Chapter Text
Looking back later on, Izzy Hands wouldn't quite be able to recall the moment he’d collapsed.
It must have been close enough to the beach because he could almost smell it, the sea and salt in the air. He’d tried to focus on that and ignore everything else - the searing pain in his side, the slickness of blood seeping through his fingers, the cobwebs of darkness starting to cloud the edges of his vision.
He was going to die, he’d been certain that the second the shot had rang out and he’d felt the burn of hot lead in his gut - but please, he’d thought, please, let it be on the Revenge. Let it be at sea.
But if there was a God anywhere - the one his mother had taught him about, or any other - he’d never been much inclined to listen to his pleas. Today was no exception: next thing he knew he was on the ground, leaves beneath him and trees around him. He felt very heavy and very light at the same time, none of his limbs responding as they should, and he was so very cold.
He’d managed to look up, and he’d seen someone’s back - Ed, it was Ed - but he hadn’t seen him collapse, and Izzy did not call out. He’d turn back for him if he did, or at least Izzy wanted to believe he would, and if he did… if he did…
I’d slow him down. They’d get us both, he’d thought, and let his head drop back on the ground with a groan. The darkness in his vision grew, blotting out everything else. He heard steps, and voices - ‘We got one of them!’ - but it was all so very distant. When someone grabbed him to yank him up, he’d gone cold all over and even pain couldn’t reach him anymore. His head lolled back as someone shook him. Quite rudely, too.
“In the name of King George--”
“Oh, fuck off,” Izzy grunted, and everything went dark.
“WE DID IT!”
Blood rushing in his ears, Stede Bonnet wasn’t sure whose voice cried that out; all he knew was that the next second more voices were joining in, a collective wordless cry of triumph, which he joined the second he clambered aboard the Revenge .
He almost fell on his face in the process, really, but Ed caught him before that happened and no one noticed, busy as they were hugging and cheering. Jim was also kissing Archie fully on the mouth, and Stede turned to Ed to suggest they did that too, only for Ed to wordlessly turn, cup his cheek and, indeed, do that.
It made Stede just a little weak on the knees, particularly when Ed pulled back and smiled. “That,” he said, “was the best fuckery I’ve ever seen.”
Stede grinned back and leaned in for another kiss. Unfortunately, it was not to be.
“We’re not out of danger yet!” Auntie snapped, causing the cheering to die down a little. “We’re still within firing range, get this ship moving!”
Ah, right, that. Stede sighed, and turned from Ed. The sooner they were well away from the British navy, the sooner he and Ed could resume… interrupted business. “We’ll be off right away. Izzy, will you-- Izzy?”
Stede’s eyes scanned the deck and so did the crew’s, the cheering now definitely gone as they looked at each other in confusion and then - as they counted each other and came up one short, as Lucius rushed to the side to look back at the rowboats they’d arrived in only to find them empty - there was quiet, dawning comprehension.
“Izzy?”
“No, it can’t--”
“Where is he?”
“He wasn’t on your boat?”
“I saw him just before we got to the beach…!”
“He must have fallen behind, with that leg--”
Something very heavy and very cold sank into Stede’s stomach. He turned to see Ed looking back at him, eyes wide, jaw slack. “They got him,” Ed said, as though trying out words in a foreign language. “They got Izzy.”
There were shouts on the shore, and navy officers were storming the beach, just a few minutes too late. The crew had left no rowboats for them to follow, but several were already taking aim with their rifles and a few more were running back, surely to get to one of the warships anchored at the arbor.
As shots rang out, none of them hitting the ship, Ed turned fully to look back and scowled, anger looming behind his eyes like a thunderstorm.
“I’ll go get him back,” he growled, and stepped towards the ladder like he fully intended to get in the water, swim his way to the beach, and mow down half an army of navy officers. Which to be honest was probably his plan.
“What-- no, we need to get away now,” Stede spoke up, rushing to put a hand on his shoulder. “Ed, it would be suicide--”
Ed turned to look at him, and Stede trailed off. The anger was still there, but most of all he looked haunted. “Stede, if they got him it was my fault.”
“How would it--”
“I fucked his leg up, that’s got to be why he fell behind. I have to--”
More shots, and this time one whizzed past them to hit the mast. It got the paralyzed crew to move at last, getting the ship ready to lift anchor and move out of reach. Ed swallowed, looking around. “No. Please, I can’t leave--”
“We’ll get him back,” Stede cut him off, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll think of something, Ed. No one on this ship is going to just leave Izzy in their grasp. Isn’t that right?” he called to the crew over his shoulder, getting back a lot of grim gazes, some nods, and Jim’s voice.
“Of course we’re getting our unicorn back,” they said, to more nods and mutters of agreement from the others, and that was it.
… Well, there was the Swede loudly asking since when was Izzy an unicorn and what had he missed, but Stede supposed the crew could fill him in later. And him too, really, since he had no idea what this unicorn thing was all about. For now, however, he focused on Ed.
“We’ll lose them and then go right back for him. I promise. And then we’ll be regretting it because he’s going to be absolutely insufferable,” he added. Ed made a brave attempt at a smile. It came out more of a grimace.
