Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fire crawled up ropes, blood slicked the planks underfoot, and the chorus of gunfire and swords crashing on swords hung like a storm cloud over the three ships in combat. Taking a rope in his hands, Blackbeard swung over to the second merchant ship they’d managed to ambush. How lucky, they’d caught two in a row. Despite their feeble attempts to team up, neither ship would be spared and would soon be sat on the sea floor beside their battered crews.

Edward’s heart thumped in his ears. As the adrenaline kicked in, he fell into the dance of dodging attacks and returning strikes, leaping over bodies and crouching when a rogue cannonball or blade would come his way. Block, push, stab and look away from the body as it falls. Jump into another fight to forget it. Jump into another fight so your crew doesn’t die, and so later they’ll tell tales about how many unaware sailors you managed to gut.

The first merchant ship was up in flames. Its crew were jumping into the water to escape the blaze that climbed the wooden vessel higher and higher. On the second ship, the struggle was already dying down. Izzy stabbed a sailor then pushed him right over the railing into the sea. Fang and Ivan were already scouring bodies and cabins for loot. Jim’s eyes were crazed as they fought two attackers.

Before setting fire to the second vessel, Edward made sure to lower a few dinghies for the stranded survivors below. As The Revenge sped away, roaring with celebratory cheers from the victors, he watched them pile into the boats and row away. Though their expressions were too far away to distinguish, he imagined they were empty or drowned in fear.

“I’d say our new crew proved to be quite adequate today,” Izzy said, coming up to stand beside him. His eyes were trained on the demolished ships instead. Though they were away from the fire, Edward thought he could still see its brutal burn in his dark eyes.

Blackbeard choked out a gruff laugh. He’d breathed in too much smoke, so speaking felt like grating metal on concrete.

Izzy smiled a wide, chilling smile. “It’s good to be back.”

Edward couldn’t get his voice to budge, it felt too heavy in his chest. His eyes were watering from the charcoal that had gotten in them. So he just stood. A phantom to decorate the victorious vessel. A warning.

Chapter Text

“So what you’re saying is it took you trekking miles to barge in on your wife and kids unannounced just after they’d accepted you were as good as dead for you to realize you wanted this life? So what was all of that before? A sandbox at the park for you to play in until you got bored? What about us, our lives?”

“No!” Stede exclaimed, although there was no real force or anger in his voice. His shoulders were slumping more with each second as he sat on a rock facing his crew, who he’d discovered marooned on scrap of sand he’d hardly call an island. This wasn’t how he envisioned this going, although who was he kidding, of course it would end up this way. As always, he’d made the wrong choice, and as always someone else had to point it out to him.

Oluwande wasn’t backing down. “Then what the hell happened?”

“I…I got scared, okay? I was scared. Things were too good, and, well, I’m not accustomed to…to having that.” As their ship had been boarded by the British and their crew captured one by one, he had not been able to pull a ridiculous grin from his face. Ed had come back, had chosen him. And when he’d been about to die, he’d been happy to go knowing that if he’d done anything right in his life it was earning Ed’s trust. Then the fright had set in. Trust is always a heavy thing, and instead of being a prize to win it became a sandbag on his shoulders, getting heavier with each sacrifice Ed made for him. They’d signed their lives away to serve the crown, Ed had shaved his beard and was folding clothes god damn it. And Stede couldn’t help but think that his sin in life was greed—he’d taken on a crew and role of captain waltzing in with nothing but his books and fancy clothes, he’d been saved by Oluwande’s advice and secrecy, by Ed and his expertise and willingness to take an absolute fool like him under his care, by all the crew and, hell, by sheer luck. And now, with his crew in Izzy’s hands and Blackbeard a mere ghost of the pirate he’d been before, Stede had the audacity to feel joy, to kiss the man he loved and consider a life with him, away from all the carnage in their wake. “I was a fool, and honestly, you had all the right to mutiny that first day, and I have no idea why you didn’t. I was not a good captain, I was no captain at all. For that, I am sorry. And for leaving. I thought that was for the best.”

There was a silence, and it stretched in the air between them like a clothesline in the summer sun. Finally, Oluwande hung his head, let out a sigh, and said, “Well now’s your chance to stop being a fool.”

The rest of the crew had gone unnaturally still, and Stede was worried the sun was getting to them. He himself could feel his brain slowly frying like an egg in a well pre-heated pan, or maybe that was from the exhaustion of having rowed for two days on no sleep. “Will you have me back?” he said.

Black Pete’s doubting frown relaxed a bit, Buttons was still glaring at Swede cowering behind Wee John who nodded in acknowledgement. Roach, without lowering his bat, said, “A crew’s no crew without a captain. Although, a crews no crew without a ship, either.”

Stede stood up, brushing sand off his pants. The rough fabric was still something he was getting used to, and the salt and sand and sun and the blisters on his palms from rowing. Those callouses would take time to build. “Well, we’re pirates, aren’t we? We can get a ship.”

“So we’re not eatin’ anybody?” Buttons said. His eyes wouldn’t leave The Swede, and Stede was getting a slight bit worried about what had gone on in his absence. Still, he couldn’t help but smile.

“No, Buttons, we’re not. We’re getting out of here.”

Chapter Text

Edward had never been alone. He’d had his mother, and a father he honestly rather he’d never had, but oh well, what can you do, that's life. Then he had his first crew, back when he hadn’t become Blackbeard yet and had nothing to worry about but the ghosts of his past and pretending to know how to hold a sword. He learned pretty quickly that the line between pretending and truth blurs after a while. Then, for a long time, he’d had Izzy, Fang, and Ivan. They were his main crew that had stuck by him no matter where his adrenaline-seeking, laughing-death-and-the-british-in-the-face brain lead them.

Still, for the past 21 days he’d been feeling like he was the one left on an island in the middle of the ocean. He’d been feeling so, so alone.

“I’m not a good man,” he muttered to himself as he paced Stede’s room. Actually, the room that had been his. It had no trace of Stede left, it was his no longer, he had no power here. No trace of the trinkets and fine fabrics and the man that had owned them. The man that had given Blackbeard hope he could be something more than a ruthless pirate with a smoking beard and nine guns. “That’s why I'm alone."

“You’re talking to yourself again,” a gruff voice said from the shadows. Ed hadn’t heard Izzy come in.

“And if I am? Is there a problem?”

Izzy paused for a moment. Edward almost thought he’d left. “The crew was just wondering where we are going. We’ve been sailing in circles for days now. They’re getting…mixed signals.”

At that, Blackbeard turned around. Izzy was standing at the door, hands clasped behind his back, no longer limping on his bandaged foot but still remembering to keep his distance. Good. “We’re waiting. If anyone has any concerns, they are free to come to me.”

“That’s why I’m here, Edward. First, we loot and burn two ships. Then another a week later. Then, you disappear for days and we float in the middle of the ocean watching seagulls.”

“That’s what being a pirate is like,” Edward said, shrugging. The frown on Izzy’s face deepened, and he could practically see his blood boiling and steam coming out of his ears. “If there are no ships, we wait. If there are ships, we loot them.”

“There were ships,” Izzy muttered. “But we had no captain. A pirate ship does not attack without a captain.”

Ed was getting a headache. “The captain was thinking.”

“And is he done thinking?”

Tilting his head in rumination, Blackbeard stopped pacing and faced Izzy, crossing his arms. “Yes. Yes, he is. And now we’re waiting.”

“For?”

“A ship, Izzy, a ship.” He dropped into the nearest chair. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable plain wooden furniture was. Why didn’t more people invest in cushioned seating? “A British naval ship.”

“Edward, you couldn’t possibly want to—“

“To attack a warship? Oh that’s exactly what I want.”

“Why on God’s Earth—“

“Oh, could you stop complaining?” Edward said, cutting Izzy off. “First we’re not doing enough, then we’re doing too much. Are you ever happy? You’re like a child at the shop wanting each toy and then getting bored with it after one minute because it looked better in the box then in action. Well that’s life, Izzy, and it’s about time you learned to deal with it.”

Izzy fumed and Ed could see gears turning in his head as he thought of something to shoot back with. Annoying Izzy was one of the few things that despite not being much of a challenge still entertained Blackbeard greatly.

When Izzy said nothing, Edward went on. “It’s been 21 days since I saved you from getting your ass thrown overboard for being a shit captain, give me a break. Wait at least a month till you start your whining again. Now go, make the crew clean the deck or something.”

Izzy’s expression froze. “You’ve been counting.”

He sat up straighter at the shift in Izzy’s tone. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve counted the days since he left.”

Ed’s heart jumped up to clog his throat, but he managed to say in a level voice, “I always count the days, Izzy.”

Izzy’s anger was back, but this time it had substance to it, beyond his perpetual state of annoyance. This was the anger Edward did his best to dodge, because every time, without fail, he’d give into it and kill a part of himself in the process. “You count days to remember tides and trading routes, not to cry about how long that…that mess has been gone. 21 days of normality, for the first time in how long? I couldn’t miss him any less if I tried. When will you get him out of your head?”

“He’s not in my head, he’s the furthest thing from my head. What’s in my head, and should be in yours too, is how we’re going to attack that ship we’re waiting for. Prepare the crew, First Mate Hands,” Blackbeard said, mockingly emphasizing the last three words. If Izzy wanted to play pirates, he’d play pirates.

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Izzy said, spinning around to leave.

Edward didn’t say what he was thinking—which was that he couldn’t care less right now—but instead, “You’re the one who wished for Blackbeard’s return. And the real Blackbeard never loses, does he?”

