’re still you. You’re still loved all the same.” Niki promises, shaking as he turns his attention away. 

“But I’m not even his actual son .” Wilbur mutters, words twisting in his throat. “I’m not even human.” A crack of lightning cries from the skies above, and the rain descends on the windows once again, far harsher than before as Wilbur breathes out the words- “Oh, gods, I’m not even-”

“Wilbur.” Niki takes him by the face, pulling his attention back on her, and his eyes are glassy and obvious with fear. He looks so young in this instance, too young. He truly is, in all honesty. He is a god who’s barely learned how to breathe. 

“Niki.” Wil replies in turn, gripping at her hands with a frantic sort of desperation. He is cold to the touch. Too cold. Niki’s never felt cold in ocean winds, but this is a chill she’s never felt. The whispers of what was once human beg to turn and run away. She as herself now stays at the side of the ocean’s heart, born again. “Niki, I can’t do this.” He tells her, like she could change it at all. “Please tell me this is a cruel joke.” 

“Why?” Niki shakes her head. “What reason is there to be scared? No one will hurt you, I’m sure of that. No one will single you out. Not here. You have not changed. You are as you have always been.” 

“I thought I had been human .” 

“But you’re not. I’m not. Not anymore.” Niki confesses freely, and the glow of her eyes should offput Wil, should frighten him with all the ghost tales he’s heard. He only sees her, though. The same face that laughed with him, drank with him, sang with him. The first honest friend he made, not kept away by plotting hands, not scared off by the song of the sea in his veins. 

She is too familiar, in both his heart and in his mind, in the hundreds of times he’s dreamed of pirates at sea, quietly wishing that maybe one day, he’d become the same. She’s Niki and she’s the Pink Delilah and she’s his friend, a shadow he craves to keep. 

“There is nothing to be afraid of.” She promises, and maybe it’s true. Wilbur wants to find the danger in it, the fear of being akin to a monster, but the way Niki looks at him-- it’s as if he’s still the same person who bumped into her on the street on the day they first met, swearing and fumbling and soaked in mud. He cannot find a threat amongst it. 

He reaches his arms out despite the terror wanting to sink down into his skin. His hands shake with the storm singing outside, and Niki holds him the same as she’s always done. With a quiet love, and an earnest kindness that Wil never thinks he’ll get used to having. 

Surely he can, though, one day. 

He doesn’t think Niki will ever leave him before he can manage it. 

The horizon is thick with fog when Wilbur walks out the next morning. He isn’t expecting it, the sheer thickness of it trapping them in, shrinking their sights of the sea, and Tubbo laughs at his frown when he makes note of it aloud, stepping close to them.

“Yeah, it’s been like that since sunrise. It kinda- floated in.” Tubbo says, waving a hand and giving a knowing look that isn’t as hidden as it could be. Wilbur ignores it as much as he’s ignored most of his worries upon waking up this morning. He looks at the food they’ve laid out for breakfast, picking out a biscuit before thinking otherwise and tossing it back onto the plate. 

“How are you feeling, Wil?” Quackity asks, trying to be subtle, failing terribly at it. The storm from last night was harsh, they all felt it crashing on their ship. Wil is the last one to find out he’s the cause of their weather. 

“Bad.” Wilbur responds simply, arms curling over his middle as he stares over the railing, taking in the gray horizon. 

“Just bad?”

Wilbur shrugs. “Paranoid is a better word, maybe.” 

“Paranoid?” Fundy repeats, lifting his head from where he’s sitting next to Tubbo, hands picking for the last bits of meat on a bone. “Of what, exactly?”

“Hm.” Wilbur doesn’t answer. Fundy gives Tubbo a worried look, which is swiftly ignored in favor of the kid stealing another biscuit. Wilbur leaves them to their breakfast and their own conversations, making his way over to the helm. Niki stands by the wheel with one hand held on the spokes, and he gives her a greeting on coming up the stairs, joining her in looking out into the fog, acting as if the waves are visible to them. 

“How did you sleep?” Niki asks him, not quite turning her head towards him.

“Fine.” Wilbur answers. Niki makes an unbelieving hum, but doesn’t press. He’s glad for it. Too much plagues his head, and he doesn’t want to repeat the restless worries of last night. He’s sure he spent hours thinking over his newly perceived existence, his importance rewritten in a new definition. Being the son of a pirate is dangerous enough, his father has enemies far and wide, but being a child of the sea? A being born with the power of the gods? Any ambitious soul out there will want him for their devices, now. They will want him for the chance to rule the ocean, because they think him capable of that. 

Is he capable of that?

Wilbur closes his eyes and breathes deep, the fog looming closer, the air fresh on his face. Niki hums a slow, almost eerie song under her breath. He feels like he’s in a story, the sort of tale he’d give to the kids at the daycare within his old town. He feels like the worst is about to begin, like he’s about to pull the children’s attention in with a shocking twist. 

He feels like something is close. 

Someone is close. 

The fog hides them from anyone, but it also hides enemies from their sight. Wilbur looks out into nothing, sees nothing, but feels as if they’re going to hit a wall. He reaches a hand up and grabs Niki by the arm, her song stopping abruptly, her head turning to him as he stays looking ahead. 

“Wil?” She asks. Wilbur opens his mouth as if to warn her, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

“Niki!” Technoblade yells, running up from the front of the deck, everyone looking his way. “Turn the ship away! Turn !” There’s a sort of panicked stress about his voice, one that makes Wilbur’s senses go on edge, and he follows the direction of where Techno is running away from, spotting the outline of another ship breaking through the other side of the fog. 

“Oh, shit!” Tubbo swears, everyone getting to their feet, Techno climbing up the stairs, instantly going to join Niki. Wilbur moves away to stand by the railing, gripping the wood tight. The ship ahead doesn’t look terribly close yet, but it’s coming right at them, and their own boat is sailing straight towards them in return.

“Get us turned around, we need to go .” Techno orders, and Niki’s already doing so, twisting the ship so sharply that it leans a bit in the suddenness of it. Wilbur clings to the railing, wind whistling in his ears. “It’s not Navy. I’d recognize the build. It could just be sailors, but either way, we shouldn’t meet them.”

“I don’t think we’re going to have a choice in the matter.” Niki says, the ship turning too slow for her taste, the stranger ship coming too quickly. Wilbur can barely make out the flags flying high on their mast, but he supposes any flag other than their own is an unwelcome one. It's an odd image, red painted over white on the cloth. 

He hears yelling calls as their ship is seen, recognized for the Angel’s flag waving high. It’s echoing noise, lost words, but it’s eager. The tone of it, the cry-- it’s an excited warning of danger. Here are people looking for a fight. Looking for him. 

“Tubbo, Fundy!” Technoblade yells, the two pirates scrambling into their places on the ship, Fundy moving so quickly, he’s more flying on his feet than running. 

“We can outrun them, can’t we?” Wilbur questions, and Niki narrows her eyes. They gleam, despite the dim atmosphere of the sky, the sun not quite touching them. 

“We might.” She watches as the ocean shifts around them, the ship now at their back, no doubt trying for a chase now. “But I don’t like the chances of maybe.” 

Technoblade comes up to Wil and takes him by the arm, steering him to the stairs. “Get inside.” He warns, and the wind picks up with Wilbur’s racing heart at the serious tone of his voice. 

“Wait- what’s going to happen?” He asks, and he looks back at the ship behind them, now gaining speed and proximity. They’re coming in for a catch, and Niki doesn’t seem all that concerned about getting away, now. She looks at them with patience, hand resting on her sword. “Are we fighting them?”

“Get him inside.” Techno tells Quackity, who's waiting down at the bottom of the stairs with a sour expression. 

“Okay, let’s go, captain’s boy.” Quackity nods, tugging Wil down the rest of the steps by his sleeve and making a beeline to the cabin. Wilbur lets himself be pushed, knowing the routine. 

“Don’t tell me we’re going to be fighting them.” Wilbur says as they head inside, Tubbo sprinting across the deck behind them, shrieking about the misplacement of one of his bombs. 

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” Quackity agrees. 

“Quackity!” Wilbur hisses back, mood soured. 

Quackity closes the door behind them and turns the lock before turning back to look Wil in the eyes, hands slapping over his shoulders. “Hey. Either we try running and get possibly shot in escaping, or we hit them head on and come away with only some scratches. Better to sink them first before they sink us.” He pats a hand on his arm reassuringly. “We’ll be alright. As long as we stay in here, it should be okay. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Wilbur doesn’t seem so convinced. He stares past Quackity with an ear out to the crew, and Quackity steps right into his vision to distract him. 

“Wilbur. They’ve taken on ships before. This is no different.”

“It is different. I’m actually on board now.” Wilbur insists, fingers curling over his heart. “They have something to lose.” 

Quackity takes that in with a newly considering look, words forming in his throat, but then they’re heading Tubbo’s screaming cry of warning outside, and the sound of a cannon goes off. They move away from the door, Wilbur holding his arms up in caution, Quackity staying in front of him. 

“You’ve got your gun?” He asks Wil, and Wilbur runs to retrieve it. 

Niki turns the ship then as needed to give Tubbo a better shot, her eyes noting now the amount of their company, scrambling persons all over the enemy ship. They outnumber them by a decent margain, but for every one of the crew on this boat, it counts for ten of theirs. Niki does not worry for numbers. What she worries about is the proximity. 

The enemy steers close without any caution, despite Tubbo landing damage hard into their hull. Water flows in, wood breaks apart, and the crew seems to pay it no mind. They set their sights on the ship before them. What need is their old sinking boat when they can take this one right here? These are pirates, indeed, who have taken vessels before. Niki will see them all sink into water graves. 

Fundy calls out warning as their two ships steer too close, Niki trying to turn them away, the enemy nearly ramming into them. While they don’t crash together, they are starting to climb on, Tubbo stepping away from a cannon as someone jumps down in front of him. They sneer at his size, thinking of him only as a child, his face too young. As they hold out a weapon in a threat, Tubbo smiles back with bared teeth, happily witnessing as Techno lunges in and drives a sword into their side. The body hits the ground with a pooling of blood, and Tubbo pulls a knife from his hip, suddenly all too giddy. 

“Don’t set our deck on fire.” Technoblade tells him, swinging out his sword and forcing someone to dodge away and misstep on the railing, their scream echoing as they plummet down into the water. 

“I wasn’t even thinking about it.” Tubbo mutters, running off to fire a cannon point blank. 

“Sure you weren’t.” Techno says to unlistening ears, jumping fast at the next three fools trying to set foot on their ship. 

Wilbur and Quackity have no eyes to the commotion outside their door, but it’s heard well enough as the majority of the pirates begin to get onboard. Plenty of them are killed in their first steps, more pushed to the sea before they even step off the railings, but a good amount still slip past, rushing forward for any prize at all. 

They slam at the door of the cabin, Wilbur jolting back against the wall. Quackity holds an arm out with a held breath, waiting for someone to stop them, to force them away. 

“Quackity-” Wil blurts out when a foot slams into the wood, cracking the lock too suddenly. Quackity holds tight onto his gun with one hand and pushes Wilbur to the side with the other. 

“Get in the other room, quickly-” He warns, Wilbur stumbling in the noise of a yelling taunt. 

“I hear you hiding in there!” The door is harshly kicked again, wood creaking and breaking, the tinted window forming a crack. 

