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Hornigold throws the stone over the cliff edge, and everything stops. Just for a moment, the world grinds to a halt, and Ed's stomach churns as he realises what's happening. The decision has been made for him. It's no longer his choice. There's no longer anybody here to hold him back, to convince him that he doesn't have to go, to give him a reason to stay. And even if there was, they'd be powerless now. The next time Ed blinks, the stone will be in motion, hurtling down towards the surface of the sea below and taking him with it whether he likes it or not.
It's almost time. Only three things left on the to do list. Fall, hit the water, die.
Maybe there's a fourth thing afterwards. Suffer? Rest? Be reborn?
Or maybe there's nothing. Endless oblivion. Warm blackness. Absence. Silence. Just like before he was born. Like what you see if you try to look at something with the sole of your foot instead of your eyes, or the contents of the empty hours you can't remember when you wake up after a night of too much drinking.
He hopes that there's nothing. Nothing feels like the safest option. A long sleep. An ending. The cessation of his existence. A gentle fade to black.
Ed closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Time to go.
He'll open his eyes, and then he'll go.
He'll open his eyes in three, two–
The rope around his waist tightens before he's ready, and he reflexively reaches to grab at it to disconnect himself from the stone, now plunging towards the waves. It slips through his fingers, burning his skin as he tries to get purchase on it, and then it's taut, and Ed is being pulled forward, and he's falling and falling and falling and falling–
His last thought before he slams into the surface of the water is 'please, not yet'.
—
Ed was right about the afterlife – or lack thereof, really – being nothing more than nothingness itself. When he regains consciousness, it's only fleeting. The water around him is cold and dark, pressing down on his body from every direction, as if it's trying to shrink him down until he's so small that he doesn't exist anymore. His head feels fuzzy, and his body is blurred at the edges, and it's easy to slip back into a dreamless sleep.
Goodbye.
He closes his eyes and waits to fade away.
—
A jolt passes through him like a lightning strike. He's still sinking, still cocooned in the cold, unloving embrace of the sea, pressure tightening around him like a kraken tentacle slowly squeezing the last dregs of life out of him. But now there's something else, an uncomfortable feeling of exposure, as if he's been stripped bare, as if someone is looking into his very soul, perhaps even reaching out to grasp it. Ed's chest is caving in, all the remaining air escaping from his lungs, his body crying out for oxygen.
This isn’t nothingness. It's suffering. It's unbearable. He can't stay here, trapped in the clenched fist of the ocean with an aching chest and rushing blood, sinking forever as the stone plummets further into the endless depths.
With the last of his energy, he grabs the rope around his waist, willing his fingers to work the way he needs them to, trying desperately to untangle the knot that's keeping him trapped. The rope seems to flinch away from his hands, the knot tightening every time he twists it, as if it's teasing him, as if it's punishing him for even trying. He kicks his legs, fighting weakly against the pull of the stone beneath him, trying to muster up the strength to outmuscle it. It remains completely indifferent, committed to fulfilling its duty to drag him down to the ocean floor.
He reaches up towards the water's surface, oxygen-starved limbs freezing and heavy and useless, and watches as it gets further and further away. Fuck, it's dark. He wonders how much further he has to go. Maybe forever. Maybe this is hell, and he'll be sinking for eternity, doomed to claw against the water forevermore in search of a single gasp of breath. Or maybe the stone will come to rest against the ground in a moment, touching down at its destination with a gentle thud, kicking up a small cloud of dispersed sand that will then settle atop it, welcoming it to its new home. Ed will follow shortly after, his body finally unable to sustain itself, his flesh and bones repurposed as a meal for the scavenger creatures that trawl the seabed in search of nutrients.
—
Surely he's close to the end now. Every inch of his body hurts. His muscles are screaming, his chest straining to suck in air and cough up the seawater he's swallowed.
Even if he could make it to the surface, he's surely beyond help. His brain isn't working properly anymore. It feels like a cloud of fog has rolled into his skull and settled there, weighing down all his thoughts. He's hallucinating, hearing whispers behind him, feeling flashes of warmth against his skin despite the biting cold of the sea. There's a beam of light shining through the surface of the water, like the first glimpse of the sun when the clouds part after a thunderstorm. It's barely perceptible, but it feels blinding compared to the darkness, forcing Ed to shield his eyes.
It gets brighter and brighter, and the whispers turn to unintelligible shouts, and the flashes of warmth become blows against his chest, and this is it, must be it, because it can't be explained by anything other than the simple fact that he's reached the final stages of drowning now and he's about to die.
The rope comes free from his waist and disappears into the murkiness below him. Perhaps the stone was the last thing tethering him to life. Perhaps it was only holding onto him for as long as it needed to, waiting for his heart to falter, waiting until it had delivered him safely to whatever comes next. He wishes he could enjoy the fact that he's free, that he's no longer sinking. He wishes he could seize the opportunity and thrash his legs and propel himself back to the surface. Instead, he hangs onto the thin sliver of relief that he's gained from realising it's almost over.