The door shut and Ed was left alone. He got up from the chair, kicked it aside, and collapsed into the nook where he slept. The cursed lighthouse painting kept sleep away as if it were a ship with any sane captain. Sane captains steer away from the lighthouses, not towards them at full speed ahead just to crash on the rocks. Another one of the basic rules of the sea that Ed had managed to forget. And rules must be obeyed, just as the tides cannot be fought by a flimsy rowboat with a lone, crazy man trying his best but failing to carve his own path to happiness in life. The tides will keep on pushing.

21 days, and he couldn’t throw the darn thing away.

In the dark, he muttered, “Stay the hell away."

Chapter Text

“So our plan is to wait until a ship comes by?” Wee John said from his spot in the shade.

“A ship will come by,” Stede said. He was holding a damp rag to his brow as he sat cross-legged on the scorching sand. “The privateering academy is close by. Eventually, a ship must pass us. Then we’ll take the dinghy and infiltrate.”

“You want to capture a privateering ship? In a dinghy?” Oluwande asked, raising his eyebrows. “When you’re wanted for desertion?”

“They won’t recognize me. Besides, Stede Bonnet is officially dead.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Black Pete muttered. Stede couldn’t be sure whether Pete—or any of the crew for that matter—was glad to have him back, but being abandoned by Edward must’ve disheartened them quite a bit for them to not so much as argue with his plan.

“We just have to wait.”

And wait they did, for the full day and then the next. When the sun was up, the entire crew would huddle in the scrap of shade beneath the single palm tree on the island. Buttons would occasionally shimmy over to Swede, who would move away only to find himself next to Roach, who still wouldn’t put that darn bat down even when resting, eyes half-lidded, against the tree. Wee John and Black Pete napped leaning against each other. Asleep, they both looked almost calm, not exhausted and resigned to being stranded out at sea.

And waiting was hard. It gave Stede time to think. As he thought, he quickly realized how small the island was, and wondered whether that was by accident or not. There were no animals or fresh water. No shelter, no civilization. During high tide there was barely enough room to stretch your legs.

Ed had left them here to die.

“How was he?” Stede asked, unable to sleep and sitting side by side with Oluwande by the water. “When you last saw him?”

“Blackbeard?”

Stede nodded.

“I don’t know if there’s much more to tell than we already did. He came back and you didn’t, and we really didn’t know what happened. No one told us. He seemed okay, for a bit. Lucius was with him. He wasn’t taking it any worse than you did when he left with Jack, to be honest. Then in the morning it was like Izzy was back in charge again. They made us chuck your stuff then left us for dead.”

Stede stayed quiet. He felt Olu was toning details down to spare him, and knowing how honest he usually was only scared Stede more. With the adrenaline of faking his death and scouring the sea for his crew dying down, the realization of how badly he’d screwed up was hitting him full on. All his life he’d been a burden to his family, unable to be the son his father wanted, the father his children needed, the husband Mary deserved. Then when he’d finally found a place he made better, he left, sending everything crashing down.

He hadn’t realized that as much as the pirates had become a part of his life, he’d become a part of theirs. In leaving, he hadn’t only punished himself. He’d hurt them, too. He’d hurt Ed.

“Jim’s still there,” Olu added, so quiet Stede thought it was more directed at himself than him.

“You were close?”

“Yeah. Or getting there.”

“I’m sorry. We’ll get them back. All of them.”

Oluwande just nodded, and the two of them sat quietly until the sun started to rise, bleeding the sky pink. Stede couldn’t stop wondering whether he’d ruined Ed for good. He’d once thought he’d defiled Blackbeard, the most famous pirate in the seven seas, brought him to ruin. But it wasn’t Blackbeard he should’ve been scared of defiling. It was the man underneath.

As Stede leaned back and nearly dozed off, Roach’s cry split the silence.

“A ship!”

The crew jumped to their feet and squinted in the direction Roach was pointing.

Stede drew in a deep breath. It was time.

***

“Ahh!” Lucius screamed.

“Ahh!” Jim screamed back. Then, coming to their senses, they clamped a hand over Lucius’s mouth. “Quiet, before somebody hears you.”

Lucius whimpered and nodded, and Jim released him. It was midnight and Jim had just sneaked out to scout the ship for supplies they might need to escape if things were to go south. After they’d ambushed Ivan and escaped their room during the first week, Blackbeard had caved and given them free roam of the ship. Still, Jim wanted to earn the Captain’s trust, so they didn’t sneak about and steal during the day. During the day, they were part of the new crew.

What they hadn’t expected from this evening excursion was to stumble on Lucius hiding in a crate in one of the secret stores Bonnet had built into the ship.

“You have no clue how happy I am to see you,” Lucius said, brushing himself off as Jim shut the door to the secret room. The candle in their hand sent flickering light across the books, jars of marmalade, and crates of useless junk like clothes and parchment and patterned curtains that filled the tiny space. There was a corner where Lucius seemed to have settled. It was cluttered by a couple plates, a nearly used up candle, and a bag thrown over the spare blanket he’d fashioned into a bed.

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

Lucius nodded.

“And nobody has seen you?”

“Well I didn’t want to get thrown overboard again,” he said, pouting and crossing his arms. “Since it seems that Blackbeard is still in his post break-up crisis. He’s really not taking it well.”

“The rest of the crew is gone. Frenchie is here. But the rest are gone.”

“I know, I listened through the walls.”

“So what are you planning to do?”

Lucius shrugged. “I was hoping you’d have a plan.”

Jim set the candle down and sat down, shaking their head. “You’re going to have to stay hidden for a while.”

“So I take it that’s a no to a plan.” In response, Jim glared at Lucius, and he raised his hands apologetically. “I was just asking.”

“We’re pirates, we don’t plan,” Jim said, getting up. “We fight, we loot, and we hope to stay alive. We lose things, and try to not get eaten up by the pain and thirst for vengeance.” Leaving the candle behind, they put their hand on the door handle and paused for a moment. “I’ll bring you food, so you don’t have to risk sneaking out.”

Not waiting for a reply, they left.

Chapter Text

“Hello there,” Stede called out, waving his arms as he tried to balance in the overcrowded dinghy. “We seem to have gotten quite lost. Would you be so kind as to help out some weary travellers?”

“This is a terrible plan,” Oluwande muttered.

Buttons nodded. “If we’re captured, I call dibs on Captain’s head.”

“May I have his hair?” The Swede pitched in. “Captain has very nice hair.”

“No one is losing their head!” Stede hissed under his breath, continuing to wave at the ship. He raised his voice again. “Hello! We would appreciate some help!” A particularly angry wave crashed against the side of their boat, and Stede went tumbling down, knocking Roach and Black Pete along with him. Sea water was bitter on his tongue.

That’s how they ended up sat on some crates on the deck of a British privateering ship.

“So, you’re fishermen, you say?” one of the officers asked.

“Yes. Our boat was overturned in a storm. We barely escaped with our lives! If we could travel to port with you, that would be splendid,” Stede said. The crew huddled around him.

“I shall talk to the Captain,” the officer said, scanning over their group. “You seem like a…pitiful lot.” With that, he retreated.

Once he was gone, Stede said, “Wee John, would you be able to set up an explosion? Not enough to sink the ship, but enough to scare them?”

Wee John nodded, already smiling. “We’d need gunpowder.”

“I’m sure there’s some on board.”

“We can look around,” Black Pete said, gesturing to himself and Roach.

“Yes, once we’ve settled in. And tonight, we attack.” Stede stood tall and tried to look like the captain he should’ve been from the start.

Only he had no clue how to actually captain. Determination was only part of it—the other part was skill.

But he had to get it right. He was getting his life back.

***

The crew seemed to pay them little attention, only occasionally looking at them down their noses whenever their lot moved or spoke too loud or made attempts at telling fake backstories in poorly done voices. Somehow, The Swede had picked up Wee John’s accent.

Stede retreated downstairs to think. Buttons trailed after him.

“It seems we’re outnumbered, Captain,” he said as they sat below deck in the empty sleeping area. It was still day, and the rest of the crew was milling about above. “I don’t know if I like these odds.”

“Well, that’s the art of fuckery. It’s branding, tomfoolery. It’s all for show.”

“Those swords don’t look like they’re for show.” Buttons nodded at a pile of weapons in the corner of the room.

Stede gulped. “What am I doing?” he whispered.

Buttons just looked at him with little to no sympathy and a fair bit of morbid curiosity. Even dressed in scratchy, simple clothes, he did not feel like a pirate. In books, pirates made grand speeches and drank and laughed and buried treasure of gold and jewels. They would become disgustingly rich on a raid and ride that high as they explored unknown lands away from the constraints of land. In reality, Stede had quickly learned that pirating is a game, not so different from the one he’d so despised having to play on land. There are rules, perhaps less petty ones since there are livelihoods on the line, but rules nonetheless. Rules that must be obeyed. In a small pond, every fish matters, and there is no time to relax because blood stains the water quick. One man’s weakness cannot drag everyone down. It isn’t that pirates are more or less ruthless than ordinary people (although some pirates sure have an inclination for evil)—it’s all about survival, and the moves you have to make to not be the pawn that gets taken.

But Stede hoped that this game had a place for him. If he was to die, he wanted to die as himself, foolish as ever but trying to stay honest to the end. That was better than a life of passively letting the current shape him into something he wasn’t. That had only brought him and his family misery.

“I am a pirate,” Stede said to himself. Even Buttons, ever the fan of conversations with oneself, looked at him apprehensively.

Before he could say anything, Oluwande appeared, panting from rushing down the stairs. “Glad you’ve got that sorted, boss. Because there’s a problem upstairs.”

***

“Thieves!” An officer was waving a sword in the direction of Black Pete and Roach, who were cornered by a barrel of gunpowder.