“Quackity!” Wilbur calls, holding a hand out so that they can both take refuge behind his door, but the lock is being torn apart, the hinges bent in a moment of adrenaline, and Quackity is firing a shot at the intruder, not even allowing them a single step in. They fall with their hand clutching a bleeding throat, and someone shoves past them, roaring out in anger with their sword swinging wildly out. Quackity is too far out of reach, taking cover behind the desk. He shoots them in the shoulder, then into the torso. Wil looks away, and hears the body fall with a loud thump. 

He keeps to the ground and puts himself behind the wall, not closing his door, but not staying in sight, either. For a minute, there is no other noise of fight other than the brawling outside, Quackity breathing hard and keeping his eyes out on their wide open door. 

Then there’s another sound of approaching footsteps, the bangs of gunshots ringing out. Wilbur holds hovering hands to his ears, the clouds outside bringing a steady downpour as the noise of struggle comes through behind him. There’s a clattering of the chair, Quackity yelling out with a resolute click of no more bullets, and-

Quackity is not crew. 

Wilbur remembers it in horror, realizes the fact now. He’s- ‘hired help,’ as he described it. He is human. Entirely, wholly human. He does not have the advantage of the gods on his side. He is not like this crew who stands relentless under the banner of their captain. 

He can be hurt. 

Wilbur pushes himself to look around the corner with growing fear, and sees Quackity laid out on the ground, blood splattered to the floor, the gun thrown to the side. There’s a person standing over him, lifting their sword with intention, ready to stab it down and through his back, and Wilbur screams out in desperate panic. 

“Stop!” He cries, and the stranger’s eyes look at him, suddenly going wide. Wilbur stands to his feet, hands held up, palms out. “We surrender, stop!” 

The sword is still held mid-air. Quackity lays with his cheek to the ground, eyelids opening and closing in a stunned pain. Wilbur can’t see if he’s hurt, if he’s bleeding out, because he’s being pulled forward by the collar, feet dragging with the cold sting of blade suddenly tucked under his chin. 

They take Wilbur out onto the deck, hand gripping tightly upon his shoulder. He’s stiff in following along, throat tight at seeing the bloodshed strewn out across their ship, rain only doing so much to wash it away. There’s a handful of the people left, but the fighting slows as Wil’s own crew sees him, and sees the blade held to his neck.

“Lower your weapons!” His captor yells, knowing of his worth and knowing it’s enough to put them all at a halt. “Lower them all now!”

“You cut his skin, and I’ll give you a death so slow, you’ll regret ever being born!” Niki screams back, Wilbur being moved to the side as Technoblade fully turns towards them, taking a warning step forward. He's a few paces away, but the burning of his eyes, the grip of his sword-- it is common sense to back up. Wilbur can hear the fearful breath of his captor, the blade shifting against his throat, and he holds his hand out to make Techno stop. 

“Quackity.” He chokes out, gesturing shakily to the door they leave behind, his captor still backing away. “Please, please-”

Fundy slips away from the people around him, and they call angrily at his back as he goes towards the cabin, Wilbur’s heart tight in both worry and hope. 

“Don’t come any closer!” The person behind Wil warns, and there’s a sudden explosion of flames from Tubbo’s direction, people screaming out, Techno running forward, Niki calling his name-

The railing is right by them. Wilbur can see the crashing waves below, angry and dangerous. He knows he can’t brave that, but it seems like possible death on either option. And he’d rather choose the sea than have this sword cut too deep, the sting of a cut already digging through. 

He pushes himself backward, shoving both his captor and himself in the direction of the railing. They don’t expect it, and so they fall, taking Wil with them, and as the blade slips away and Wil feels himself tipping over the edge, the last thing he sees is Techno’s hand reaching out for him, Niki’s voice ringing in his ears. 

“WIL!”

Wilbur gasps against the pull of gravity and falls, falling, falling, and then hitting the water with his captor elsewhere beside him. He sinks farther than they do, and as he kicks out in an effort to swim up, swim away, he can see the bodies all around him, floating dead. He sees the expanse of the depths below his feet, so calmly blue unlike the storm pouring down above him. 

His throat hurts as he turns his head up, blood spreading out around him, twisting by his hair. The surface looks hauntingly far, out of reach from his fingertips. He holds his hand up, as if someone will reach down and pull him out. 

Help , he thinks wildly, desperately, and in the burn of water flooding his lungs, he thinks of the sea, of his mother. Help me , he begs her, crying uselessly to the gods like all the other men who have drowned in these unforgiving waves. 

Like any mother rushing to the cry of her child, the sea responds. 

Those left on the ship are thrown back suddenly with a tall, harsh wave hitting the side of it, water rising out and crashing across the deck. Wilbur is left in the receding remains, seawater dripping from his hair, his face, his neck bearing no more than a light red mark, blood washed away.

He looks up, stands unsteady, eyes bright and blue as the sky of a sunny day, ragged, panting breaths being dragged from his lungs. Those dying on the ground in the smears of their own blood see a wild, limitless power in his gaze, a dangerous force in the flow of the water at his feet, returning back to the currents. Fog floats behind his back, mist flies out over his shoulders. This is a god barely being born. It is a spirit of the sea, stumbling on his two feet, just beginning to gather balance. He is- something. 

He is someone who just had a near death experience, and as such- he’s overwhelmed in the moment, and face-plants into the floorboards with a pathetic little wheezing cough. 

Chapter Text

Tommy sings with all his heart out to the open sea, his feet swinging back and forth underneath him, the wind touching gently at his face. 

From up here, the water looks endless, so terribly vast, almost daunting, but he sings all the more for it, somewhat hoping that maybe the goddess lurking within that blue will carry on his voice, echo it on to a ship that’s far past reach, to a friend who is surely waiting to hear him in his ears again. 

That, and maybe she will just like the sound of his singing. He’s a pretty good singer, in his opinion! And she probably wouldn’t have all that many pirates singing songs just for her. She’s always going to have Phil speaking to her against the whistling winds, but songs can be Tommy’s thing, for here and forevermore. And while he never sings about anything too poetic, more just repeats old songs he used to know when he was younger, less settled in the ocean, it’s all still a good listen. 

He merrily calls out shanties he remembers hearing when working by the docks, the men there having their own ways to pass the time with all the busywork to do. Tubbo wasn’t ever one to sing along in those, but Tommy liked to try. The men never took his shrill tone too kindly, though. 

Well, they’ve missed out. With time, he perfects himself. With the years, the songs have found home within his throat. And with these passing weeks, their old, haunted boat finally moving out from hiding at last, he’s able to belt his notes to the very heavens above. 

“Tommy?” Someone calls.

Yes, there’s nothing better than singing up here, upon the highest point of the ship. Here, he feels connected to the skies, feels like one with the gusts pushing their sails on. He’s a crow flying free. 

“Tom- Uh. Tommy?” Someone calls again, higher and louder.

Up here, there is nothing else in the world. It’s just him, the delightful view of the ocean, the humming tunes in his throat, and-

“Tommy!”

Tommy drops his head with a put-out sigh, his singing tapering off. He turns to look over his shoulder, nearly shrieking in his response. “WHAT?!”

Ranboo laughs lightly at the way he screams it, climbing up further to join him, hands grabbing carefully onto the netting. Tommy watches them come up, closer bit by bit, and by the time they’re getting their knees onto the wood, shimmying over to sit beside him, the songs are back in his chest, softly hummed out in the air as a waiting action. 

“Okay.” Ranboo says, taking a breath, hands held out in a sort of relief at getting up here without any trouble. It’s been forever since they’ve actually fallen from the sails, with how much Tommy and Tubbo egg them on to join them in a climbing race, but Tommy supposes that after you’ve fallen and broken an arm once, you never quite forget it. Even if the broken arm went away within the week. 

“Look at it all, Ranboo.” Tommy says, waving a hand out to the great expanse of the sea, grinning wide at the black birds flying high in the distance. His hand when held out looks so small in comparison, so young. The layered callouses across his palms are the only true signs of the long years he’s lived. “Adventure awaits.” He whispers, eager and knowing. 

“Trouble awaits.” Ranboo replies lightly, smiling wide with his scars pulling against the motion. He tilts his head to Tommy, like sharing a secret. “Eret says if we run into Navy, the sea is sure to run red.” 

“Well, that’s a fucking given, I think.” Tommy scoffs, pushing his elbow into Ranboo’s arm, making the teen sit back straight. “What are we gonna do, invite them on the ship for a bit of tea? No, they’re gonna be shooting at us.” 

Ranboo huffs, not denying that. “They’d have to recognize us first.”

“Eh, Navy shoot all pirates.” Tommy shrugs. 

“True.” Ranboo turns their head, their one good eye squinting in the sweet shine of the sun. 

They’re not wearing their eyepatch today. Tommy doesn’t question it, finding the sight of that clouded, red tinted eye to be something to behold. It’s the mark of a warrior, he’s always said, a sign of a destined badass pirate. Ranboo hasn’t yet wholly agreed to that, even after all this time, but Tommy is a patient, wise man. He will wait a century for the truth to sink in. 

“Do you think Tubbo is alright out there?” Ranboo suddenly asks, making Tommy’s mind shift focus. He imagines their friend out there on the sea. Battling Navy, fending off enemies. Taking charge of the artillery with all the glee of a child being set loose in the candy shop.

“You’re honestly asking me that?” Tommy questions, frowning hard. Worrywart. Ranboo shrinks away at the look. 

“It’s just- we haven’t got any letters from just him in a while-” Ranboo explains, shifting in place with a sheepish sort of expression. “They’ve all been from Techno, or Niki, talking about the details of of past encounters, or estimations-”

“Stakes have shifted, Ranboo.” Tommy reminds, hands gripping tighter onto the wooden pole under him. His voice goes firm, gaze settling off to a far point on the horizon. “We’ve been waiting this long.” 

“Yes.” Ranboo nods, and then they seem to set themselves in place, shoulders pulling back, head lifting towards the sky. “Yes, that’s right. I can’t fault the captain for putting his attention towards the bigger things.”

Tommy hums his agreement, nodding a little. A beat passes with both their legs swinging, the ocean’s wind swirling around them. They are united in thought, peaceful in soul.

Then,

“Ahhgg, but I do miss him!” Tommy blurts out, falling forward with his head to his knees, Ranboo automatically reaching to grab his shirt so he won’t go tipping over and plummeting down onto the deck. “It’s terrible, it’s awful! I mean- he’s probably fine, he’s Tubbo, he’s going to be fine, but I want to see him! It’s going to be weeks until we actually manage to find them, and then with the Navy all around, and trouble coming up, what if it turns into months?! MONTHS!” He throws his head back as if crying out to the heavens above, Ranboo sighing with a fond-like smile. 

“You’ll survive.” They tell him. “Probably.” 

“I CAN’T DO IT! TAKE ME NOW, MOTHER OCEAN!” Tommy cries out in his despair, arm reaching out to the view before them. “I’ll live amongst the coral like a fish.” 

“No, no, we don’t become fish.” Ranboo says, oh so gently and patiently and matter of fact, like a school-teacher to a toddling student. Tommy twists his head to them to give an unbreaking, intense stare. 