Slowly, painfully, Ed turns towards the light and waits for it to go out.
He doesn't want his final thoughts to be about how cold he is, or how much pain he's in, or how he desperately wishes that things could've gone differently for him. He wills his tired, jumbled mind to show him something nice, something safe.
It settles on Stede. Of course it settles on Stede.
Stede, clinking his drink against Ed's as they raise a glass to being co-captains, Ed trying and failing to convince himself the warmth in his chest is down to the brandy and not because he's in love with him.
Stede, carefully picking a crumb of roast snake out of Ed's beard, as Ed steals the opportunity to study Stede's face and desperately tries to keep his breathing steady.
Stede, laughing on the deck at a stupid joke that he can't even remember, Ed's hand resting on the soft fabric covering his leg, the ship feeling like Ed's home.
Stede, letting out a tiny surprised hum against Ed's lips when Ed kisses him, the first kiss he's had in decades without his beard in the way, the tip of Stede's nose against his bare cheek.
Stede, beaming at him as if he hung the stars because he came back – fuck, what else was he ever going to do except come back – Ed unable to concentrate on anything except how much he needs to be touching him, reaching his foot towards Stede's as the navy swarm around them, unable to suppress a smile when Stede's foot presses back against his.
Stede, swimming towards him, silhouetted against the beam of light, legs replaced with a resplendent golden mermaid tail.
Stede, swimming towards him, trident in hand, scales sparkling, tailfins billowing.
Stede, smiling as he approaches, his mere presence exuding warmth and light and safety.
He comes to rest opposite Ed, floating patiently before him, giving him space to make the next move. The invisible forces beating against Ed's chest are gone, the unintelligible whispers replaced by the crystal clear sound of Stede's voice.
'I'm here. I'm here. You're safe.'
Ed's eyes are stinging, not from the saltwater but from the tears welling up inside them. Fuck, he wants to be safe. He wants Stede to be here with him, to help him, to take him back to the surface where he can have another chance.
But Stede isn't a mermaid, and Ed can't breathe underwater, and none of this can possibly be real. It's an illusion, conjured by the last traces of oxygen leaving Ed's brain. It's time for Ed to cross to the other side. Stede is simply the form taken by whatever force is acting as the ferryman, designed to win his trust, to entice him across into the realm of the dead.
And fuck, it's working.
Ed reaches out with trembling arms and cups Stede's face in his hands, savouring the last feeling of warm, soft skin against his own, letting the water gently buffet them towards each other. They drift together, Ed's body meeting Stede's, soaked leather and cotton meeting skin and scale. He feels real, real enough that Ed has to choke back a sob, real enough that he can't help but lean forward and press his forehead against Stede's, real enough that his mind is filled with an incomprehensible muddle of all of the things he wants to say to him but will now never be able to.
Stede's arm wraps around Ed's waist and Ed instinctively hooks his knee around Stede's tail to steady himself. He feels strong and sturdy, like an anchor, keeping Ed safe from the power of the sea, keeping him from being tossed around by the waves like a leaf on a breeze. And then his arms are around Stede's neck, and Stede is kissing him, and god, Ed can breathe again, can part his lips and let air flood his lungs and send a rich warmth flowing through his blood from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes, can feel the fog clearing from his mind. He lets his hands roam Stede's body, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, pressing the heel of his hand against Stede's chest to feel his heartbeat, letting his fingertips brush against the smooth scales adorning what used to be Stede's hips.
He clings to him and kisses him as if it's the last thing he'll ever do, as his vision fades to black, as his senses begin to shut off one by one.
It's a wonderful way to go. He couldn't get back to the surface, to Stede, but he's been granted the next best thing. He's ready to rest now.
He lets his head fall onto Stede's shoulder, Charon's shoulder, exhausted, and lets himself be carried gently across the Styx.
—
'Thanks, Roach.'
Roach nods, and the door to the captain's cabin clicks shut behind him, and then they're finally alone. Stede lays Ed down in the bed nook and gets to work peeling off his soggy clothes, brushing his damp hair back from his face, tucking him in with soft blankets to keep him warm and comfortable. He leaves Ed's chest uncovered, watching it rise and fall with each breath, desperately hoping that Roach was right in saying that Ed is out of the woods now and should survive the night.
He's exhausted, adrenaline still coursing through his body, his throat raw from shouting and pleading, eyes burning from over a day without sleep, but it doesn't matter. Ed is alive. His breathing is steady, and his hand is warm when Stede laces their fingers together, and he makes a quiet appreciative sound when Stede strokes his hair. He came back. Stede's leg could fall off and he wouldn't notice.
Stede leans back against the pile of cushions at the end of the bed nook and waits for Ed to wake up.