“This is not what it looks like,” Roach said. “We were just looking for something to eat. I’ve heard that gunpowder makes for an excellent supplement. Good for strength—”

“—and healthy teeth,” Black Pete concurred. "It's good with wine."

“Silence! The captain will deal with you,” the officer commanded. Other sailors were gathering next to him, murmuring excitedly over the commotion. Since this was a privateering ship, they were all armed, yet many of them looked terribly young, shoulders too narrow in their stark uniforms and hands clean and not yet burnt from the sun and tough ropes.

Stede rushed to stand between his men and the officer. The point of the blade was right at his chest. Displeased, he pushed it away with his hand. “Now there, I think there has been a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think there has,” said a voice. The captain of the ship pushed through the crowd. “Now, who are you, and what do you want on my ship?”

Stede stood tall, trying to look intimidating. If anything, he felt like a rooster showing off his feather when he had none to show off, considering he’d left all his nice clothing behind. Nevertheless, he didn’t back down. What would a pirate do in this situation, he thought. Who’s a real pirate? Ed would know what to do. But he wasn’t here. Who else?

Izzy. Izzy, with his glaring and his dry remarks.

“I'm afraid I have not been honest with you, no,” Stede said. He did his best to put on a gravelly voice. The captain's eyes were narrowed. “We are not fishermen. In fact, we are far worse.”

Drawing the sword he’d grabbed before running after Olu, Stede pulled the nearest sailor towards him and put the sword to his throat.

“I am Izzy Hands, pirate and first mate to the legendary Blackbeard. I am here to take over this ship at my captain’s command. All who stand in my way shall perish.”

Stede glared at his crew, who quickly caught on. Grabbing what weapons they had, they dived to grab hostages. Buttons was brandishing a shiv, Olu had also picked up a sword, Roach had his bat, and Black Pete had nothing in hand but terrified the sailors with his demeanour nonetheless.

There were a few gunshots in the mayhem, but none had hit his crew. Some of the privateer's crew had drawn their swords and guns while others pushed to get away from the frontline. The Revenge crew was outnumbered, but if they could just scare enough sailors into surrendering…

“Hold your fire!” the captain commanded, eyeing the hostages Stede and the crew had taken.

“Sailors,” Stede said, turning to the men still standing behind their captain. “We wish you no harm. We only need the ship, and those who join us will be granted safe passage to port, or, if they wish, a spot on Blackbeard’s crew.”

“Join, surrender, or die!” Buttons called out, swinging his knife. The sailor in his hold flailed and the knife caught his shoulder. Red stained his uniform and Buttons scowled, brandishing the stained blade.

A panicked gunshot whizzed past Stede’s head. Roach tugged his hostage to the side of the ship and shoved him overboard. He yelped as he went over, and an officer ran towards Roach, sword drawn.

“Fire again and more blood will be spilled!” Stede yelled. Everyone froze. His sweaty hand was slipping on the sword he was still holding to the sailor’s throat, and his arm was starting to ache. Maybe this wouldn’t work. Maybe they’d all be shot dead and thrown overboard. Even if he had to, he didn’t think he could kill this innocent man. And, no matter what Ed had said, maiming wasn’t a fun option either.

Just as Stede was starting to panic, an explosion shook the ship. His knees almost gave out.

Wee John.

Stede grinned. Blood was pounding in his ears. “We have rigged the ship to explode shall you not cooperate! Now, hand over your weapons, good sirs, and we can be on our merry way.” His voice was longer low and menacing, but he hoped its lilt was threatening nonetheless.

For a few moments, no one moved. Then, swords and guns hit the ground and the captain looked around at his crew, yelling for them to stand their ground, his voice getting weaker and weaker as he glanced between his quickly surrendering men and the pirates. Soon, all the officers, sailors, and the captain himself were lined up along the side of the ship, disarmed and hands tied behind their backs.

“Captain,” Oluwande asked. “What shall we do with this lot?”

Stede blinked, trying to come to his senses. With the adrenaline gone, the disbelief was setting in and he was feeling weak to the stomach from how near they’d been to death. Finally, his eyes focused on Oluwande. “Well, we can’t go to a port, now that they know we’re pirates. Are there enough dinghies to let them row there themselves?”

Oluwande nodded. “Should be. Are you sure you’re well, Captain? You look…”

Stede imagined he couldn’t have looked much better than a wet sandbag at that moment, and his limbs indeed felt like they were stuffed full of wet sand. “I think I need a nap.”

Leaving the crew to sort out the rest, Stede retreated below deck and promptly, and quite unceremoniously, passed out in a hammock.

He dreamt of the Revenge, of the captain’s quarters and his soft bed. He dreamt of making tea with seven sugars, not worrying over how to survive a raid but only over where to stock up on oranges.

Even in his sleep, he ached for home.

Chapter Text

The moon hung in the sky, its light fracturing on the waves below. Edward let his rushing thoughts go as he breathed in the cool night air. He was standing by the railing on the deck.

The crew was sat in a circle somewhere behind him. Their chatter and the warm light of lanterns and candles washed over him.

“Hey, Edward!” Ed’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of Izzy’s voice. Still, sucking in a breath, he turned and slowly walked over to where the man was sat with the rest of the crew. Ed had served with Izzy for a long time, he'd seen the few occasions on which he’d let himself relax and take time off from being a prick in everybody’s behinds. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights. It was a rare but welcome occasion.

The scent of booze hit Ed’s nose as he joined his crew.

“We were just reminiscing on old times,” Izzy explained. He was lounged back in a makeshift seat of rope and a couple sacks of grain. “Thought you’d do a better job recounting our time on Hornigold’s ship. After all, you served there longer than I had.”

Edward sat down between Frenchie and one of the new crew members Izzy had gladly hired on their last stop at port. Iago, Ed vaguely recalled. He was a short man with a missing eye, yet he couldn’t have been many years over twenty. Ed could feel Iago’s gaze trained on him, likely in admiration, fear, or study. Likely all three. The younger ones were always the same, eager for kills and glory and a name for themselves. After days of solitude, the attention set his guard on edge.

“Ah, Hornigold. A right ass, he was. Decent captain though. Saved us too many times to count on your hands. If you only have one hand.” Ed tried to sound relaxed, but with his makeup off he was afraid the dark circles under his eyes were showing. He leaned back into the shadows. He hadn’t expected to be thrust into a gathering.

“I think at the end there he was scared. Jealous, even,” Izzy said. He was nursing a drink, likely not the first he’d had that night. He seemed pleased, but Ed wasn’t entirely buying it. That gruff tone never left his voice. “You were quickly earning a reputation. He knew his days as captain were waning.”

Ed smiled. “The bastard had it coming.” Laughter made its round through the group of pirates.

“Did you kill him?” one of the new crew chimed in.

“Nah, he retired.” A few faces fell at that, likely waiting for a gory tale of his ascension to power. “We went into a raid we could’ve won but he chickened out. He was rich, knew he could give it up and live well. Didn’t want to take risks. Before we could mutiny, he handed leadership over to me.”

“And no one complained?” Iago asked. Izzy glared at him for his brashness.

Ed stared right back at the young pirate. “No. At least not after they’d lost a few fingers. Surprising how that wins people over. And anyways, I wasn’t Hornigold’s apprentice for nothing.” He made a mental note to be careful with this one. An ambitious doubter was never a good thing on a ship.

“While I got less of Hornigold’s crap, the ship was better off without him,” Izzy said. “He’d gotten too soft. His posh navy days never left him.” There was a weight to his words that only Edward could notice. A reminder.

He ignored it, instead saying, “That’s true, I suppose. He liked you. Jack and I always took the brunt of the blame.”

Izzy wrinkled his nose at the mention of the dead pirate. “Perhaps because you two were hardly ever sober. A wonder you survived those raids.”

“Calico Jack?” Crow, one of the new crew asked. Despite his name, he was as big as a crow is small, with a necklace of human teeth. Izzy had told Ed he’d gotten the name for his scavenging tendencies—keeping eyes, teeth, nails as mementos from raids. Ed had made sure to sit away from him.

“Yeah mate. Used to sail with him,” Ed replied.

Curious murmurs rose from the group.

“Who else did you sail with?” Iago leaned forward, bottle in hand. His mouth was a crooked smile. “The Gentleman Pirate?”

The question had been phrased as a quip, and a ballsy one at that, with a mocking lilt. Ed could feel Frenchie freeze beside him, where he’d been doodling on his lute before, and saw Izzy’s knuckles grow white on the glass he was holding.

Blackbeard didn’t like passive aggression. He let his anger bubble over the hurt that stung like a stab wound in his gut, making his voice quiet and low. “Iago, is it? And what have you heard of the Gentleman Pirate?”

The young pirate didn’t seem so eager to ask questions now. “Well…I heard Blackbeard sailed with him. That was the rumour, at least. Heard he was a joke.”

“Useless twat couldn’t hold a sword to save his sorry life,” Izzy muttered.

Edward thought to mention that Izzy had actually been bested by Bonnet, but, with the eyes of the crew on them, he bit back the remark. “What else? Ask away, mate” His eyes didn’t leave Iago.

Silence fell. People downed their drinks.

“That’s all,” Iago said.

Izzy glowered. “Well you heard right, he was a joke. Got stabbed and hung by the Spanish in one day.” That earned a laugh from the crew. Frenchie looked down at his feet.

Ed could hear his heart in his ears. His lungs sat heavy in his chest.

Izzy went on. “Dressed like a fool too. Like a purse dog dressed up by its owners. Frills, buttons, and all.” More laughter.

Izzy met Ed’s eyes over his drink.

It was dumb to play into it, Izzy knew damn well what he was doing. But Ed played into it nonetheless.