“You wouldn’t. You would make a bad fish.” Tommy informs wisely, seeming quite all-knowing about it. He then sits up straight, raising a finger with his other hand to his chest. “I, however, would be a delightful fish. I would live out such a purpose, as a fish. The sea would be so thrilled to have me in her company. As a fish.” 

“If you were a fish, you wouldn’t be able to speak anymore.” Ranboo points out, thinking of the singing voice that first drew them up here. “You’d be silenced.” And what is Tommy if he is silent?

“I would simply become a talking fish.” Tommy refutes. Ranboo imagines that thought for a second, then cringes away, making a face. 

“No.” 

“Talking fish! Perfect idea!” Tommy yells, kicking his leg over to swing down and start quickly descending. “We’ll make it happen! It’ll be the breakthrough of the century!”

“I think it would just give people nightmares.” Ranboo says, leaning their head down towards Tommy, moving to climb down with him. “It would give me nightmares.” All they can imagine is fish with human teeth, a human mouth moving on the scaly skin- Ranboo shivers. Ough. 

“No, no, imagine it, Ranboo!” Tommy shakes his head, waving his hand up as if to catch their attention. “Imagine the evolution of communication across sea then, no need to be delayed by awful storms, no need to write up a note, but rather, you could give the fish your message, speak your piece to them, and they would swim up through the currents, past the expanse of the sea, over to another ship to scream it out over their railing! It’s brilliant. It’s genius. Tubbo would agree.”

“That’s-” Ranboo falters for a moment, frowning. “That’s…not terribly put, as an idea, but I still don’t like the concept of talking fish.” 

Tommy sniffs, continuing downwards with his eyes to his feet. “Pah, you don’t like talking anything. Remember that time with the parrot-”

“You swore to forget the parrot!” Ranboo cuts him off. 

“What parrot. Par-rot? What even is that thing.” Tommy says, waiting for Ranboo to get their footing before then descending once more. “We have never had any incident with any bird, ever.”

“Save for the crows, I suppose.” Ranboo admits, eyeing said black birds as they circle near, watching them both go down towards the deck, crying out like an acknowledgement made. Tommy yells profanities at them in a way that’s likely meant to be affectionate, and mid-way through climbing down, one of the birds try swooping down at Tommy’s head. He screams and descends so fast that he’s nearly falling the whole way down. 

“They love me.” Tommy tells Ranboo when they’ve gotten both feet down, a few feathers sitting in Tommy’s ruffled hair. “I’m telling you, I’m very much their favorite, beside the captain.” 

“Yes, I believe that wholeheartedly.” Ranboo nods, picking out a feather with a laugh over their words. Tommy runs his hands over his head in a quick, mostly ineffective way to fix his hair, and then he goes marching on, suddenly filled with a purpose. Ranboo follows, glad to witness whatever has gotten into the boy’s head now. 

They make their way across the ship over to the main cabin, where Eret sits next to the door, head tilted back, eyes closed. Her hands sit clasped together in her lap, and her tapping foot is the only sure signal that she isn’t sleeping, but just keeping still. 

“Oy!” Tommy yells, Eret’s face tilting up into a smile at his voice coming close. She speaks without even a glance, eyes keeping shut. 

“It wouldn’t be the best time.” She tells them, soft but firm, and Ranboo lifts their eyebrows in curious surprise. Tommy deflates in where he stands, lips twisting up in a frown. 

“Don’t read my mind.” Tommy mutters, and Eret opens one eye, milky white color looking into them. “My plans deserve to be explained in order to be known.”

“Well, then don’t make such predictable plans.” Eret answers back, so honestly amused. She sits up, looking at them proper now, and she smiles pointedly at Ranboo like a greeting. Ranboo makes a passing smile back before glancing away. They can’t ever quite meet those eyes. “It really isn’t the best time, though. Better to leave him be.” 

“Leave him be? Is he alright?” Tommy asks, glancing at the door, now with a hint of concern rippling through him.

“Oh, yes, yes.” Eret nods, looking to the side. “Just one of those nights…” She trails off, and Tommy presses his lips tightly shut, nodding shortly to that, dejected by the news. With finding Wil at last, the captain’s been doing so well these weeks, to the point where Tommy had hoped the sorrow would never return. 

He supposes he’s foolish to think that new hope alone could fully cure such long lasting grief. 

“What exactly was the plan with the captain?” Ranboo asks, leaning over Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy shakes off the disappointment and turns to them with a beaming smile, crooked teeth bared. 

“I, my dear Ranboo, was going to grace our captain with my glorious presence.” Tommy simply puts. “And also probably put him up to a game of gambling, I dunno.” He shrugs.

“You would’ve lost.” Eret informs knowingly behind his back, Tommy’s expression going sour. “Three times over, actually.” Ranboo poorly smothers a snort, Tommy’s face twisting up further. 

“I choose to not believe that! You aren’t always accurate, I could’ve been victorious, you wouldn’t know.” Tommy argues, spinning back around to point an accusing finger. 

“True, I could be wrong.” Eret nods, Tommy looking satisfied and smug. “But I’m mostly right.” She then adds on, Tommy’s smile going twitchy. “I’m probably right, knowing your track record in playing…”

Tommy groans loudly to ignore such slander, stepping away with his head tipped back to the sky, hands in his hair. 

“I want to play something!” He whines, Eret leaning back in her seat with a light laugh. “Phil’s the only one who’s any good. You always cheat, and Ranboo has got a piss poor poker face.” 

“It’s not cheating, you’re just very easy to see.” Eret says, at the same time Ranboo says, “Well, I try, okay?” 

“I miss Tubbo.” Tommy sighs, falling to the floor and slumping down, defeat accepted. Ranboo leans over him to pat him on the back comfortingly, and he melts even more, face thumping into the ground. “Why can’t we sail any faster…?”

“There, there.” Ranboo says, not as pityingly as one could be saying it. “I’m sure he misses us too.” They reassure, sincere and sure of it.

Tommy groans into the floorboards, suffering from a lack of entertainment right at this moment. He pushes himself up to glance across the ship, trying to form some sort of idea of what to do. The crows sing to him from the top of the sails. Tommy stares at them, thinking of the one time he had managed to wrangle one into the lower deck and put a tiny hat on it.

“Why don’t you try writing to him?” Eret suddenly suggests, surely seeing some sort of trouble in any plans Tommy might’ve ended up committing to. “You could send off a letter with the crows. He would like it.”

Tommy lifts his chin up in consideration, Ranboo making a happy hum. 

“We should write to him. Why didn’t I think of that?” Ranboo asks outloud. 

“Will he write back?” Tommy questions to Eret, but he’s asking more than just if he will get a simple reply. He asks for the surety of it, for the comfort of knowing Tubbo is alright enough to send a letter, for if the letter will be a good one, and not just a call for help. 

“Of course.” Eret replies, in a way that gives no reason for doubt nor worry. Tommy brightens at the certainty, a smile blooming across his face. 

“Very well, then!” Tommy rises to his feet, sweeping dust off his pants, grabbing Ranboo by the arm. Ranboo gives no struggle against being pulled along, their goals aligned with Tommy’s. “Come along, Ranboo, we are off to craft a letter!” 

“I wonder if we could try putting something else in the envelope, like a gift or something, maybe a treat-?” Ranboo rambles to Tommy, Eret feeling a laugh roll in her throat at seeing the two of them rush off, acting as young as the day they stepped foot on the ship. 

Tommy turns his head over his shoulder before they go to head below deck, standing on his toes to have his voice sent across the deck. “Send my best wishes to Phil, Eret, tell him I am manning the ship for him with all my attention!”

Eret smiles and closes her eyes again, resting back in her chair. “I’ll let the captain know.” 

The fog has since lifted away, but clouds still lay thick over the ship, casting the blood-stained deck in a dim shadow that only adds to the dreadful stress of it all. 

Wilbur can see Tubbo dragging a body off towards a broken section of the railing, heaving it over with a grunt of annoyance, then frowning at the streak of red behind him. His right sleeve looks singed, his fingers dark with the residue of whatever explosives he must’ve set off. 

“-hear me-” Something buzzes in his ear, and Wilbur flinches away, breath hitching and the stinging, another cough tearing out of him, his mouth spitting seawater once more. For a supposed child of a sea deity, dying through drowning is such an ironic way to go. He can’t have that. He really ought to focus on catching his breath. “Can you-?” Someone asks something again, muffled and unheard. 

He coughs once more, mindful of a tight grip taking him by the arm, keeping him upright on the ground. There’s a palm hitting him on the back, somewhat helping in putting air back into his lungs, and Wilbur turns his head up to see Niki standing by him, leaning down with her hair falling loose over her face. 

Her lips are moving, but the words are passing right over his head. Wilbur’s mind won’t focus on the noise. He’s scattered in his head, glancing back to the bloodshed over their ship, shivering in the fresh chill of the ocean water soaked into his clothes. 

Without even needing to look, Wil knows there’s something in the sea. Someone in the sea. 

Or is it just the sea itself? 

Wilbur hears an echo of something over the railing, and it’s not just the wash of waves against the boat. It’s a whisper. A calling goodbye and a singing hello and a worried cry all at once, muddled with a further static of dying men sinking to a forever grave. He can see them all falling, see the one he pushed over, plummeting to the depths with the darkness swallowing them up. Water fills their throat, and the ocean claims another soul today. 

Wilbur’s attention pulls close as the thought of death reminds him of something else. He turns his head, looking around Niki to the broken door of the cabin. It’s a haunting sight, the door broken on the hinges, debris scattered under it. It’s a parallel to the fact there’s someone else damaged past it. 

The world around Wil shrinks back into a clear view, to only the ship and its crew. The feeling of too much, of the cold and the whispers fade off, and as soon as he’s settled back into the now, worry slams into him with a new heaving, panicked breath. He tries to sit up further, pushing away from Techno’s arm, hand scratching at the wood under him. 

“Quackity.” He chokes out, eyes wide to where they look up at Niki. He stares back at the door, feet sliding under him as he tries to move. Techno somewhat holds him in place as he nearly falls forward. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Fundy’s with him.” Niki insists, but Wilbur shakes his head. 

“No.” He gets up on one knee, legs so insufferably weak underneath him. Techno leans forward in trying to not let him topple, arm wrapping over his chest. “No, I-” Wilbur turns to him. “Get me up, I need to go- Let me see him.” 

Technoblade hesitates, mouth opening, nothing coming out. Wilbur looks desperately to the door again. Thinks of his friend laying there with his eyes opening and closing in a stunned, pained look. He can’t remember if he was badly hurt. If he could be already dead. He wasn’t even able to look before he was pulled out the door. 

“Let me see him- I need to- I-” Wilbur starts to stammer, and Techno moves, putting Wil’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him up to his feet. Wil’s legs stumble under him, energy slipping out of his fingers no matter his efforts, but he makes himself go on, walking over to the cabin in small limping steps with Techno helping him along. Niki stays beside them, a hand cautiously held to Wil. 

They step into the cabin with Fundy knelt on the floor next to Quackity’s body, both hands over the man’s side, holding firm on a red-stained cloth that might’ve once been a part of his sleeve. He turns his head at hearing their footsteps approach, and his grim face makes Wilbur’s heart drop into his stomach. 

“Is he-?” He goes to ask, Techno keeping them by the doorway as Niki rushes over to help. 

