Work Text:
It wasn’t much of an inn, in the end.
Neither the structure nor the location was especially conducive to running a successful business, even less so when the service offered was hospitality. There wasn’t a high demand, it turned out, for a place to turn in for the night in what might as well have been the middle of fucking nowhere. The few times that a room had been rented for the night, it was to old friends who had sought them out specifically, and it was rare that any funds actually exchanged hands, rendering the idea unlucrative.
If that hadn’t been the nail in the coffin, the building itself was less than palatial. It stood doing the best impression of an inn as was possible between the ever-peeling siding and patchwork roof that still warranted no less than three buckets when the rain settled in. Inside, the “rooms” available consisted of a sparsely furnished double and a side room (closet) that was just able to hold a single bed and night table, both of them incredibly susceptible to the cool draft that rolled in with the waves, not to mention a faint but pointedly foul odor that never quite seemed to clear.
It wasn’t much of an inn, but it was a home. Between the creaking of the floorboards were the raps of footsteps, almost always in matching pairs - rhythmic while trying to follow the rhythm of a newly learned waltz, dragging in early mornings when the only light let in was mild and warm from its rise over the sea, sharp and pointed (though soon soothed into ceasing) with the pacing of the occasional episodes of irritation and restlessness. Over the smell of permeating dust rose the fragrances of incense, of attempted stews (some more successful than others), of lavender baths in a well-worn copper basin that was approaching the end of its life cycle. When the winds calmed to something close to quiet, the sound of laughter and rambling conversation could be caught, with generally mild bickering interspersed between.
The days passed with relative ease, working in the slowly blossoming garden, the result of a fair amount of trial and error - plants and flowers that simply refused to grow despite the amount of studying that Stede had put into them, and ones that bloomed despite his unintentional mistreatment of them. Between Stede and the ragged, feral-looking cat that had wandered onto the porch one day and never left the yard again (possibly encouraged by Ed “sneaking” leftovers out nightly and letting him into the house when the wind began to bite; Stede did the same, stroking the gangly thing, speaking nonsense and never, ever mentioning it to the other man), it was nothing short of a miracle that any of the crops survived.
Ed never fancied himself to be much of a gardener and spent most of his time with handiwork, mending what was broken to the best of his abilities, from replacing shattered window panes (only cutting himself twice in the process) to patching the holes in the roof (most of them, anyway). Suddenly having so much time available to fill, he found quickly that he had at least a semi-competent skill in repairs and crafting, his most recent endeavor being a modest table and chairs that filled some of the vacant space on the porch and served its purpose for holding morning tea, and if Stede was ever bothered by the fact that his chair rocked a bit when he shifted due to its uneven legs, he never once brought it up.
A majority of their funds came by way of the crew happening to “pass by” on a semi-regular basis, citing the need to drop some weight from the ship by leaving the excess of raids on the beach - sometimes gold (which was vital for buying necessities from the market that was a three hour round trip trek from the inn), sometimes furniture, sometimes things they couldn’t have possibly thought of any real value to themselves: floral soaps, stacks of books, and (slightly damaged) paintings. All were offerings of care under the guise of needing to clear out their stocks, an excuse for friends to visit and be fussed over if only for a day or two.
But mostly, short of brief socialization (and a fair amount of haggling) on market trips and pop-ins from old mates before their return to the sea, it was just Ed and Stede. The two were in a profoundly new era of their shared and individual lives. Ed learning how to live a life not constantly in survival mode and not having to wear a violent mask to keep the bone-deep fear at bay, and Stede navigating how to embrace and cultivate his interests without fear of being belittled and mocked, how to be without the finery he’d been accustomed to since birth. (Though ultimately, if you’d asked him, the one thing in his life he’d finally decided to fight to Hell and back for - the man whose hair he now braided nightly, who clung to Stede like static and looked at him like he was both the sun and moon when they moved together - was the finest thing that ever belonged to him.)
Together, they were slowly learning how to build and maintain a shared life. The novelty of a relationship worthy of nurturing and repairing was almost as frightening as the thought of losing it entirely. The fear wasn’t unreasonable, with a past fraught with trauma and loss both long ago and unsettlingly recent. It would never have been reasonable to expect that the quiet, idyllic days spent together would be the only kind to be experienced.