Before he could feel any other emotion, any emotion that may get him killed, he latched onto anger.

He was sick of all this bravado, the theatre of reputations. He’d been sick of it for a while. He was sick of how hollow it all felt, how the days and nights blurred in a mess of violence and booze without Stede and his idiotic crew.

Edward stood, drew his knife, and towered over Iago, pressing the point of the blade right to his throat. The laughter quickly died.

“The Gentleman Pirate is no more,” he said, voice harsh like storm waves crashing over rocks. “You are now sat on what used to be his ship. Any rumours about him, or by extension me, shall die with him, or you will find yourselves in the same place as all of his things.” He nodded at the inky sea beyond the railing.

Iago nodded. He wouldn’t be convinced, and neither would Izzy, once the adrenaline fades. Edward could see it in their eyes.

He dug the knife into Iago’s shoulder. Iago screamed, then bit down on his tongue.

“Just in case I wasn’t clear enough.”

Turning, Ed stepped into the shadows, hoping they could hide the storm on his face. What had he just done? It took all he had in him to keep his voice menacing as he said, “Get Frenchie to sew that up once you’re done whining.”

No one bothered him as he left. He shut the door of his room and crumpled. Tears streaked down his face, and the light from a lone candle reflected in the lines they made, fracturing the fragile visage of a man lost at sea.

What had he just done?

Chapter Text

It was late, or early, depending on what one considers almost sunrise to be. The crew, most of them hungover, was passed out below deck. Ivan was at the helm. After Jim had bested him with no weapon, he wouldn’t risk bothering them. No one really bothered them.

Jim sat and watched the fading night. They thought about what had gone on some hours before.

Blackbeard had joined their gathering, charcoal shadows traded in for dark under-eye bags. Jim could tell that beneath the relaxed and then menacing look that he’d worn there was turmoil. And they’d never liked Iago, especially not after seeing him celebrate each raid, as if each kill was simply a number, chipping away at thin air where his soul should’ve been. Honestly, they were glad to see him put in his place.

But something was wrong. Jim hated feeling pity for the man who’d abandoned the crew Jim had almost grown to tolerate like family. Who’d abandoned Oluwande. But they still did. They saw his pain and the survival instincts that covered the human beneath like a coat of barnacles on a neglected ship.

Yet they were not raised to forgive. They were raised to avenge.

Jim got up, walked to the door behind which Blackbeard would be sleeping. They listened. Quiet. They tested the door, but it was locked. Picking the lock, they prayed Ivan wouldn’t turn around or Izzy wouldn’t decide on a morning walk.

Finally, the door clicked open. They snuck inside, locking it behind them.

The captain was not sleeping. He was sat on his bed, eyes trained on the door and now on Jim. “30 seconds, not bad. That’s a pretty good lock.”

“Why are you awake?” It was a dumb question, but Jim was too caught off guard to think of anything else.

He just shrugged, got up, paced the room. He wasn’t even looking at Jim anymore. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jim had to choose. With the mess of emotions fighting in their mind, they chose instinct. They chose to act.

Pulling out their knife they grabbed Edward, shoved him back. They held a knife to his throat. “I hate you, you know?”

“Many people do.” There wasn’t any fear in his voice, not even a fraction. With tired eyes, he met Jim’s glare. “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

“Do you know what heartbreak feels like? How the rest of the world fades, like there is no future if they’re not there with you. How nothing dulls the pain, not anger or booze. How your brain twists and turns, trying to find a way back to what you lost, a way it can all be won back, because otherwise you don’t know what to do—you don’t want to do anything. Yet chasing it hurts more than just lying there, because that leaves room for hope. You know that feeling, don’t you?”

Yes, Ed thought. He could almost see the ghost of Stede in this room, hear the happy lilt of his voice as he talked about his books and fancy clothes, see the warmth in his eyes as he made Blackbeard, the most feared pirate on the seven seas, a cup of tea and treated him like a human, not a monster or a god or competition. Under the moon, Stede had seen Ed as someone worth beautiful things, had made him believe it, too. And treasure hunting. Ed would’ve killed everyone in a five mile radius out of embarrassment if not for Stede’s enthusiasm beguiling him. Stede had been a lighthouse in the vast sea of violence, pretence, and brashness. He had been Ed’s light.

And Ed had never seen himself as someone who could have that. When Stede had left, he’d been proven right. And it hurt. It hurt like hell. Like a wild animal, he’d lashed out, well-worn survival skills jumping into action to make the best of the mess he’d made by trying to chase a light that was never his to keep.

“Yes.” His voice fractured like glass. “I know how that feels.”

“Then why make the rest of us feel that too? Who did that help? Did it make you miss him less?” Jim glared, pressing the knife deeper into his skin.

“No.” Tears were welling up in Ed’s eyes and he couldn’t be bothered to hold them back. Jim’s anger was quickly shifting into pity once more.

Jim whirled around, leaving Ed to lean against the wall for balance as the full force of grief upturned his insides. They sat down on his bed, threw the knife at a spot in the wall, where it stuck with a dull thud. Stede would’ve complained, naming the type of wood it was and suggesting a different place for Jim to take out their anger, directing them to the rec room he’d had installed on the ship for this exact reason. Ed missed the lunatic, weird, foolish man he’d bared his heart to.

“I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry,” Ed managed to say. Everything in him recoiled from such openness, such weakness.

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

“It is. I was a monster.”

“Yeah.” Still might be, Jim thought. I’m sitting in the monster’s lair. They knew they could take him if it came to it, but they didn’t know if they wanted to. More and more they were realizing they didn’t.

Silence fell as both of them steeped in their feelings.

Jim grappled with the reality of never seeing Oluwande again. They hoped the crew had somehow escaped wherever they’d been stranded. Miracles have happened before, surely that wasn’t too much to ask for? But Jim also knew loss. They knew how final it was, and how hard it was to reconcile with that reality.

But what had they been thinking? They remembered Jackie’s words about revenge, looked at the man in front of them, and the fight within them died. This wasn’t life.

Ed was just horrified by what the Kraken had done. What he had done. He regretted it, trapping himself in this life he’d never wanted to go back to, not after seeing calmer, friendlier seas.

But he’d gone back to it nonetheless. It was who he was. This, this is Blackbeard, he heard in Izzy's voice.

He'd first stepped on a ship when he was fifteen and with nothing to his name. Hornigold, to his credit, had taken him in regardless. And he’d quickly learned how things worked in this world. He’d gone hungry because crew mates would take his rations, learned to fight so eventually that wouldn’t happen. On his first raid, Hornigold had asked him “Do you know how to hold a sword?” and he’d lied and nodded, watching and mimicking the more experienced pirates around him. He knew the question really was, “Are you going to be worth keeping around?” No one had held his hand. And just like last night, he’d hurt people, hurt them so he and his crew wouldn’t be hurt. It paid off, but to stay on top he couldn’t ever stop. Slicing off fingers, throwing arrogant crew overboard, torturing hostages so in the future ships would just surrender instead of trying to fight.

Life was a wheel and he was a hamster, believing he was running toward a better future. In reality, he was just tiring himself out, wearing his soul down. He didn’t want to be that anymore.

“I’m sure they escaped, there’s a shipping lane nearby, and the privateering academy. They could swim, even,” he said, trying to soothe some of the sorrow in Jim’s eyes and the guilt that sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Jim was utterly still. Ed was worried they hadn’t entirely decided against killing him.

“Want a drink?”

They retrieved their knife. It left a mark in the wall. Another ghost to haunt this room. “Why the hell not.”

Chapter Text

“Captain? Someone’s asking ‘bout you,” Buttons said, hovering by Stede’s hammock.

“Five more minutes,” Stede mumbled, turning his face away from the daylight that seeped into the room.

“They're onto us. Asking for the Gentleman Pirate.”

At that, Stede startled awake, rolling out of his hammock and straight onto the floor. Well, he was certainly awake now.

It was barely morning and mist still clung to the cool air. On the deck, by the ladder where the rest of the privateering crew was being ushered down into their dinghies, stood Oluwande, Black Pete, and a single sailor who was probably not many years over twenty.

“Anne Bonny,” the sailor said, reaching out to shake Stede’s hand.

Slightly bewildered, he returned the gesture. “You’re a woman.”

“Indeed I am,” she said, not breaking eye contact. “And I want a place on your crew. I know who you are, Gentleman Pirate.”

“Okay, first, how did you end up on this ship?”

Anne Bonny smiled, brandishing her large coat and short blond hair that was cut above the ears. “Dressed as a man. They don’t bother you much if you look the part. I was on the hired crew, they pay us dirt poorly, don’t really care who you are.”

“Second, how do you know who I am?”

At that, Bonny looked away. “I kind of caught on when I saw you. You have the hair, and the…singsong voice. Rumours fly fast, you know. Despite you being presumably dead.”

Stede huffed in indignation. “Singsong voice?” he said in a voice that was definitely singsongy now that he was thinking about it. “I swear, it must’ve been Hands. Or Jackie—“

“Captain,” Oluwande interrupted him.

“Yes, apologies. I just can’t believe…Moving on. A spot on the crew, you say?” Stede looked at Olu, Black Pete, and Buttons to judge their opinion. “Well, what do you have to offer?”

“I can teach you to fight.”

“And who says I can’t?”

“How you were holding that sword yesterday. Rumours.”

“We need to figure out how to stop these rumours, can’t be good for reputation,” Stede muttered, frowning. Buttons nodded solemnly.

“Getting trained by a woman won’t help your reputation either,” Black Pete mumbled. Oluwande glared at him, and he raised his hands apologetically. “I’m just saying.”

“Black Pete, we don’t judge our crew like that,” said Stede.