“He’s breathing fine, and the cut didn’t look all that bad.” Fundy answers, Niki kneeling down by him. “But I think he hit his head on the way down, because he’s not really waking up.” Niki puts her hand over by the side of Quackity’s head, feeling for an open wound. Her hand comes away red with blood and she swears under her breath. 

Tubbo appears over by the door, glancing around the damage of the room and the dead man still laying by the door. “Is it all over, now? Have we-” He stops at seeing Quackity lying motionless on the floor. “Oh, shit.” 

“Techno, check Wil over for any injuries, would you? Tubbo, bandages.” Niki orders, looking over her shoulder with a steady, stern focus. Tubbo rushes off to do as he’s told. Wilbur frowns with Techno trying to lead him away. 

“I’m not hurt.” Wilbur says, his free hand going to his neck. There’s nothing to feel, despite having had the sting of a knife to it before he went over into the sea. No cut. No scab. Not even a mark. He ignores the lurching twist of his stomach at the realization of it. Maybe he imagined being cut, before. Maybe not. “I just- breathed in some water, I think.” 

“Either way, let’s have you sit down for a second.” Technoblade responds, trying to move Wil over to the next room. “I don’t trust you to stay standing for long.”

“It’s adrenaline winding down.” Wilbur gives as an excuse, and he resists a bit in being moved, his eyes kept to Quackity. “Is- Is he going to be okay? Shouldn’t we get him to a doctor?” 

“If he doesn’t wake up soon, we’ll consider it.” Technoblade nods. 

“No, we should-” Wilbur digs his feet in, hand hitting to the side of the doorway to make them stand still. He cranes his head over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on his friend. “We need to take him to some sort of medical help. He- He’s not like you, he’s human.” He turns to look Techno in the eyes. “He’s not like you! He can’t shrug this off!”

“Going to shore as we are right now is a risk.” Niki tells Wil, Techno turning them both to look towards her. “We need to- reinforce the ship, and prepare before we consider-”

“This isn’t something I’m asking you for.” Wilbur cuts her off, Fundy lifting his head in surprise at the cold tone given. “You will take us to a town and take him to a doctor. Now.” 

“Wilbur.” Techno says, and Wil looks towards him with a narrowed glare. “We’re not going to leave him to die.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t intend that, but I don’t exactly trust the idea of you all knowing how bad an injury could be.” Wilbur insists. “Or how it would need to be taken care of.” 

“Not everyone here heals as quickly as me, Wil, they know how it feels to be hurt. We have been hurt.”

“But do you really know?” Wilbur asks. “Because I’ve heard the stories, and you are not normal pirates. You are not mortal- we aren’t mortal! How many fights have you all walked away from where any other crew would’ve perished? How many wounds have you brushed off?! I haven’t forgotten the fact that Tubbo’s been apparently stabbed several times over, and he mentioned that like it was a joke!” 

At that moment, Tubbo stands at the door, holding a roll of bandages with his eyes pulled wide. “Have-” He points to himself. “Have I walked in at a poor time?”

“Go give the bandages, Tubbo.” Wilbur says, before Niki can even say it. Tubbo tosses the roll over, Niki catching it mid-air. “We have to take him to a town. A- a doctor. Something. Even if you could take decent care of him here, it’s not the most ideal spot for someone to rest, is it? Do we even have medicine? I doubt any of you get sick.” 

“We don’t, actually.” Tubbo agrees, and both Niki and Techno give him a look that has him staring at the floor like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Okay, he’s fair about the medicine thing, and honestly, he’s also right about the fact that maybe we’re not the best suited to deal with any life-threatening injuries, that is- that's a factor we’ve overlooked for some time, but a doctor in the town-” Fundy starts.

“We have Navy on the lookout for us.” Niki continues. “We have bounties on all our heads. If we sail freely to a town in the middle of daylight- he’d be worse off in the resulting fight to get to shore.” 

“I’ll cover us, then. I can-” Wilbur takes in a sharp breath, as if bracing himself. “I’ll hide us.” 

Everyone looks at him in varying degrees of surprise. 

“How would you do that?” Tubbo asks, head tilting in confusion, Techno’s face shifting into something of quiet, shocked disbelief. 

“The fog...” Niki says, and Wilbur nods, his mind set. “You- you want to try to-?”

“I’ll create it around the ship. Like I did this morning.”

“Can you- do that?” Niki questions, brows furrowed together in something more than disbelief. “Are you able to do that on command?”

“I can try? I mean- earlier-” Wilbur says, before shaking his head as if to clear his mind. “I’ll do it. I can do it, I’m- I’m sure.” 

“If you’re not-” 

“I can do it.” Wilbur stresses, gritting out the words. 

“We don’t have to rush.” Techno tries to argue. “You should rest. You need rest.” 

“He’s hurt, he needs help, and I can hide us.” Wilbur snaps, eyes glinting blue. “I’ll rest on the way.”

Niki looks unsure over the idea, glancing at Techno as if checking to see what he thinks. Whatever he communicates seems to let her consider for a second, then she looks at Wilbur.

“Please.” Wilbur begs, not wanting this to turn any worse than it has to be. He cannot lose someone, not now. 

Niki’s expression hardens, and she makes a short, jerky nod.

“Alright.” 

For as urgent as the situation feels, they aren’t exactly close enough to shore to instantly start sailing over to it. The closest town on the map is at least a few hours away, and in that waiting time, Wilbur sits by Quackity’s side, trying to pull himself together. 

The rest of the crew are doing their best at temporarily patching up whatever damage was made outside, and so he’s left alone in the silence of his room, Quackity’s breathing being the only constant obvious noise in his ears. 

The sound of it is a comfort. The man isn’t dead. But he lays unconscious with bandages pulled around his head, and a bleeding wound on his side, so it’s not much better. 

He’s become like that because of Wil. Or rather, for Wil. Gods, isn’t it the same thing? Uneasy guilt pours down through his chest, cold and uncomfortable like ice flowing through, and he closes his eyes with his hands picking upon the edge of his fingers, wishing to relieve some of the worry that’s making his stomach twist. 

He thinks of what he did earlier. Not just the fog, the weather pulled to his fears, but also the act of being pushed back onto the boat, the water having carried him up. Was that all him, or was it his mother giving a hand? Could he do it himself, if he tried? Could he command a wave? Could he step out from raging seas without even a hint of danger to his life? 

Could he send other enemies to be swallowed up by it, their ship pulled down before even getting a chance to come near? 

Could he-?

Wilbur opens his eyes, breathing deeply in, shifting back in his seat. His heartbeat pounds in his ears from some revival of fear, fear of dying, fear of getting hurt, and fear of being the one to pull the trigger on a man and send him to his death. 

He isn’t really a bloodthirsty pirate, not how the rest of the crew might be, but there’s an anger in him now that makes it feel nearly possible, feasible. There’s a fury and frustration that has him wishing to do more, desperate to be more, to be stronger, deadlier, than anyone else on this ship, so that way- no one else has to get hurt for him. 

No one else will end up like this. 

The skin on the side of his nail stings in pulling the skin too much. He forces his hands to stop, and forces himself to ignore the shaking tremble of his fingers as they sit on his lap. 

First Techno, now Quackity. Technoblade could’ve died that day. He was hurt because people were trying to get to Wil, but luckily enough, he’s not someone who can fall to injury. Wilbur thought maybe, for that reason, the sacrifice wouldn’t sit so heavy. Because there was nothing really lost. He turned out fine, didn’t he?

Oh, but now, it feels all the more bitter. He feels like an idiot. What does it matter if Techno healed fine after? It still could’ve had this result, if there weren’t other influences at play, if he wasn’t blessed by the sea. Techno could’ve died for him. 

Quackity still might. 

He hasn’t woken up. 

Wilbur continues again and again to be protected and saved and watched over, because he’s Phil’s son, but he’s truly the sea’s son, isn’t he? Can’t he do more? Can’t he protect himself?

Can’t he protect these people? His people?

Wilbur looks to Quackity again, hesitant, angry, and scared, all at once. He hears the soft pattern of rainfall outside, and it’s so strange to know it’s his fault for that. His lips pull into a grimacing expression, guilt stinging through him. 

This is his fault. He ran to go and hide, and so this happened. He should’ve offered himself faster, found some way to toss them all into the sea. He should’ve just done something. 

He looks away from Quackity and stares at his hands, at the small stinging cuts left from picking too harshly. They’ll fade, most likely, just like the cut that was made at his neck. Wilbur shouldn’t doubt that he’s like the rest of the crew in terms of injuries. He’s not mortal, after all. 

A crack of lighting cries out from the storm above as a jolt of terror crosses past his heart again. He tries to keep calm, and accept this simple truth. He is not mortal. He’s the sea’s son, he’s Phil’s son, and he’s- capable of things that can’t be explained. Like the rumors swirling around the crew on this ship, the stories told by witnesses, the tales that tend to be brushed off as exaggerations or taken as grave warnings. 

Wilbur yanks his focus into being more purposeful with the howling wind outside, and he thinks of how he felt this morning, full of dread over what could come, wishing to hide away and never be found by trouble. How ironic it was, that trouble immediately came to them regardless. 

They must hide. They can’t be seen. If they are to get into the town without trouble, they must sneak into it under the cover of cruel, dark weather. They cannot be seen. 

Wil gathers the fear rising in his throat, pooling in his chest, and he lets it sink into his bones, letting himself find a terror amongst everything that could go terribly wrong. If they were found, they could be cornered, surrounded, or killed. Quackity will be killed. They’d be sent to the gallows, they’d be shot through the heart, they could be hurt. 

They cannot be seen, or else they’ll be hurt.  

Fog rolls over the wood of the deck outside as the wind dies away into nothing. The rain does not cease, staying constant and cold, but it’s all the more helpful, for the dark of the clouds make the view of their ship even harder to spot. 

They close in on their destination with awful, frigid weather wrapping them whole, and they get to the docks of the town with little trouble, the people there scarce due to the sudden storm, leaving their boats for the day seeing as how it’d be a death wish to try and sail through. 

Wilbur hovers by the entryway of the cabin as they draw close, trying to somehow calm the waves under them to make it easier to climb off the boat. It’s all a bit much for his head, letting his fears run so wild, and he almost doesn’t even notice Technoblade approaching before him, trying to catch his attention as they all join together to go over their plan. 

“Are you alright?” Techno asks him in a hushed tone, Niki and Tubbo looking over the map by the desk, making sure they know the likeliest path to the nearest medic within the town. 

“I’m fine.” Wilbur insists, his body wanting to sway a little. He shivers with his arms held around him, the action not entirely made from the cold. “This- There’s probably some side effect to messing with the weather, I’d guess.” 

“...Probably.” Techno agrees, his gaze glued to Wil. “Stay by me.” He suggests, elbow nudging against Wil’s arm, and Wilbur closes his eyes, head feeling unbalanced for a passing second before he blinks his eyes open to focus on the situation at hand. 

“I’ll be as quick as I can, and I could meet the ship elsewhere so that Wil doesn’t have to keep up the fog for any longer than needed.” Niki says, and Wilbur wonders if he’s missed some part of the conversation. “I’ll pass Quackity off as my brother. I could work with that.” 

“You’re thinking of going alone?” Wilbur questions, brows furrowing together. Niki turns to him with a set nod.

“I am going alone.” Niki confirms. “I can carry Quackity on my back, I won’t struggle.”