“What if they didn’t catch him alive?” he whispered, and Stede’s grip on his shoulder tightened again. He gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
“From what I’ve seen, Izzy is good at many things,” he said. “But staying dead is not one of them.”
“Oh, look. It lives.”
The words didn’t register right away, not with his own grasp on consciousness fragile as a dry leaf. He could tell he was laying on his back, that there was a ceiling above him, and little else. It told him he was no longer laying face down in the dirt, which was an improvement.
It also told him that the British Navy got him, which was an absolute pain in the ass and not the kind he enjoyed, either.
… Speaking of actual pain, how come he was not feeling any? His head felt light, thoughts disjointed, and when he tried to move he seemed unable to.
“You’re quite lucky, you know.”
The voice came again, and this time it did register. That twat, of course. Ricky something, minor prince of the Kingdom of Fucking Off. Maybe he should have been happy with laying face down in the dirt after all. Beat being in the hands of the navy and having to listen to fucking Pinocchio’s drivel.
“Our ship surgeon was not among the good men your friends poisoned,” Prince Whathisface continued, like anyone had fucking asked. “I felt generous enough to have him use his skills on you. Etiquette demands you utter two little words for it, I believe.”
Izzy’s mouth felt dry as bone, but not so much he couldn’t graciously offer those two little words. Let no one say Israel Hands did not follow proper etiquette. “Fuck you.”
“... You got one of them wrong.”
“Fuck off .”
A sigh, like a long-suffering parent. “I suppose I served you that one on a silver platter, didn’t I? And to think I was going to offer some water,” he commented. Suddenly he was gripping Izzy’s chin, forcing him to turn. Vision slowly clearing, he could see the noseless fuck sitting on a chair by a cot he’d been laid onto, likely in one of the rooms at Spanish Jackie’s.
He could see his wooden leg against the opposite wall, too, and feel the cold of a mental manacle around one wrist as well as the tightness of bandages around his stomach. He was going absolutely nowhere, that was for sure.
“Waste of your fucking time,” Izzy spat. “Patching up someone you’re going to-- hang either way.”
A shrug, and Prince Syphilis stood. “Yes, well. I never said we ought to hang you right away. You know, I thought long and hard about what you told me today. You remember your moving speech, I am sure?”
“That you’re a rancid, syphilitic cunt?”
“... What you said before that.”
Izzy bared his teeth in a sneer. Or at least he hoped that was what showed on his face. None of his muscles felt like it responded as it should. “Dressed in puffy, blue nighties.”
“ Before that.”
“Oh, fuck off. I’m not playing games with a rich little boy.”
A scowl. “I ought to warn you, it’s quite unwise to provoke someone who single-handedly destroyed the Republic of--”
“What the fuck did you destroy? A few ships, some shacks. But you let the best crew that’s ever sailed these waters slip between your fingers.” Because you’re a fucking moron, Izzy wanted to add, but his dry throat refused to cooperate further.
He licked his lips and it was a mistake, because the next moment Prince Noseless was pouring water from a pitcher and drinking from the glass, making direct eye contact. The absolute cunt.
“Ah, refreshing. I did need that.” A smile fake as his nose, and he put the glass down. “But yes, the crew. That’s what I was thinking about. A moving spiel, that. About belonging, and… a family to kill for, I believe you said. An interesting perspective on piracy. Although it doesn’t seem any of them stopped to help you up.”
With the mind’s eye, Izzy saw it again: Ed’s back retreating as he kept running towards the sea. He had not seen him fall; of course he had not stopped. But had he called out, would he have come back for him?
“So, it got me thinking. This is a good chance to find out if your inspired little speech was true, or only the delusion of an old pirate in a dying world.” Prince Cunt sat again, and the fake smile curled his lips once more. “You’re not alive out of the kindness of my heart, of course.”
A scoff. “If you’re trying to scare me--”
“You’re live bait, Israel Hands. If what you said is true, then your precious crew will be back for you. Of course we will be ready for them in turn, and hang them to the last man. And woman. And… whatever else is there. We’ll hang you too, obviously, but you’ll get a first-row seat to watch them go first.”
Something cold squeezed Izzy’s gut, worse than the bullet, and suddenly he didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, for the first time in years, he was scared. He tried to keep his expression steady, but something had to show. The fucking cunt’s smile widened, ugly as they come.
“But if you were wrong, and no one comes to your rescue… then we’ll take you to Kingston to make a proper spectacle out of your execution when you pay the price for all of them. And you’ll die knowing none of them came back for you.” The scrape of a chair being pushed back, and the bastard stood. “This pirate's tale ends with your death either way. But it will be fun, won’t it? To find out if you were right.” Steps to the door, the creak of hinges. “... And to find out which ending you fear most.”
Anger made a comeback, and it was a relief: he could handle anger far better than dread. Izzy ground his teeth, and lifted his head with a grunt of effort. “Fuck o--”
Another creak and the door was shut, a key turned into the lock. Shackled to the bed, a barely healing hole in his gut and a leg short, Izzy Hands closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, and he couldn’t keep his voice from trembling.