“‘Our crew’?” Anne Bonny repeated. Her eyes were wide. “So does that mean I’m in?”

“Well, I don’t see why not. We need all the help we can get.”

Bonny shook his hand again and then proceeded to jump up and down in excitement. Stede couldn’t help but smile at the young sailor’s enthusiasm.

How bad could having a new crew member be?

Very, it proved to be. By noon, Stede was bruised and had cut himself on his sword more times than he cared to admit. Anne Bonny was running circles around him.

Her style was different from Ed’s, which was measured and steady but still fairly intense, or Izzy’s, with his aggressive, overwhelming offence. It was light and clean and somehow ended with him dropping his sword and tripping over his own feet every time.

Stede plopped down on a crate and rested his elbows on his knees, catching his breath. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

In all fairness, Bonny seemed tired too. She sat down beside him. “I’m not too different from you—came from a rich family. My parents wanted me to learn fencing so I could disguise as a man if I ever needed to. Then our estate burned down and I did.” She said it all with a light tone more suited to talking about the weather than a tragic past.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. It’s history.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been?”

“Five months.”

Stede was going to comment how that in fact would not be considered history, but decided to let Bonny take this way out of the conversation. If she wanted to talk, she could. After all, that was their crew’s policy.

Some of the crew had drifted over to watch their practice. Bonny turned to Buttons, who had a seagull on his head. For a moment, Stede remembered Karl and was hit by a wave of sorrow that most would think too big for merely a pet, but Karl had been family.

“Would you like to practice?” Anne Bonny asked.

“Bartholomew does not like fast movement. Makes him seasick,” Buttons said.

“I could watch him,” said Stede. “Bartholomew I mean. I think I’m done for the day anyways.”

Buttons regarded him for a moment, then looked up at Bartholomew. He (Buttons) nodded. “Bart would be alright with that. Careful with the feet, they're gentle.” He scooped up the bird and set him on Stede’s head.

Despite being baffled by the bird’s consent to all this, Stede smiled.

For the rest of the day, the crew tended to the ship and took turns practicing sword work. Once Bonny got tired, others took over, and by the time the sun was setting everyone had had a go at duelling. Stede watched carefully, picking up tricks from every crew member. He couldn’t help but be amazed at each individual style, however ridiculous or simple.

If he’d had any worries about Bonny fitting in, they were assuaged as quickly as they’d set on. She had a seemingly endless energy and competitiveness that disarmed the most stoic of individuals and the most ridiculous of superstitions (Stede had no clue what the whole business with crystals was and thought it wholly ridiculous).

The sun melted into the sea and stars started showing. Bart was back with Buttons as he stood at the helm, and the crew was settling in to sleep. Stede watched the moon and despite the day’s merriness couldn’t help but give into a wave of nostalgia. He missed Frenchie’s music and Jim’s mysterious presence. He missed Ed.

Yet, for the first time in days, he slept without dreams, and it was the best sleep ever. He’d missed sleeping at sea.

Chapter Text

Ed and Jim sat in the captain’s quarters, a bottle of rum between them. They played cards, threw knives, talked little, and avoided personal topics or mentions of the old Revenge crew like the plague. It was a perfect morning.

Ed learned that even drunk, Jim had impeccable aim. Jim learned that Ed was better at cards than he let on. They both learned that the two of them were good at ignoring the residual tension in the room from Jim trying to kill Ed, neither of them sure where Ed ended and the Kraken took over.

“You make a lot more sense now,” Jim said, flipping a card in their hands. “You’re good at bluffing.”

“It’s all acting,” Edward said. “And you act a lot in this profession.”

“Only sometimes you bluff so much you bite your own tail.”

“Another game?”

This time Jim won. They were quickly seeing through his facade, although he did have an edge when it came to strategy.

Throughout the day, people joined them. Ivan and Fang played a few games, quiet at first to judge what mood their captain was in, but then relaxing and laughing freely. Jim called Frenchie over. Even Izzy joined in for a round, muttering under his breath about work that had to be done, but appeasing Ed nonetheless.

Edward tried to keep up the role of Blackbeard: distant, terrifying, mysterious pirate captain. He tried to keep that wall up to justify Stede leaving—they were never compatible to begin with, The Gentleman Pirate and the Kraken. But the more he faked, the heavier the lies sat on his shoulders. So, slowly, the bricks came loose, and the walls tumbled down.

The perfect morning didn’t last.

Edward, Jim, and Izzy were sitting at a table, finishing their game. At a commotion outside, they all froze, listening and judging the danger. There was scuffling and harsh voices, then a high-pitched scream.

All of them recognized that voice in an instant.

Jim cursed in Spanish, Izzy’s face shifted into broiling anger, and Edward was at the front, pushing through the door and out onto the deck to see Crow holding Lucius and Iago pointing a knife at his face.

“What’s the matter here?” Edward said, rising up to stand to his full height and translating his shock into indignation.

“We found a stowaway,” Iago said.

“One that I supposed was dead,” Izzy muttered from behind Ed. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“I pushed him overboard.” Ed’s wide eyes were still trained on Lucius, disheveled, decidedly not drowned, and squirming in Crow’s grasp. “Crow, release him. There’s nowhere he can run.” When the man didn’t listen, Edward stared him down.

With a huff, Crow let go. Lucius fell to the ground and then scrambled back up.

“How are you here?” Ed asked.

“Passages. Ste— this ship has passages. I clung onto the ship, climbed up when it stopped, and hid in the secret rooms. Quite cozy really, plenty of books and marmalade, you really forget the space is so small. Who would’ve thought—“

“You’re blabbering.”

“And you tried to kill me.” It was bold, but Ed supposed Lucius was sure he was a dead man anyways.

Iago and Crow stared, bewildered at this exchange. Jim had their hand on the knife at their side.

“Want us to kill him?” Izzy asked, when Ed fell silent for a moment. He was still processing the fact that Lucius was alive. Maybe the rest of the crew was too...

“I’ll do it,” Iago piped up. His knife was still clutched in his hand.

“No.” Everyone, including Lucius, looked at Ed as if he’d sprouted horns. “He’s useful. We’ll keep him.”

Frenchie had drifted over and was trying his best to hide a smile. Lucius waved timidly.

Izzy said, “Edward, think about it—”

“The other two proved to be handy, no? We’re keeping him.”

Izzy’s face darkened, yet he said nothing. Edward may have won this battle, but the war was far from over.

Meanwhile, Iago opened his mouth then closed it, visibly fuming. Ed hoped that his bandaged shoulder had driven the point home—regardless of the situation, Blackbeard would not be trifled with. His choices were his own.

Iago’s eyes flitted over to Jim, then back to Edward. Scowling, he sheathed his weapon.

Before more objections could be aired, Fang’s voice broke the silence. “Captain, you better see this,” he called from where he was standing at the helm.

Ed didn’t like that tone. “Izzy, come with me. The rest of you, get to work.”

Scowling at Lucius as he passed him, Izzy followed. As they walked away, Ed heard Lucius and Frenchie talking excitedly and Jim joining in with their calmer, but still undeniably fond contributions.

Still, he felt nauseous, and it only got worse as they neared Fang. Fang’s face was pale and lined with worry. What else could go wrong today?

He pointed out to sea, where a ship broke the even horizon. “An English naval ship has been following us, sir.”

“It’s approaching fast. Will catch us by sundown,” Izzy muttered. He tightened his grip on his cane. “Fuck.”

The Revenge was fast, but not that fast. Ed’s heart dropped to his heels.

At sundown, they’d fight. He’d known that his choices would catch up to him, he’d just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon. Not after he’d just started hoping again.

Chapter Text

As they weaved deeper into the crooked streets of The Republic of Pirates, Stede remembered exactly why they hadn’t had much success on their last visit. Most people here were jaded by the pirate lifestyle and vexed by strangers that disturbed the natural order of things. Stede had been loud and cheery, a headache or an easy target for most. He’d also been quite useless. If he hadn’t been stabbed soon after, he was sure his crew would’ve mutinied then and there.

“Okay,” he said, turning to his crew. “We need to get supplies. Use what funds we have wisely, we don’t know when we’ll get a chance to get more. And Roach, no new knives. We’ll get your set back once we find the Revenge.”

Roach rolled his eyes. “No knives, got it.”

“You know what? I’ll go with you.” Stede wiped his palms on his shirt and puffed himself up. “It will be fun!”

“You really don’t have to,” Roach said, shooting pleading looks at the rest of the crew who all suddenly became far more interested in their muddy shoes than this conversation.

Stede shook his head, already walking in the direction of the market. “Come on, you can teach me some things. Wee John, you can come too, we’ll need help to carry everything back to the ship.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Roach trailed after Stede, not in any particular hurry. Wee John, no less apprehensive, followed suit.

The market was full of chatter that filled the air like a swarm of bees, vendors calling out the day’s deals and customers contending to get a better price. There were animals, people trying to push carts through the teeming crowd and thick mud, broken glass and rotten fruit underfoot. Roach quickly overtook Stede, who stopped every few paces to wonder at the rundown shops or apologize to an angry passersby for crashing into them.

“Is it always this busy?” Stede asked, ducking his head to walk under a low-hanging sign.

“Yeah.” Roach stopped to examine a grimy basket of fruit. “Everybody’s gotta eat, and fresh produce is always a rarity. I’ve stood in line for hours just to get a jar of milk.”

“Hours?” Stede weaved to keep up as Roach forged on ahead once more.

“Why do you think I’m always so reluctant to make your cakes? The ingredients are hard to get, man.”

“You could’ve told me, we could’ve found a different port—“

“And risk getting recognized as pirates?”