“That’s not really my concern.” Wil frowns, pulling his arms tighter around him. “I want to go with you.” 

“You should stay on the ship.” 

“Yes, that’s the sensible option, but I’m not-” Wilbur stops, words faltering for a second. The rain eases for a moment, then he breathes, and it starts again, pouring harder. “I am not leaving him. Nor you.” He stresses, the sentence a bit strained in his throat. “We should- We-” 

Niki looks at him with something of worry, eyes filling with concern, then they shift to something sharper, her foot taking a step forward-

Techno suddenly grabs Wilbur by the arm, Wil blinking and blinking and having his vision still blur right before him as his legs begin to give out. He feels his other arm be held as he’s slowly lowered to the ground, the steadiness of being able to sit taking a weight off his shoulders. 

“Wil.” Technoblade says, but Wilbur doesn’t respond to it much, his head sitting limp on his neck as he stares down at the floor, his lungs moving too fast in his chest, his body feeling like it needs to crawl out from his skin. “Wil, calm yourself.” 

“I can’t.” Wilbur breathes out, wanting to scream, wanting to press himself to the floor and hide underneath the space of the floorboard. “I have to keep this up, I can’t.” 

Niki stands up, Wilbur not sure when she had come down to kneel with him, and she goes to move to the other room with little hesitation. “Alright, I’m taking Quackity now, you get the ship out, you calm him down. Meet with me by the north beach-”

“No, no-” Wilbur tries to plead, trying to get up, and all he can do is lean to the side, the storm crying out above them. “Please, no-”

What if Niki is recognized, cornered, arrested, hanged? What if Quackity dies within the town, away from the sea, away from his reach? Will that blood be on Wil’s hands? Will he have died for him?

Wilbur almost wants to laugh, wants to cry, at the idea of first blood spilled being a friend’s.

“Wilbur.” Technoblade calls, and when Wil won’t listen, he takes him by the face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “Wil.” He speaks, low and sure, and Wilbur pushes himself forward, head resting onto Techno’s shoulder like he’s trying to hide. 

“I can calm down, I can calm.” He murmurs over and over, like a fevered man. “I’ll be calm, I’ll be calm…” 

“This was a shit idea.” Tubbo announces, a clear concern deep in his voice, and Niki gives a sour frown as she steps back into the room, Quackity’s body laid out over her back, his arms limp across her shoulders. “This was- Oh gods, we’ve fucked up somehow.”

“You are not helping.” Techno snaps, keeping Wilbur tightly held, like he could squeeze the panic out of him. Tubbo raises his hands up, stepping back in caution. 

Fundy comes into the room then, finished with setting up the bridge outside. He’s soaked to the bone, water dripping from his hair. “Hey, if we’re going to go, we should go now.” He says, and he takes in the sight of Wilbur on the floor, Techno holding onto him. “This- the storm-”

Niki steps past him, heading out onto the desk, and Wilbur screams at her back through the broken door. 

“Niki! What if he- What if you’re found, what if-?” He tries to stand, gasping for a breath, the waves crashing up and making them all shift with the boat. “Niki, please!”

Niki falters on the deck, turning her head back with her hair flying wild. She thinks of the man on her back, thinks of the debt they surely owe for everything he’s done for them, for Wil. She thinks of what could happen if she just leaves now. 

Would it really turn out alright?

The sea is an unstable thing, wild and untamed. She knows that as well as any other sailor. You cannot ignore it and hope it’ll settle. 

She rushes back, a frustrated hiss of air passing through her lips. She stands by the door, the rain scattering past her. 

“Techno, take him. We are all going.” She orders, and Techno whips his head up with a baffled look. 

“What?” Fundy asks.

“What?!” Tubbo yells.

“We can’t just risk things for the sake of-” Techno goes to say, Niki cutting him off. 

“Do you think he will get better if he doesn’t know if Quackity is fine!? If we’re all fine?” 

Technoblade stops at that, listening to Wilbur’s shaking breaths, his fear so obvious that it’s putting him on edge, hyper-aware for any sort of threat nearby. “We’ll have people be suspicious of him like this.”

“We’re going to the doctor, are we not? Say he’s feverish. Pass him off as a patient for the time being. They can’t stop us from taking him back.” Niki replies, turning around on her heel and taking Quackity back out. 

Fundy shares a look with Tubbo, but quickly follows, running out with Tubbo trying to keep on on his tail. Technoblade scoffs, lifting Wil from the ground, hesitating before going. 

“Follow them.” Wilbur says, a whisper of an order, and Techno does not have any choice but to listen. 

He goes out into the storm.

Chapter Text

“This kinda seems like a bad idea!?” Tubbo yells out over the wash of rain around them, his words frantic and rushed as he follows in line, his hand grasping onto the end of Fundy’s coat so that he doesn’t lose his way. 

The group’s footsteps creak heavy across the wooden docks as they head on towards the town, nearly running together in a jog with how quickly Niki is leading them along. Tubbo continues to yell with a frantic wave of his hands, trying to pass Fundy so he can catch Niki’s ear. 

“Are we not risking the chance of being recognized?!” He cries, practically shrieking in his mild panic. “All of us being together makes us a bit easy to spot! I could very well blend in, and you could in a second, and Fundy could try, but together, it’s a mess, and Technoblade is just not a very subtle person-!”

“Oh, and you are?” Techno asks back, arms curling tighter around Wil as the kid begins to fall more limp against him. “Who was the one responsible for us gettin’ swarmed by Navy in that one town by the east-?”

“That was Fundy’s fault, in my opinion!” Tubbo argues, spinning his head back with his finger raised up. “He started that, he started shooting-”

“Should we start shooting?” Fundy abruptly asks, a question more pointed towards Niki than the other two. “A diversion, or something, if we’re just waltzing in like this-?”

“We stick together until otherwise needed, and we stay quiet!” Niki shouts as they get onto land, fresh, cold puddles splashing underneath their boots. They all fall silent at the warning tone in her voice, a crack of lighting above seeming to amplify the threat even more. “No one is even out on the streets right now. We can keep out of sight and not set off any alarms for at least one hour, surely.” She reasons, wiping hair out from her face, readjusting her hold on the suspicious unconscious-looking man on her back. 

“High expectations, there.” Techno points out, Niki scowling at the fact that she can’t quite argue against such a remark. They truly do not have a good track record with staying low. If it were only ever Niki going within the towns, probably then, they would have better luck, but things don’t ever seem to stay on track with their plans. Her crew would never let her carry out all her missions alone. It is both a blessing and a terrible curse. 

“Let me dream.” Niki responds dryly, redirecting her focus to the matter at hand. 

She’s right in her earlier observation-- there’s hardly a soul to spot in this weather, the rain coming down so fiercely that it leaves no choice but to at least try and take some dry cover. It soaks them all to the bone as they move across the cobble roads, such unrelenting rainwater leaving them wet and disheveled. 

It’s an uncomfortable thing. But if there’s one upside, it’s that in these conditions, it’s harder to recognize them for the pirates they are. At this moment, in the cover of the storm, they’re just people rushing away from the wild sea, searching for a medic’s building. 

As they pass by the closed doors of shops and dimmed street lights, it becomes very apparent that wandering without direction will leave them in the elements for longer than needed. Niki has them take shelter under the awning of a building, and while she takes the moment to gather her bearings and scan through the street, Techno takes this chance to check over Wil’s current state, concerned for how quiet he’s become on their path into the town.

He puts part of Wil’s weight down as he kneels to the floor, looking him over with a grim frown. In the short time it’s taken to get here, he’s gone a bit unresponsive. He looks like a drowned soul, face pale, hair sticking down on his face, eyes mostly shut with his head rolled to the side, against Techno’s shoulder. It’s a dreadful sort of appearance, worrying, in how quickly he fell to it. Not ten minutes ago, he was still somewhat coherent, even in his panic. Now he’s nothing more than catatonic. 

Tubbo leans in over Techno’s shoulder with a shared concern for Wil, his brows furrowed together, his tone shaky as he tries to shoot for a bit of humor. “Hey, Wil?” He asks, pressing a hand to Techno’s back for balance, water dripping off his hair. “Could you lighten up the downpour, maybe? Techno’s out here looking like a wet dog, at this point.” He forces a chuckle, hoping that his words are heard, and not just lost to the wind. 

Wilbur cracks open his eyes the barest bit from where he lays still, and the blue of his gaze is gleaming , like rays of sunlight flowing through cold ocean currents. Tubbo finds himself losing his voice to any further comment he might’ve made at the sight of it, his body frozen in place as Wil quietly tilts his head up to him, lip curled in a slight grimace.

It’s such distress, kept in those eyes. Such striking concern, such fear , that it seeps into Tubbo’s bones, the chill of the rain making him have an unusual shiver down his spine. He hears the rainfall around them falter for an odd second, as if held still within the very air. Tubbo holds his breath with it. 

Then the storm comes down twice as hard, unrelenting and protective in its fury. 

“Okay.” Tubbo breathes out, standing straight with a half-stumble of his feet as he backs away. Thunder rolls over their heads, sounding distant, yet ever so encompassing. “Thanks for the attempt.” He chokes out, turning his head away, feeling vaguely off-centered. 

“Keep watch, Tubbo.” Techno advises, keeping in mind Tubbo’s earlier comment, the probable chance of them being caught up in trouble by their faces. Techno isn’t subtle, that is an honest fact. It’s also just mostly because it’s hard for him to disguise such uniquely colored hair, but that’s hardly the most important detail right now. They could do well to exercise some caution regardless, even with the distracting cover of this awful storm. 

Tubbo’s expression instantly shifts into something more serious upon Techno’s order, his eyes taking to the roads with a hand kept behind his back, where a pistol sits tucked behind his shirt. 

Wilbur’s eyes don’t quite leave him. They stay on him with a silent focus, and while Tubbo isn’t staring back, he swears he can feel the weight of his attention, of his intent. He feels as if he’s being loomed over, kept in hand, even though Wil is only peering at him silently from down on the ground.

The storm around them is screaming noise in their ears, thick enough that Niki finds trouble in seeing the other side of the road, loud enough that Tubbo can’t quite hear himself try to deeply breathe. He finds himself feeling an itching urge to set fire to something, to shoot any threats in sight, to send bodies falling so that they may be swallowed up in the wash of this unrelenting rain. He wants to fight. He wants to fend off the dark with nothing but a gun and shouting swears. He wants-

He looks to Wilbur again, a passing glance. 

He’s closed his eyes again, fallen still at Techno’s shoulder once more. For all that it seems like he’s sleeping, Tubbo feels like it’s oddly the opposite. There is something watching over him. 

The thunder above roars.

“There.” Niki speaks up, pointing a hand out down the street. Fundy and Techno’s squint to follow her finger towards a set of saloon doors. “There’s a bar there, I think. I see light. We can get someone.” She readjusts Quackity from where he lays motionless on her back, seeming to consider their options for a second, before then turning her head to Fundy beside her. “Fundy, will you-” She stops. 

Tubbo turns with her. He blinks in surprise. “Oh shit.” He blurts out, unable to help it. Fundy’s expression twists up with confusion, frowning hard at the two of them. 

“What?” He asks. 

“Your eyes.” Niki says, looking equally as surprised as Tubbo. “Uh- Are you doing that?” She asks, but it’s more posed like a reminding thing than a true question. 