He hadn’t really thought of that. Of course, he wanted to be a pirate and tried his best to fit into the role, but old habits were hard to break. The extensive breakfast spreads, the aged liquors—trappings of a life he hadn’t entirely loved but couldn’t complain about either. He’d assumed pirates were simply unaware of such luxuries, not realizing that they were quite hard to come by when you were a wanted criminal. Now, he too had to be weary of where he showed his face. After all, he was supposedly dead and still wanted for desertion.

Roach stopped at a stall. “How much are the oranges?”

The vendor studied them, and Stede tried to look menacing but knew he likely looked sick to the stomach instead. “How much do you have?” Roach threw him a few coins and he eyed them. “That’ll buy you a sack.”

Roach reached for the money. “We can get a better price than that—“

“Oranges are in high demand, I can’t just sell them for nothing.”

“Well the demand is right in front of you and it’s quickly walking away.” Roach waved Stede and Wee John to come along. “Let’s go. A sack? Who does he think he is.”

Right before they could leave, the vendor called back, “Alright. You can take two. Just this time. Don’t make a habit of it.”

Taking the bags, Roach smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

As they walked away, he leaned over to Stede and showed him the fruit in the bag. “The oranges are halfway to being rotten anyways. I knew he’d want to sell them quick.”

For the rest of the day, Stede followed along, serving as a donkey and hauling around Roach’s purchases. But he also learned a few things. He learned how to check if fish were rotten and that sometimes their bellies were stuffed with straw to make them look bulkier. He learned to recognize watered-down booze from the real thing. And, painfully, he learned to keep his coins on the inside pockets of his coat instead of the outside ones.

After a while, his feet were killing him and he had to sit down while Wee John and Roach went on. The two came back stained with blood.

“What happened?” Stede exclaimed.

Roach gestured precariously with the knife he’d somehow acquired and now held loosely in his hand. “Some guy tried to steal from us. So I stabbed him, as you do.”

“No, actually. I don’t do that,” Stede muttered. At least the blood wasn’t their own. “Where did you get the knife?”

“From the guy. He’s alive, don’t worry. But I did keep the knife.”

Knowing it was better to leave the conversation there, Stede flexed his feet, then dragged himself up, heaving their supplies up onto his shaking shoulders. “Well, we better get back to the ship. It’s getting late.”

Back on the ship, they stashed away the supplies under Roach’s command. He quite quickly kicked them out of the kitchen and finished everything himself. Stede couldn’t say he blamed the man, since he knew he was worse than useless in the kitchen. It’s not like he wasn’t trying, it just wasn’t an activity that was considered proper in the life he’d come from. The few times that he’d volunteered to help carry and chop stuff, he’d been kicked out by servants or his father.

“You shouldn’t be in the kitchen,” his father had said on such an occasion. His voice had been resentful and bitter as always. “You should be helping me in the yard, the wood won’t chop itself. But since you can’t even do that, you might as well go do whatever you do. Pick your flowers, brush the horses,” he’d scoffed. “At least you won’t get in the way.”

So, since then, Stede had done just that. Stay out of the way. The curiosity brimming inside him never quite let him sit back completely, but he could never shake the feeling that he was getting in everyone’s way by simply existing. He couldn’t give his children the attention they needed, always stumbling to relate to them, giving them nightmares when he did finally play with them. Mary had never been happy with his gifts or the outings he’d planned. He couldn’t help, couldn’t even say the right thing. Better he was gone. That was better for everyone.

Or so he'd thought. Stede saw Black Pete's occasional gloom or worry that the man waved off as nothing, Oluwande's silent, wistful moods. He wondered just how bad Ed was faring, and whether Frenchie, Lucius, and Jim were angry at Ed's cruelty and Stede's chickening-out. His absence had caused that, his impulsive need to get away once something went wrong. He wouldn't give up on them this time, nor would he give up on himself.

Most importantly, he wouldn't let someone else do his work for him. He turned from where he’d been standing at the ship’s railing, looking down at the murky water below. The Republic of Pirates was great, brimming with life and real pirates, but he missed the rogue sea, the flat horizon stretching out as far as the eye can see. It was time to go home.

When the rest of the crew returned, Stede found Oluwande, who had gone to Jackie's for leads in his place (since Stede wasn't sure how final Jackie's banishment of him had been, he'd decided not to risk it). "So? Did you hear anything?"

Oluwande scratched the back of his head. “Yes. They’ve been…unpredictable. There are rumours they’ve been quite active, raiding ships and leaving hardly anything or anyone behind." Stede grimaced at that. "But it seems they’ve paused, and are anchored out at sea. Even if they’ve moved, it can’t have been far.”

Stede tried, he really tried, to keep the smile off his face. But he cracked, heart filling with hope and suffocating trepidation. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

“I’ll go tell Buttons to set course for their location, then?” Oluwande smiled too, albeit more hesitantly.

“I'll come with you. We've got a return to plan!”

At the news, the rest of the crew cheered and passed around a bottle of rum. There was an empty space where Lucius and Jim would have been sitting, a silence where Frenchie's music would've been. Stede just hoped that this silence and emptiness wouldn't last, that he hadn't fractured what they'd all had for good.

Chapter Text

“You wanted this, now reap what you sowed and think of a plan before we all fucking die.”

“See, that was before,” Ed muttered in response, frowning deeply at Izzy’s scowling face so close to his, too overwhelmed by everything to properly register it. “When I hadn’t been sober for four days and hadn’t seen the sun in as long. All things considered, I may have been overambitious with this one.”

His mind spun. Jim had nearly killed him mere hours ago. Lucius was alive. Izzy was pissed. They were all going to be captured by the English.

He felt nausea creeping in, his lungs heavy in his chest.

After three consecutive raids hadn’t soldered the pieces of his fractured heart back together as he’d hoped, battling a warship had sounded marvellous—the perfect challenge to evoke the real Blackbeard, the Kraken who’d squeeze the miserable memories of Stede out of his mind with its cruel tentacles and vicious growl. He’d spend nearly a month trying to forget that night on the dock, when he’d sat and waited and jumped at every rustle in the bushes behind him. His heart had lit up with relief each time, growing heavier and heavier with each disappointment, acceptance settling in the pit of his stomach like ash from a dying fire. It was a rodent, or the wind. Never Stede stumbling out of the woods, apologizing profusely for getting lost or sleeping in, his heavy sleep be damned.

Following these returning reveries, he'd oscillate between three feelings: shame at having waited there like a dog for its dead owner, hurt for being ditched so callously, and anger, like poison in his veins, staining them black. Had he really been that unlovable, that much of a monster? Or not enough of one, since it was Edward Stede had left, not Blackbeard.

Edward shoved Izzy off him, letting that simmering anger off its leash for just a second. It sputtered, coming out more like annoyance. “Give me room to breathe, man.”

He paced, hands clasped behind his back, keenly ignoring the eyes of the rest of the crew on this altercation. He didn’t want to notice Frenchie’s careful observation, the squirrelly manner in which Lucius was standing off to the side, Fang and Jim’s stoic resignation.

Blackbeard stopped then, so abruptly that Frenchie flinched. “Ivan, how many of them do you see?”

“About a dozen on the deck alone, sir,” Ivan replied, squinting through a looking glass.

“Shit,” Ed muttered.

“‘Shit’ indeed,” Izzy echoed.

The Revenge, for all its marvels, was no match for a warship. Blackbeard had pulled off risky escapes before, had led them into raids against passenger vessels and transport ships, confident that his reputation combined with their pent up anger and survival instincts would grant them relative safety. With a bigger crew and on his own terms, he’d even ambushed a Spanish warship, just to satiate his curiosity about a fancy man brightening the sea with his fancy, hopeful ways.

But he’d screwed things up already. This wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

“Hoist the white flag.”

Ivan blinked at him. “Pardon, sir?”

“Better alive then dead.” Ed’s voice was quiet, shoulders slowly slumping.

He waited for a moment for any objection, particularly from the more impatient members of the crew. But Iago had slipped away at some point and hadn’t reappeared, and Izzy was regarding Edward silently, his frown folding into a look that was more sorrow than spite. In all the years they’d sailed together, Ed had only seen that look a few times, when he’d go off with Jack on some foolish venture and return drunk and pummelled, or refuse to move as boredom seized him in the downtimes of his career.

“Just do it, Ivan,” Izzy rasped. “We’re good as gone.” His eyes didn’t leave Edward as he said that. Despite his many, many flaws and misbeliefs, the man was loyal to the end, in his own, twisted way.

There was a flurry of movement as the flag was hoisted and the crew gathered their belongings in preparation for being boarded. The approaching warship had grown significantly, its course undoubtedly pointed at them.

Then, the boom of a cannon sounded. Before any of them could even process it, the Revenge shook as the cannonball crashed through the mast. Splinters showered down, the crew dodging and cowering like ants beneath rain.

The white flag clung on desperately, then sailed down, settling amidst the rubble.

Everyone stared down at the scrap of cloth, in various stages of shock.

“What…what does this mean,” Frenchie finally managed.

Ed’s voice was ghost quiet. “It means we fight.”

He headed for the captain’s quarters, to say goodbye and armour up.

***

In their preparations and amidst the all-consuming dread, none of the crew noticed a second, smaller ship breaking the horizon.

Its course was set honest and true for the Revenge.

Chapter Text

The Revenge shook as the waves from the nearing ship crashed into its side. Jim grabbed onto the mast to keep upright, and Lucius, having spent three weeks in a tiny, sunless room with jam and leftovers for food, toppled right into Frenchie and brought them both to the ground.

Grumbling in Spanish, Jim hauled them up, shoving them towards the doors to the captain’s quarters. “You two, hide in there. Bolt the door, keep low, get something heavy to use as a weapon if they get in.”