“Doing what?” Fundy questions, touching his gloved fingers to his face, to where his pupils have gone remarkably slitted, so unrecognizably inhuman to anyone who may see. They flick towards his hands as he raises them out, flexing his fingers as if giving attention to what sits underneath the leather covering them. “I’m not- I’m not doing anything!” He claims, but the way that he begins to tug at his gloves tells that his claws are giving trouble. Niki’s eyes widen in shock.

“No, you’re definitely doing something. Stop it.” Tubbo says bluntly, entirely unhelpful. 

“I’m not controlling it!” Fundy insists, Niki shifting Quackity’s weight so that she can hold out her arm, tug up her sleeve. A faint, old scar shows up on her skin. Something that she usually only ever keeps for her eyes alone. Usually, it stays neatly hidden. 

Usually, it stays where she wants it to be. 

“It’s your eyes!” Tubbo argues needlessly, and Fundy sputters back at him over the noise of the thunder over their heads. 

“Yeah, but I’m not doing this!” 

“Techno.” Niki says, and when she looks at him, she sees red eyes, dark, burning red eyes that would have any sane man scream accusation of the devil. He holds Wilbur on the ground with a familiar protectiveness, but the threatening air over him is something unsettling. Monstrous. 

He’s never been one to aim such intimidation at Niki, not purposefully, at least. 

He’s not doing it on purpose. 

Shit.

“This was a bad idea, actually.” Techno admits to the air, turning his head away, and Tubbo spins his around to look wide-eyed at him, abandoning the petty argument he was just beginning.  

“Oh gods, wait, no, you weren’t supposed to agree with me.” Tubbo despairs. “You’re supposed to say ‘no Tubbo, shut up, Tubbo, watch as we pull this off without any problems-’”

“Well, now there is a problem, so you can say ‘I told you so.’” Technoblade informs, Tubbo immediately disagreeing. 

“I don’t want to say I told you so-!”

Niki ignores their voices and regards the implications of such sudden change, their physical forms acting up, out of their control. She cannot pretend to be naive and act as if it is out of nowhere, as if it is not their ocean’s blessings reacting to a spike of controlled intent, focused power . She knows this has happened before, and it happened for a reason. Their Lady has no cause to press strength into them now, but it is not Her doing this.

The one responsible for this- is the person currently held in Techno’s arms. 

Wilbur is not asleep, is he?

“Tubbo, you go.” Niki decides, for Tubbo’s effects have always been something more subtle, more easy to miss, at least at a glance. He isn’t anything like Techno, who in all his time in serving the sea, occasionally forgets how to hold a human appearance. “Head into the bar, yell for a medic, get us directions. Now.” 

Even with all the comments and banter of earlier, Tubbo doesn’t hesitate for a second once given the proper direction. He runs off in a sprint, water kicking up behind him, arms slamming the doors open as he heads inside. Niki hopes strongly that the pressing situation of someone injured will be enough to have a stranger overlook their current peculiarities. She can’t be sure how she can go about them causing a town-wide panic. Again.

“This is getting out of hand.” Fundy murmurs quietly as he looks up to the darkened sky, concern vivid in the yellow tint of his eyes. “Would- Would it be reasonable to consider that he might wash the entire town out to sea, if he doesn’t calm down soon?” He asks, warily glancing over to Wil. 

“It’ll pass.” Techno insists, standing to his feet again with Wilbur’s body still worryingly slack in his hold. “He just- He’ll snap out of it.” 

“Can we be sure of that?” Niki asks, now genuinely finding a danger in the possibility that they won’t be able to keep this down. “When the captain used to wander…” She begins, hoping that could be a way to find a solution. 

“This is nothing like the captain.” Fundy argues.

“That’s because he’s not like the captain at all.” Technoblade speaks sharply, hand pressing over the side of Wil’s head. “Phil isn’t exactly tied in with the weather patterns.”

“I don’t know, sometimes when he would get in a bad mood-” Fundy begins to bring up, Niki waving off the reminder of the long past instance where they nearly got hit with a hurricane. 

“Just calm him down. Talk to him.” Niki suggests. 

“What do I say?” Technoblade asks right back. 

“You don’t know how to calmly reassure someone?”

“Have you met me?” Technoblade questions, eyes narrowing in a glare that has Fundy taking a small step back. “Usually I just distract him with other things! He isn’t paying much attention to anything right now. It’s like he isn’t even here.” He looks down to Wilbur in his arms, fear flickering over the mask of anger on his face. “You’re worrying me.” He says quietly, honest-toned, almost drowned out by the rain around them. 

Wilbur seems to almost stir for a second, brows furrowing together with his lips pressed thin. All three pirates lean in with a sudden surprise, waiting for him to lift his head-

And then the bar doors suddenly swing open, Tubbo pushing them so harshly that they go flying on their hinges and slam against the wall with a bang. 

“This is all going to SHIT!” He yells out over the rain, which has seemed to lighten up a little in the time he’s been gone. He stalks down towards them with a sour expression, fists curled at his sides, and for a second, there’s a thought of trouble, of people not having believed him, of a fight having broken out, or perhaps there was not a soul within the bar, after all-

But then comes someone following behind, a tall, familiar-looking bearded man who walks out into the road with his nose scrunched up against the rainfall, a hand raised to shield his squinting eyes from the worst of it. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Fundy deadpans. 

Niki sends an instant strong look towards Techno, who appears as if the only thing holding him back from reaching for his sword right now is the fact that Wilbur is taking up both his arms. His eye twitches a bit. The bloodlust in his gaze has increased by tenfold. Fundy takes another step away from him. 

“What the fuck’s happened now?” Schlatt, of all damn people for them to come across, calls out to them, following Tubbo across the street, free arm waving up against the howling wind. “You send your rabid child out begging for a-” He begins to shout, but then he falters in his steps, hand falling away from his face as shock sets in upon seeing Quackity laid out unconscious over Niki’s back. 

Tubbo takes his place beside Techno with arms crossing over his chest, a resigned, upset huff whistling through his nose. Niki steps forward to take the brunt of this poorly timed interaction, wanting to be over with it as quickly as possible. That, and she’s sure that if they stand around for more than three seconds, Techno will figure out how to stab someone while still cautiously carrying Wilbur.

“Do you know where the medic building is?” Niki asks out over the rain, trying to force a sense of urgency into her voice. Schlatt doesn’t immediately respond, eyes stuck on the way Quackity’s head lays limp on her shoulder, bandages tied tight over his hair. 

“Is that-” He tries to ask, uncaring of the way the water is plastering down his clothes, rendering them soaked. 

“Medic.” Techno repeats through gritted teeth, a threat kept in the way he hisses it so harshly. Wil lifts his head with a whine, a sudden notice to the tone. A rumble of thunder echoes above them. Techno holds him a little tighter, and the rain lightens up into just a drizzling pour, at last. 

Schlatt has a split second of hesitation in where he stands, attention passing over Wil for a quick moment, before he then gives a strong nod, turning on his heel and going down the street. “Come with me.” 

With their options limited, and the chance of a trap this time being rather miniscule, the pirates go. 

The storm follows. 

Schlatt leads them directly to a medic’s building, a simple little inn with few rooms and a wary staff who don’t seem so inclined to let them all in, until they are swiftly convinced otherwise when Schlatt slides a small wad of cash into one of their hands. Then they are feeling quite generous, with the offer of a private room for their two unwell companions, and a promise that the doctor will be with them shortly. 

Niki deposits Quackity onto the offered bed with a careful gentleness, and as she checks over his terribly soaked bandages beside the candlelight of a lantern, she can feel Schlatt’s questioning gaze burning into the back of her head. She ignores him, standing straight and looking over her shoulder to see where Wil’s resting, Techno standing by the bed, Tubbo sitting beside Wil’s feet. Fundy stays by the door, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

The doctor, upon walking in, looks upon them all with surprise, focused intently on the weapons they carry and the danger they hold with just their very presence. Schlatt immediately spits out a cheerful little greeting, trying to pretend as if this isn’t an unusual sort of company kept within such a little room. He makes some vague excuse about them all being worried family members, or something of the sort, and Niki tunes it out with a closer focus to the rain outside, to the raindrops pit-pattering against the glass of a small window on the wall. She goes to sit next to Wil, her weight sinking into the old mattress, and he stirs a little with a murmur on his lips, but nothing more. The rain persists. 

Under more knowing hands, Quackity’s wounds are unwrapped, checked over for infection, and rewrapped in a hasty, panicked manner. Niki, in waiting for the doctor to be done, off-handedly wonders when was the last time she ever worried about if disease could come from her open wounds. She finds she can’t quite remember. 

Once the doctor’s finished up, muttering some words about bedrest and stitches, Schlatt suggests they take a look at the other guy in the room, to which the doctor responds by acting as if Schlatt suggested walking into imminent death. Reasonable response, with how Techno looms over Wil’s side, hardly trusting a stranger to come near. 

Niki dismisses the doctor with nothing more than a disagreeing shake of her head, and they flee the room with relief as she takes Wil’s hand into her lap, fingers squeezing tightly over his. He’s startlingly cold in her palm. She’s nearly tempted to call the doctor right back, if she wasn’t aware that the fool could likely do nothing for this sort of ailment. This is something beyond the practices of modern medicine. This is theirs to soothe. 

“So, are you all going to give a decent explanation as to what the fuck happened, or are we going to keep sitting around acting like Quackity is on his deathbed?” Schlatt asks, breaking the silence that had come as soon as the doctor shut the door behind them. 

“He hasn’t woken up in several days, so that might be accurate.” Fundy proceeds to reply, to which Schlatt reacts by looking at the pirate with a mix of something utterly baffled and distraught. 

“He hasn’t what?” 

“He’s fine.” Tubbo insists, waving a hand out, before pausing and taking another look at the way Quackity’s head is covered up in bandages. “Probably. We’ve got him to a doctor, so that’s one thing right-” 

“Did you fucking crack his skull open for shits and giggles?!” Schlatt accuses, Tubbo’s face twisting up in offense, hands coming down at his sides as he leans off the edge of the bed.

“Hey, we weren’t the ones who did it, it was some other guys!”

“But he was on your ship, I bet!” Schlatt shoots back, pointing a finger out with a scowling look. “He was with you fuckers, and-”

“He knew very well what risks he could take in joining us.” Technoblade cuts him off, the steely tone of his voice making Schlatt falter in his anger. Niki makes a light sigh at the way the tension has begun to grow thick through the room. She won’t be surprised if this ends in a fight, after all. 

“In our defense, he’s been mostly safe throughout all of this.” She says, pressing her other hand over Wil’s fingers, cradling the whole of his hand tightly. “But our last fight went sideways-”

“What? How?” Schlatt frowns, suspicious now over what circumstances have landed them here. “Does he got something to do with it?” He nods his chin in Wil’s direction, something bitter on his tongue. Techno takes a step closer to Wil, keeping mostly out of Schlatt’s vision.

“Things have been different, as of late. It’s…” Niki tries to explain, and she falters in feeling Wilbur’s hand squeeze her fingers back, tugging her arm ever so gently. She turns her head in an instant. “Wil?” 

“Is he up?” Tubbo asks, crawling over to Niki’s side, leaning on her shoulder. Techno leans down to reach a hand out to Wilbur’s face, brushing out some of the damp hair sticking to his skin. 