Frenchie drew a knife from his belt. “I can fight. Seems like we need the help.”

Jim nodded and the two turned to Lucius, who just raised his hands defensively. “I’m not going to even pretend that I can be useful here.” Before turning to scramble towards the relative safety of the captains rooms, he patted both of them on the shoulders. “Don’t die out there, I can’t be on Blackbeard’s crew alone.” He shuddered. “Or Izzy’s crew.”

Their goodbyes were cut short by an Englishman landing right on the deck of the Revenge. Swinging on ropes, other sailors followed, while Blackbeard, Izzy, Fang, and Crow swung towards the warship. Lucius yelled and ran, while Frenchie and Jim stood back-to-back, facing the English.

The fight was a blur. Jim’s instincts kicked in as they stabbed and ducked and used the weight of their attackers against them, shoving them overboard or sending them to the ground. Frenchie weaved and dodged, disarming and knocking out one sailor, then another. Jim caught brief glimpses of Ivan, wielding his axe, and Iago, two daggers in hand.

After a minute, movement on the Revenge paused, all the attackers either overboard or unmoving on the deck. The stillness was swiftly shattered as more attackers swung over.

“We need to get away from their ship!” Jim yelled, dodging a punch and sending the sailor stumbling over the railing.

“Captain is still over there,” Ivan called back, locked in a battle of his own.

Jim cursed Blackbeard and Hands and all these stupid pirates for their stupid games of reputation. They'd thought Edward’s singing was intolerable, but being dragged into an unwindable fight was worse, all of it just for a chance for Blackbeard to prove Izzy wrong or prove himself a ‘real man’ or ‘real pirate’ or whatever other nonsense these imbeciles loved talking themselves into.

Jim spun and nearly crashed into Frenchie, who had blood on his sleeves and was pretty disheveled. It was his expression that froze them though.

“What happened?”

Frenchie tugged them over to the railing and pointed beyond the warship. “There’s a second ship—“

“Shit—“

“No.” Frenchie shook his head. “Look who’s on board.”

If survival hadn’t been drilled into Jim so thoroughly, they would’ve let shock overtake them as they peered through the looking glass Frenchie pressed into their hand. Instead, they heard the attacker creeping up behind them and dispatched them overboard with a clean strike, then turned to look at the ship once more.

Their mouth dropped open. “They actually found us.”

On the deck of the newly arrived ship Jim could see the rest of the Revenge crew running around, preparing for battle. Buttons was at the helm, navigating the tight space around the two other ships carefully. Wee John and Roach were loading the cannons, Black Pete and The Swede at their side. Stede was with somebody Jim didn’t recognize. And Oluwande. Oluwande was there. Alive, just a few hundred metres away.

Jim pulled themselves together. “We need to tell Captain.”

“How? He’s still over there.”

Climbing up onto the railing, Jim turned to look over their shoulder at Frenchie. “Stay here, protect Lucius and the ship.” Not waiting for a reply, they pushed off and dived.

As they crashed through the water, salt stinging in their nose, all Jim could think about was how the life they'd thought was gone was in reach once more. They’d left Oluwande before, thinking that revenge would make their heart full, fill the gap that had been left by the deaths of their family. But what they hadn’t realized was that the crew was starting to become family. A family they would fight for.

A family they could get back.

***

The deck of the warship was a sea of yelling, sweat, and blood. While Crow and Fang fought to disable the cannons, Blackbeard tried to push through to get to the captain. Izzy was right at his side.

It was easy to slip back into the old rhythm of fighting together. They’d done it so many times, trusting each other with their lives, leaping blindly and knowing the other would be there to catch them. This was their life. And if they weren’t so overpowered and so close to death, Ed would almost enjoy the simple comfort of it. The weight of all this violence be damned, it was a stable life—fighting, earning a reputation, keeping your guard up, drinking and joking and brawling to whittle way the days with a crew of other pirates who maybe weren’t his friends, but were also never close enough to really hurt or shock him. It was easy to get used to, easy to revert to.

He parried a strike with his sword, shoving the attacker over to Izzy, who stabbed them and tipped them overboard.

“Maybe you’ve still got it,” Izzy called out.

Ed moved to stand back-to-back with him. “Maybe I still do.”

As he fought, he surveyed the chaos around him and occasionally glanced back at the Revenge. His crew was still standing, although Fang was cradling his arm and Crow’s tunic was ripped and stained from a slash to his side. In his observations, he also noticed the arrival of the second English ship. Though it was too far to really see who was aboard it and what their business was, his blood still ran cold.

So this is how he would die. In a battle against the navy. It wasn’t surprising, although fairly disappointing. He’d though that with all the work he’d done, the hard and the unpleasant and the boring work, he could retire, choose a different ending. Surely he'd earned at least that much. Seemingly not.

Before he could give into resignation entirely, Ed noticed Jim fighting their way toward him. Their yelled words were lost in the havoc, but there was something in their eyes. Determination, even hope. They were drenched from head to toe, but they were fighting with the unmistakable energy of somebody who had something to fight for.

It gave Ed hope. He wasn't sure why it did, but it was just enough for him to raise his sword and block the attacks coming his way.

As he tried to work his way toward Jim, he felt a hand on his arm, then a bright pain as a blade dug into his shoulder, inches away from his neck.

Eyes watering through the pain, he spun and swung at the opponent with his sword. They yelped and backed away, covering the wound on their arm with a shaking hand. His attacker was a boy not even in his twenties, and locking eyes with him, Ed froze. There was an obvious, ugly anger in the boy’s scowl as he swung at Blackbeard again. But there was also panic running below that, a regretful fear. In it, Ed saw his younger self, frightened and fighting for his life.

He stepped back. “I don’t want to kill you mate. Go, leave.”

That stumped his opponent for a moment. Ed foolishly hoped the boy would listen. Instead, as Ed lowered his sword, he swung again.

Before Ed could register or accept his fate, Izzy’s blade caught the blow. Without hesitation, he disarmed the sailor, then stepped closer and, before Ed could get a word out, ran him through.

Too young. Too young for all this, too young to die. Didn’t Izzy remember the two of them at that age? Didn’t he remember the dread that consumed the evening before each battle, the hidden tears the nights after?

Apparently not. Izzy spat at Ed’s feet, then without so much as a pause, jumped into battle again, eyes cold, walled-off. Blood rushed in Ed's ears as he regarded the unmoving body at his feet.

Finally, Jim reached him. “Captain, look at that ship.”

“I saw it,” Ed muttered, grasp growing weak on his sword. He was tired, so, so, very tired.

“No, really, look.”

At the force in Jim’s voice, Ed gathered enough strength to look up. His heart jumped to his throat, racing like a caged bird longing to fly free.

There was the crew he’d marooned and though was gone for good. And there was Stede.

Chapter Text

Bonny scanned the battle ahead, clinging on as Buttons manoeuvred to get them close enough to jump. She held the rope with white-knuckles hands.

5 months since her family estate had burned down and she’d snuck away as her family focused on repairs and finding a new home. Money had been tight and she would’ve soon been married off to live a mediocre life she wouldn't get a say in. In theory, she'd love to retire to a comfortable cottage, and a normal job honestly didn't sound all that bad. It's just that when it came to being a daughter of a middle-class family, or a daughter at all, choices were not so much a thing you made but instead watched being made from afar. Her father had a say in her future, and occasionally her mother. Very often, a husband she'd yet to meet had had more say than she did.

So, she’d left, reclaiming a life that had never been fully hers. And here she stood, about to go into battle against an English warship. She’d insisted on coming along (despite Stede’s hesitance)—she hadn’t studied fighting for years to just not fight when necessity called. Nonetheless, it was quite the wake up call. She’d taken a gamble and soon would be forced to face her reward.

“Jump!” She heard Roach call, and the three of them—Stede, Roach, and Bonny—pushed off and swung across the gap, waves frothing angrily below, landing on the deck of the warship amidst the chaos of battle and wreckage from canon fire from the Revenge.

Surprisingly, she felt calm. The horror would undoubtedly set in later, but in the moment, she almost believed they could survive.

And Captain Bonnet, for better or for worse, had a plan. She’d seen the shift in his attitude when they’d laid eyes on his old ship and the crew they’d lost before she'd met them.

Throughout the battle, she wasn’t really processing much. They fought, there was screaming and blood and opponents that overpowered her simply because they were bigger and more aggressive. But she dodged and weaved. Roach and Black Pete helped her out when needed. The pain from shallow wounds faded as adrenaline kicked it. All she really thought about was how surreal this was. She thought that if she were to die here, she wouldn’t regret it all that much. She’d finally found some agency, even if her first independent choice was to steer herself right into danger. Still, she’d very much like to live. Somewhere out there, a cottage was waiting for her, preferably one with a nice view and a garden.

***

Above the clamour of battle, Stede heard Jim’s yell. He turned to see them standing beside Edward, who’d frozen entirely and was staring at his feet with blank eyes. There was a smear of blood on his arm, and Jim was drenched from head to toe. Still, Stede’s heart soared upon seeing them.

The moment didn’t last. A sailor was running straight at the three of them. As Stede dodged, Roach shoved the attacked overboard, and Bonny blocked a hit from another side. Stede drew his own sword, and the three cleared a path up to Ed and Jim.

The two met them halfway. Jim was half-dragging Ed by the arm. They nodded at Stede. “So. You’re alive.”

“Alive and back,” Stede reassured. Jim threw a knife at an attacker behind Stede’s head and he flinched. “Though I don’t know for how long. Ed—“

“Not the time,” Jim said. The five pirates broke apart as more sailors rushed at them, metal clanging on metal.