Schlatt takes in the reactions with a sense of bewilderment, for everyone had been on the edge of argument just now, Technoblade specifically having been glaring signals of death upon him not two seconds earlier. Now, that same pirate looks upon their mystery guest with a total turnaround in mood, as if it’s someone who’s-

“Wilbur.” He says, in a quiet, calm tone. 

Schlatt’s eyes go wide. Some signal at the back of his head lights up for a new chance, a new opportunity, and a new circumstance to consider. 

…Wilbur.

“Techno?” Wilbur slowly murmurs back, eyes opening at last to a bleary vision, his free hand dragging up to press his knuckles over his brow. His lips curl in a grimacing look, but it’s more something of pain than outright terror, this time around. “Oh- fuck, my head hurts.” He hisses, shifting his head to turn away, cheek to the pillow underneath him. 

“Add another person to the head injury count.” Tubbo gives as his brilliant input, and Niki exasperatedly swats him away from her shoulder, the foolish pirate being no help right now. 

“You’re alright.” She says to Wil, leaning in and lifting his hand in hers. “We’re at a medic’s inn, we’re all here. Quackity’s resting right over there. I’m here.” She squeezes his fingers, and warmth blooms under his skin at last, his blood finally letting go of the chill from outside. 

The rain has stopped upon the window. Niki hardly notices. 

“Niki.” Wilbur breathes out, blinking hard, like his vision just isn’t quite settling. The blue in his gaze has returned, and it lingers oddly as he keeps blinking over and over. Techno regards it with an interested tilt of his head. “Uhg- I can’t- I can’t see.” 

“Let me look at your eyes.” Technoblade instantly says, a touch overbearing in concern. 

“There’s nothing in my eyes, I just- I can’t see.” Wilbur says, knowing that’s not how he should describe it, but not sure how to explain it. He takes his hand away from Niki and pushes himself to sit, both Techno and Niki making sure that he’s well enough to do it. 

He leans against the backboard of the bed, making a harsh huff of exertion, then he looks up, and the brown in his eyes has returned. 

“Everyone’s alright?” He reconfirms, finding relief in Niki’s slow nod. His attention drifts past her to Schlatt standing behind, and his face goes confused. “Who’s this?”

“I’m your doctor. You have three days to live.” Schlatt instantly deadpans, Wilbur looking even more confused, a little worried. 

“Schlatt.” Niki says, both a warning and a sort of introduction.

“Joking, I’m joking.” Schlatt raises his hands, palms out as if in surrender. He shrugs his shoulders up. “I’m the reason you guys were able to get into this inn so quickly. I’d say you owe me-”

“Don’t push it.” Technoblade warns. 

“But we can forget about it, just this once.” Schlatt quickly goes on, nearly impressed by how quickly Techno has gone back to his death glare. 

“To be honest, you’re the last person I would’ve expected for us to run into right now.” Niki says truthfully, looking at Schlatt with a sharp-edged smile. 

“Yeah, same to you. Funny seeing your faces here.” Schlatt responds, the most of his anger seeming to have passed on. “And with one new face. Except-” He looks directly at Wil, a flicker of recognition passing through his gaze. Wilbur looks back with something wary, not liking the glint in his eye, as if he’s spotted something shiny within the muddy depths of the sand. 

“What?” Wilbur questions, Niki looking between them both with a suspecting air. Schlatt makes a sudden step forward, arm reaching out.

“You.” He says, rather intensely. “You’re-”

Whatever he was meaning to say, it’s left only to the wind, because right as he comes too close-- Wilbur leaning back, Niki putting an arm before him-- Techno moves away from their side and slams into Schlatt, grabbing the front of his coat and pushing him backwards, the two of them going towards the vague direction of the door. 

“Oh, shit, here we go.” Fundy says, simply watching Schlatt be shoved across the room, Tubbo breaking out into a laugh. 

“Woah, woah, woah, heyy, buddy-” Schlatt chokes out, kicking his legs to try and find solid footing on the floor, and he gives a strained oof as his spine hits the wall, the pirate’s fists still not faltering, pressing instead into his collarbone. There is no doubt Techno could probably put him right through the wall, and then some, and personally, Schlatt feels like that’s just overkill, but who is he to judge the clearly pissed off pirate? 

“Techno.” Niki calls, not even blinking at how Schlatt is currently being held moments away from having his neck broken.

“Techno!” Wilbur yells, scooting forward from where he’s sitting. 

“We’re friends. We’re friends, right, Techno? My guyyyy, Technoblade. We’re buddies!” Schlatt begins to ramble, a touch panicked for good reason. “We are on truce right now, you can’t kill a guy on truce-!” He insists, yanking at Techno’s arm to try and lighten up the way he’s slowly cutting off his air supply. 

“Sure I can.” Technoblade narrows his eyes, teeth bared in a grin that holds no friendly intention. 

“Christ, I didn’t even do anything-! Wilbur, call off your pirate!” Schlatt screams, waving his hand desperately at Wil.

“Techno, stop.” Wilbur says, and miraculously, to Schlatt’s relief and surprise, Techno does. He lightens up his grip, and then lets go entirely, Schlatt being set on his feet with a gasping breath as Techno turns and just- walks away. 

He returns to Wil’s side, like he never left. 

“Oh my fucking god.” Schlatt coughs, bending over at the hip to catch his breath. “Don’t go near the kid, got it. Fucking christ.”

Wilbur glances to Techno with a small frown, then takes in Schlatt’s words and his earlier attempt of a sentence. “Do you know me?” He asks, and Schlatt makes an abrupt laugh, everyone lifting their heads in sudden focus. 

“Of course I do. Who doesn’t, at this point?” He croaks out, and as he gives his attention back to Niki, he goes to answer the pressing question in her wide-eyed stare. “His name is all over. Reports are mixed, but I know what you’ve been up to these years.” He stands up straight, smoothing down the front of his coat with a deep breath. “You found him, huh? That’s the kid?” 

“What are you doing here, Schlatt?” Niki asks, her words now heavy in a way that’s gone cautious. Wary. 

“Well, I’ve got errands to run. This town happened to be on the list.” He huffs, taking a step towards Quackity’s bed, away from Wilbur, and away from Techno. “Believe me, if I knew you would all be here, I wouldn’t be here.” 

Wilbur still doesn’t have any decent answer to his own confused thoughts, and he looks up to Techno for his answers. “Who is he?”

Schlatt cuts in to answer for him, before Techno can make some clever, painful insult. “I - am a working partner of your father.” Wil’s eyes go wide at the mention of the captain, and Schlatt feels an added weight of stress onto his back at the tiny confirmation that this is the captain’s kid, indeed. 

“I think partner is a too strong word.” Fundy comments from where he stays standing beside the door. Schlatt gives a slight sputtering noise. 

“Okay, well, it’s nice to see you haven’t lost a grudge-”

“Pity to see you haven’t lost a limb.” Tubbo interrupts, speaking the threat half-heartedly, his chin resting on the palm of his hand, elbow upon his knee. “I can fix that, by the way.” He offers, raising his arm up with a grin and an evil light in his eye. 

“Oh-ho-kay! Geez. You haven’t gotten any less fuckin’ stabby.” Schlatt exclaims, making another step away from the pirate side of the room. 

“We used to work with him, a while back.” Niki explains to Wilbur, slight irritation crossing over her features. “Although, we have had- several - problems with him, before. Eventually, it got a point that we had to cut ties.”

“...Problems?” Wilbur repeats, glancing at Schlatt, then looking at Tubbo, who keeps making a grinning smile that holds a vivid annoyance in the curl of his lip. Schlatt is pointedly now avoiding all their gazes. 

“Ah, it’s old news, you know. I might've… double crossed them once, or… twice, or… a couple dozen times- but that’s old news, and we can forget about that!” He waves his hand out, Wilbur now wondering how exactly this man is still alive, if he’s pissed off all these pirates several times over. “I mean, clearly, I didn’t really set you back, if he’s sitting right here- okay, okay!” Schlatt jumps away as Techno makes a warning step forward, Wilbur almost reaching a hand up to ensure that Techno doesn’t go murdering someone before his very eyes. “My god. You are all touchy.” 

“I’m not going to trust you within a ten mile radius of him.” Techno voices all their thoughts, no one really disagreeing with the statement. Niki makes a slight shrug, as if agreeing to such a thing is just out of her hands. Schlatt scoffs with a hand to his chest at the same time as Tubbo goes standing to his feet, jumping off from the edge of Wil’s bed. 

“Well, that’s just mean.” Schlatt insists, eyes kept focused on Tubbo, still feeling the scar from last time he looked away from the menace for a little too long. “I’m not a bad guy. All’s worked out well, we always end on a good note. Hey, remember the last time we talked? I still got you those men you were looking for, right, Technoblade?”

Yes, that’s right. Techno did indeed find the men he was searching for last time, in a shared jail cell, after having gotten arrested for a whole night. The answers given through harrowing interrogation were not worth the time spent in that dark, filthy jailplace. He’s glad for the fact Tubbo blew it up in the morning, the crew having come to retrieve him after finding out that Schlatt ditched town after collecting the cash reward of turning in a pirate. 

At such a pleasant reminder of that last interaction, Techno looks over his shoulder to Wilbur with a hand placed over the handle of his sword. “Say the word, and I will kill him.” 

“Heh-heh-hey, now-” Schlatt holds his hands up, nervously eyeing the door, and not liking how Fundy is staring back with an intentional step closer to the only exit out of the room. 

“Maybe- refrain?” Wilbur cannot help but reply, not exactly wanting to immediately jump to instant murder. Upon consideration of Techno’s current mood, clear anger across his face, he repeats the word a little more firmly. “Refrain.” 

Techno sighs heavily, like Wilbur’s asking so much from him. 

“When we used to work with him, he’d help give information about illegal cargo shipments, Navy postings-- similar to Quackity, except it turned out that Quackity has a larger range of social connections.” Mostly because Schlatt has a tendency to accidentally go burning bridges. “Hence why we asked him to come with us, and not him.” 

“That, and, he kept selling us out to the Navy for the bounties.” Fundy hisses, Schlatt waving his arms out and trying to speak over him with a dismissive tone. 

“You act like it was an actual problem to deal with them! I gave you warnings beforehand, and I’ve seen you bring down your ships. You people are fucking efficient with that shit.” 

“Yes, but we’re trying to steer clear of trouble now.” Niki argues, teeth bared in a threatening smile. “We do not need you to add more stress to our load.”

“Yeah, yeah, precious cargo.” Schlatt shrugs a shoulder, turning his head away, giving no further pushback there. He puts his attention onto Quackity, instead, turning the conversation away from his own past actions. He huffs, resentfulness creeping upon his voice. “Last I heard of him, you were giving him an offer to properly join your crew. Look how it’s ended up.” He makes a false grin towards them all, head shaking with a sort of disappointment. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” 

Wilbur looks away from Schlatt and takes in the sight of Quackity laying still, bandages no help to the way his eyes have stayed stubbornly closed. He thinks of falling over the railing again, thinks of how he had gone so quickly to surrender before it. He feels like an idiot. He grimaces, turning his head away. 

“I’ll take him off your hands.” Schlatt offers out of nowhere.

“What?” Wilbur asks, snapping his head back up, immediately yanked out of his regrets. 

“What?” Niki repeats, similarly thrown off guard. 

“Look, consider it me making us even.” He pauses for a second. “Again.” He clears his throat. “Your faces are not something that’s going to bring peace around here, and with that one in the mix-” He points at Wil, Niki glancing at him with something worried. “Shit, it’s all going to get messy.” Schlatt takes a step back to the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he makes a nod towards Quackity’s body. “I’ll keep watch on him. You can all head off. He’s better off here than with you lot, I think.” 

“You can’t just take him.” Wilbur protests, Schlatt’s attention jumping to him with his expression turning harsh.

“No?” The man chuckles, purposefully ignoring all the warning looks from the pirates in the room. “You refuse, your royal highness?” 

“I- what?” Wilbur reels back, put off by the sudden teasing remark. “I’m not going to just trust you with him.” He insists, making a meaningful glance at Techno, Schlatt having no doubt that he’d set the pirate forward at any second if it meant he could ensure no threat would come near his friend. 

“I’m not a stranger, kid.” Schlatt says cooly, an honest sort of weight coming over his words. “I’ve worked with him before, we’ve known each other for years. It’s just-” He looks at Quackity again with a sigh. “It’s been some time.”

Bridges burned, as per usual. The two of them have always had differing opinions on these pirates, and while Schlatt’s been smart enough to keep some sort of distance, the safety of grudges keeping their presence away, Quackity was always bound to get too caught up. 

From the moment their captain gave that tempting little offer in a letter-- Quackity was always doomed to be swept up in the rush of it all.  

“It… would be safer for him if we left him with you.” Niki considers Schlatt’s words, talking slowly as she takes in the benefits of leaving their one true human to the safety of land. 

“No-” Wilbur argues, sitting up farther with a hand pulling at Niki’s arm. “You said he’s double-crossed you. Multiple times!” He yells, throwing an arm up in Schlatt’s direction.

“Hey, I had my reasons. I don’t need to explain myself to you!” Schlatt defends himself, pointing a finger back.

“The reasons were that he wanted money.” Tubbo explains simply. 

“That’s a decent reason.” Schlatt reasons. Fundy rolls his eyes. 

“Seriously, you want to leave Quackity with him.” Wilbur deadpans, Niki wincing for the fair assumption, Techno stepping in to give his input.

“While I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, it’s true that he doesn’t have any motive to screw Quackity over. With us, he’s always had his eye on our bounties. With him-” Techno begins to say, looking at Quackity with an analyzing eye. 

“No, absolutely not.” Wilbur cuts him off, a frustration bubbling up in his chest at the idea of failing Quackity once more, of truly giving a betrayal rather than just making an accidental damage. “We can’t just-”

“Does this kid seriously call all the shots now?” Schlatt remarks, noting how throughout the entire conversation, everyone’s attention has lingered on Wil, on his every word, on his every reaction. It is an unusual worry, for these sorts of pirates, who couldn’t seem to care less for how their fellow crew member could be faring, since they all hold their own with an impressive type of stubborn fight. With this, though, it’s something new, something fierce. They don’t just look at Wilbur like he’s the dear child of their boss, they look at him like he’s the highest power in the room, like he’s got something else that Schlatt is incapable of ever seeing. 

“Stop calling me a fucking kid!” Wilbur snaps at Schlatt, a sudden crack of lighting ringing so close that it echoes through the walls, Schlatt startling and shifting his weight on his feet, all pirates lifting their head into a high alert. Niki and Techno pass quiet looks as Techno sets a hand on Wil’s shoulder, and Wilbur breathes with hasty blinks, a sense of guilt crossing his face. “Sorry.” He apologizes, and it clicks in Schlatt’s mind, at last. “Sorry, I’m- I’m fine.” He insists to Techno, who relents and lets his hand fall away. 

Schlatt steps forward with his eyes looking at Wil in a new light. “Holy shit.” He murmurs, having suspected, but never having thought that it could honestly be true. “The rain-” He tries to say, and Techno doesn’t let him finish.

“Let’s stay on track.” 

 “Are the stories true?” Schlatt only asks in return, rethinking every rumor he’s heard in a different light, now. He reconsiders how to approach this, and reconsiders the effort it will take to get back in their good graces once more. “The storm that came, that wasn’t just-”

“On track, Schlatt.” Niki warns, a steely tone put across her voice. 

Schlatt hesitates for a second, wanting to ask more, but he nods and decides to go on. He knows to not push this. He can follow up on it later. “Right.” He agrees, clearing his throat and gesturing to Quackity. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I know you probably have other places to be than here.” 

“We’re honestly just going to leave him?” Wilbur asks, a little desperate in the way he speaks it, a hint of fear showing in his eyes. Niki turns a glance to the window, but no rain has come, yet. 

“There’s nothing else we can do, Wil. He needs rest, and we aren’t the best hosts for recovery.” She reasons, Wil’s expression going conflicted, a sprinkling rain starting to fall outside. 

“That’s not to mention the fact that we need to keep moving.” Techno adds on, Niki nodding agreeingly. She’s been more out of the loop than she thought, if Schlatt is saying that Wil’s name is spreading around. Threats will come from every direction, and if they’re going to be facing them, she would rather do it upon the ocean waves, rather than here on land, where everything seems so- muffled.  

“Can’t we wait a day or two, at least?” Wilbur tries to bargain, holding his hand out to Quackity’s direction. “Leave some sort of note?”

“I could hand it to him when he wakes up.” Schlatt offers, raising his hand up. 

“I am not trusting you with our locations.” Techno refuses. 

“Then how will Quackity find us again?” Wilbur speaks up, and the silence that comes after drags on a few seconds too many. “We can’t just-” He shakes his head, the rain starting to pour. “We can’t just leave him behind with nothing.” 

Just then, there comes a heavy, unexpected knock on the door. Everyone turns their heads with a curious eye, watching as the door swings wide open, no doctor on the other side, but rather the face of a nervous navy officer, a gun held high in their hand. They take in all the company within the room with a frozen reaction, just as the company processes the implications of an officer just wandering right into their room. 

“I knew I should’ve bribed that fucking doctor.” Schlatt mutters, narrowing his eyes with a scrunched nose. In an instant, right after that statement, Tubbo goes to pull his gun from behind him, sending out a bullet faster than one could blink, and shooting the officer directly in the head. Screams of the staff ring out as the body slams down into the hallway floor, and Niki stands to her feet with an acknowledgment that they’ve used up the most of their time without problems. 

“Diversion time?” Fundy asks, taking his gun out and checking to see that it’s loaded properly. 

Niki nods to him with a look towards the open door. “Diversion. Tubbo, Fundy, go.” She orders, and they both run out, Tubbo laughing wildly as he goes, jumping over the body with a yelling call of attention. 

“I’m a pirate and I’m stealing all all your fucking money!” He cries to all the staff within the hall, more screams following as him and Fundy make their beeline out from the building. 

“Alright, we need to go.” Niki says, stepping towards Schlatt with a careful glance out the window. “Are Navy heavy here?”

Schlatt clicks his tongue with a following scoff. “Navy’s heavy everywhere. I told you, word is getting around. I’ve had dozens on my ass just this week, let alone in the past month.” He falters for a split moment, annoyance fizzling away into an interested look. “What the hell have you started now?” He asks, and then he looks at Wilbur with a considering eye, trying to see past the first simple title of being the captain’s blood. 

“You can find out some other day.” Techno says, and he reaches down to help pull Wilbur to his feet, fully willing to carry him back to the ship if needed. Wilbur stumbles in his steps in getting up, but pushes back at Techno before they can truly move. 

“Wait, wait-” He insists, his focus pointed to Quackity over all. 

“We need to go, now, Wil.” Technoblade stresses, holding tight to Wilbur’s arm, ensuring his balance and ensuring that he’ll be able to yank him along if they need to get right into a sprint soon. 

“We can’t just leave him!” Wilbur repeats to Niki, a thunder rolling over in the distance. “We can’t just-”

“We’ll find him again. Or more likely, he’ll find us.” Niki promises, taking Wilbur’s other arm in a firm grip, reassuring in the way she squeezes tightly just over his elbow. “He’s smart, you know that. He’ll find us.” 

Wilbur hesitates, either way, pulling away from both Techno and Niki, making his way over to Quackity’s bed. Both pirates turn their gaze onto Schlatt, as if warning him to not try anything. Schlatt makes a single, reasonable step back, allowing Wilbur to have his own space with Quackity, however, all that Wil truly does is touch at the back of Quackity’s hand, eyes flashing blue with the rain outside starting to pour. “I just-” He tries to say, mouth opening and closing in a message he can’t seem to put together. In the end, he just ends up looking towards Schlatt. 

“You should probably start running back to your ship.” Schlatt advises, not wanting to pull together his excuses for interacting with pirates when this is all done and over with.

“Schlatt, yes?” Wilbur asks, confirming the name. Schlatt lifts his head with notice to the way Wil’s voice has shifted into something more clear. “You keep him safe until he finds his way back to us.” He tells him, fingers still pressed to Quackity’s knuckles, the rain still drizzling down in something consistent. 

Schlatt makes a light, dry laugh. “I know they’re giving me a poor reputation, but you can put a little faith in me-”

“Don’t.” Wilbur cuts him off. Schlatt’s mouth runs dry, and it’s not for the threats of both Techno and Niki staring him down, their grudges and their anger giving plenty of reason for danger. It is Wilbur, the unpredictable, unknown variable in the equation, a terrible potential coming to life behind his eyes. “You will keep him safe.” Wilbur tells him, orders him, with something more than just the power that comes from being the shared blood of a feared pirate leader. “Swear it. On your life.” 

Any other day, Schlatt would scoff at that sort of request. But today, there is a storm above his head, one that approached fast with no logical type of explanation. Today, there is a boy looking at him with eyes blue, reminiscent of both his father and something more. 

Today, Schlatt is vividly reminded of all those grand tales he loved to play up in the bars, thinking that the pirates he knew just had a habit of attracting rumors that went a little too far in the mythical side of things. 

“I swear on my life.” Schlatt can’t help but say, truly meaning it, truly feeling as if he’s attaching his very heart to the promise. 

Wilbur breathes, then closes his eyes. The rain outside pours down with a crackling, loud strike of lightning flashing through the sky. He opens his eyes back up, and he takes his hand away from Quackity, turning to his crew. 

His eyes are blue, Schlatt thinks. The brown might’ve only ever been a false thing of the light. 

“Let’s go.” Wil says, reaching out to Techno, allowing him to take his arm and help lead him out. Niki takes Wil’s hand as well, and from there, they take Wil and leave, the storm beginning, and then leaving with them. 

Schlatt stands in place for a little while. Listens to the sound of the heavy gunfire start, then grow faint. He watches as the rain falters and fades over the course of the hour, the clouds dragged away to bring back the sun that was here earlier in the day. 

He considers the things he’s heard, throughout all these years. Wonders what ends he should chase down. Although, with the burden of Quackity, who probably won’t wake up any time soon-

There comes a pained groan from in front of Schlatt, and blinks himself back into the now, wondering if he truly was staring off into space for that fucking long. 

No, it was nothing like that. Not more than an hour has passed. 

Quackity awakes in his bed, with the injury upon his head completely and entirely healed.