“Right.” Stede looked away as Roach swung full-force at his opponent. “Any minute now Buttons will steer the ship between us and the Revenge. We are to climb across it, get on the Revenge, and make an escape.”

“Sounds as good a plan as any,” Jim replied through gritted teeth. “How did you get the ship?”

“Stole it, actually,” Stede said as he ducked a swing from a bat. He thought he saw Jim smile at that. “Okay, the ship is close. We need to get ready to jump.”

“Go. I’ll stall them.” Jim pulled a knife out from a body at their feet.

Before Stede could argue, the warship shook from cannon fire. Buttons had pulled up right along it, and Oluwande was waving at them frantically to jump on as Wee John prepared the cannons once more.

The five rushed to the edge, Jim, Ed, and Roach holding off attackers from each side. Stede couldn’t help but notice how Ed’s movements, although precise and sharpened by years of experience, were slightly stalled. Had he been hurt? He didn’t seem to be bleeding.

“Where’s Izzy?” Stede heard him say.

And, speak of the devil, Izzy and another pirate, a tall, one-eyed man, appeared next to them. Both were battered, wounded here and there, but their mouths were still stretched in expressions half-scowl, half-grin.

“We’re getting on the other ship,” Jim called to them. Roach and Bonny had already swung over and pushed the ropes back so the others could jump.

Izzy squinted sceptically at the ship, but took a rope regardless. Before swinging over, he levelled a look at Stede and spat at his feet. There were some things Stede had missed, and the wet dog, sorry excuse for a first mate hadn’t been one of them.

It was just Edward, Jim, and Stede left. They picked off rogue attackers, tried to keep their footing as the ship shook once again. Finally, they each grabbed a rope and swung over to the ship, where the rest of Stede’s crew ushered them forward, calling out hurried greetings and glad-you’re-alives. As more cannons fired and the English shouted behind them, all the pirates scrambled across the deck and leaped for the Revenge.

Stede watched Ed jump across without so much as looking at him. Then he followed, shooting one wistful look at the first ship he’d earned as a pirate and was now leaving behind so soon.

As the Revenge sailed away, the battle quickly died out. For Stede, everything was a bit of a blur as his legs, having reached relative safety, gave out. The rest of the pirates picked off the remaining attackers stranded on the Revenge. He did a headcount and found that his entire crew was present, with the addition of a few men Edward must have hired in their absence. There was Lucius, peeking out from the captain’s quarters, and Frenchie beside him. Fang and Buttons were at the helm. There were the familiar faces of the rest of the crew.

A heavy silence fell. The pirates settled down, tending to wounds and assessing damages. Many eyes turned to Stede and the newly arrived crew, who stared back and studied their old home.

Home. Stede was home.

“You came back.” Stede turned at the voice to find Edward standing behind him. He had expected shock or disbelief or even anger. What he hadn’t been able to prepare himself for was the frigidness, the absolute cold which laced Blackbeard’s words.

Words died on Stede's tongue as he scanned the pirate’s face for any trace of recognition or relief. He scrambled to his feet but didn't dare move too close. “I…My heart never left. Ed—“

“Don’t.” Ed turned away. “Don’t call me that.”

Izzy stepped up to him, shooting a scalding glance at Stede. “We can lock him up. Or throw the lot of them overboard.”

“No,” Ed said. “This is between him and me.” He picked up a sword from a nearby pile and tossed it at Stede’s feet. Drawing his own, he stared right at him.

Stede just blinked back.

“Pick it up.”

“This is madness, Ed—“

“Pick. It. Up.”

Stede picked up the sword, his eyes never leaving Edward. All he’d wanted to say had flown from his brain like seagulls spooked by gunfire. In its place, a panic was setting in.

The second he raised his sword, Edward ran at him and swung. The blades crashed together and sang.

Chapter Text

Stede’s feed skidded and his arms ached as he blocked hit after hit from Edward. In his mind, alarm bells were ringing, but he could not bring himself to return the aggression—he hadn’t returned to this life of piracy to just be erased by it. Plus, that would mean admitting that a part of him was truly scared that Ed was gone and the man fighting him could, and would, truly hurt him. No. Ed wasn’t gone. Stede would fix this.

“Fight back,” Ed screamed. “Fight back, damn it.”

Stede blocked again. He would do this if this was what Ed needed, if this was all he could afford after what Stede had done. After Ed had let hope bloom and Stede had smashed it to smithereens. After Ed had slowly healed, only to be reminded of the monster he was seen to be. After he'd grown close with the numb acceptance sitting hollow in his chest, only for Stede to finally show back up, sail in and snap that careful balance.

Stede knew there were no words that could console Ed. Stede had had his time to think. This was Ed’s time.

Around them, the rest of the crew watched on. Some in anticipation, like piranhas circling a bleeding meal, some in solemn understanding. Others in shock. Anne Bonny stood beside Jim and Oluwande, hand over her mouth. At a particularly close strike, one Stede just barely stumbled back from, she went to step between the two fighting pirates, but Jim held her back.

“Let them,” Jim said. Their face was shuttered, stoic.

“But—“

“Jim’s right,” said Oluwande. “I don’t think Captain- er, Blackbeard could kill Captain.”

Bonny backed down, but crossed her arms across her chest and frowned deeply. “This is madness,” she muttered.

On the other side of the loose circle the crew had made, Iago stood by Crow. Both pirates had their eyes glued intently to the fight, and Iago’s hand rested on the sword at his side, twitching restlessly.

“What if blondie kills Blackbeard?” Crow said. “Thought you had dibs on that.”

Iago scoffed. “He isn’t even fighting back, the coward. He won’t, trust me.” He scanned the rest of the crew, eyes landing on Izzy glowering alone at the back. “The plan is still on, even with them here…some may even help us.”

Iago was right; there was no real force in Stede’s parries. His eyes held only gentle sorrow, not a trace of the fear that the legendary Blackbeard deserved. Before long, the sword flew out of his hands and skidded across the deck, out of reach. Ed froze with his blade a hair’s width from Stede’s torso.

The entire crew held their breaths. Bonny turned away, Lucius clung onto Black Pete’s arm, Izzy raised his eyebrows.

“Here we are again,” Stede said softly, just loud enough for Ed to hear. “Just about everybody has tried killing me at this point. I guess I deserve it.”

Ed’s hands shook and his heart pattered against his ribs like rain dotting the ocean during a storm. Fingers numb, lungs heavy with sobs that he refused to let fall.

“You bloody do,” Ed managed to get out in barely a whisper. Ed needed details and explanations and reasoning, he needed to stare at Stede and convince himself that he was part of his life again. But in that moment, his resolution died, his sword clattered to the ground, and he pulled Stede into a hug. He’d get all of that later. For now, he just held him tight, as if he’d disappear again like morning mist.

“It wasn’t because of you Ed. I’m so sorry I left.”

“You owe me one hell of an explanation.”

“Oh, I’m used to giving those. Gotten quite good at them actually. I mess up quite a lot, it seems.”

Ed just snivelled into Stede’s shoulder. Blackbeard, snivelling! It felt ridiculous in all the right ways, reflecting the absurdity of the situation perfectly. This ridiculous man that he was holding had stumbled into all of their lives—a piss-poor planner and an even piss-poorer pirate—and had somehow convinced them all that life didn’t have to be what it was. It could be different, it could be more.

“I’m getting paint on your shirt,” Ed muttered. Everything else he wanted to say got stuck behind his teeth.

“That’s okay. I’ll look more like you, a real pirate. Grime and all. I think it rather suits me.” Despite the hesitant undercurrent to it, Stede’s voice didn’t lose its genial lilt.

A real pirate. Ed wasn’t sure what that meant for him anymore. Right now he felt drained enough to collapse right then and there.

But he had to pull himself together. There was still the question of Iago, and Izzy. And any other crew that may want him dead. They all sure had their reasons. And the question of hearing Stede’s story and deciding whether he really wanted him back and just how much pouting the situation deserved.

Ed pulled away from Stede and looked at his crew.

“Right,” he barked, voice not half as intimidating as he’d wished it would be. He was quite aware that he looked more like a rain drenched raccoon than a Captain, but he was also aware that raccoons are quite terrifying and decided that was quite alright for now. “What are you all gaping at? If you’re gonna be back, then get to work. We’ve got to keep the ship afloat till we reach port for repairs.”

Slowly, they dispersed. The reunited Revenge crew mingled and chatted, tending to wounds, catching up, and not really doing any work (but no one could be mad at them for that. There’d be time for work later). Iago and Crow disappeared below deck. Izzy was the last to slink away, glaring until the last moment, then following Iago and Crow. Ed had a bad feeling about what was to come.

But right now, he was tired. The wounds on his arms and stomach were burning, and he was pretty sure he’d messed up his knee again somewhere along the way.

He turned to Stede. With an awkward bob of his head, Ed said, “So, you’re here. And they’re all alive.”

“Found them right where you left them,” Stede replied, then winced. “They’re more mad at me than you really,” he added. “About the whole marooning thing.”

“No. No, I shouldn’t have done that.” A silence stretched between them. Ed rocked on the balls of his feet, noting the frayed edges of the conversation where ease and understanding had been before. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Punching Stede’s shoulder lightly, Ed turned on his heels, heading for the captain’s quarters. He couldn't take that look Stede was giving him, like he was the single most curious thing in the world.

Stede blinked after him. He thought to follow, but his feet were rooted to the ground. A voice in his mind, which sounded a bit like Lucius or Oluwande, told him it was better to give Ed some space anyway. He joined his crew instead.

He’d later come to regret that, and Ed would later reassure him he couldn’t have possibly known.