Ed was the most outward with displays of his turmoil. When a million thoughts and feelings coalesced into a suffocating pressure behind his rib cage, he was never quite able to contain it. It could start simply, episodes of agitation and shortness which were followed by apologies as quickly as he could manage, but could often fester for days and grow until he’d find himself unable to stomach swallowing down the day’s breakfast, convinced there was no possible way there was room inside of his body for anything more than the guilt and shame that balled in his chest.
He was prone to isolating during these times and pushed Stede and his stupid, compassionate eyes and unwavering support as far away as one could manage where they were. Ed tried to distance himself by using his own silence, hoping that if Stede could simply forget he was there for a moment, he would stop trying to get Ed to talk it through, would stop offering him bowls of porridge instead of stew (“easier to keep down right now, maybe?”) and lavender baths to instill in him a calm that he didn’t feel he deserved.
Just as Stede had pursued him across the waters like his very life depended on it, he would follow Ed into his darkness and try to keep him afloat until it passed, or at least lessened its grip on him, carefully bringing nourishment into whatever room Ed had decided to trap himself in, telling him the less traumatizing tales of his boyhood or spouting off from his encyclopedic knowledge of plants and insects when he was certain that Ed was processing none of it, but wanting to make it known that Stede was present, and that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he had chosen this place at Ed’s side and intended to stay there for all of it.
It worked. It always worked, eventually. Ed would find himself, forehead pressing against the window, being lulled by the consistency and cadence of his partner’s voice, and when his muscles began to relax and feel sore from exhaustion, when his body caught up to his brain and registered the feeling that he was fine, he could breathe, he was safe, the dam would break and he’d crawl into the arms that had been waiting for him - sometimes for hours, sometimes for days - and what followed was tears or sleep or some combination of the two.
The morning would always come and the light was warm again. The calm settled into his bones and the day would carry on and Ed would be on the receiving end of the most radiant smiles and he would hear the most contagious laughter, the sweetest sound he’d heard in his entire life, and life would be fine again.
Ed wasn’t fully aware, unintentionally selfish, wrapped up in keeping his own demons at bay, of how little Stede actually expressed any inner turmoil or anxiety until the night that he’d found him seated on the front porch, nodding off with a sword fisted in one hand and splayed across his lap.
He hadn’t gone to bed alone that night, and Ed wasn’t sure when he’d actually drifted off to sleep, only that it had been with his cheek pressed against a steady shoulder that was still hot and lightly sheened with sweat. When he’d awoke in the dark sometime later, the warmth was gone, and a slight chill had settled upon him despite being buried somewhere in the cocoon of blankets.
After listening for a moment for any movement - Stede did get the impulse on occasion to wake early, well before sunrise, and begin preparing a breakfast spread that was just on this side of wasteful indulgence - Ed rose after hearing none, wrapping the first robe he could find in the dark tightly around himself and padding out into house. A moment of brief panic struck him when he found no signs of the other man in neither the rooms with their doors ajar nor the main room, but his throat felt too paralyzed to call out.
He’d swung open the front door with no caution and no thought, whether to flee or fight, he wasn’t sure, but encountered the wild tussle of blonde hair peeking over the back of their new porch chair immediately. Ed dipped his head against the door frame, counting out one, two, three steadying breaths before straightening and moving out onto the porch. His face pulled into a frown once he took in the full sight of Stede, head dropped to one shoulder and eyes barely cracked as if simultaneously close to sleep and still far from it. The most disconcerting observation, however, was the white-knuckled grip that Stede had on his sword, draped across his thighs in lieu of a blanket.
“Stede?” Ed tried softly, still at arm's length, not convinced that the other man had actually registered his presence and not particularly keen on getting gut-stabbed at this time of night.
“Hm?” Came the quiet hum of an answer after a moment as Stede lifted his head and blinked the blurriness out of his eyes.
Once Ed was convinced that he wouldn’t actually be on the receiving end of the blade, he reached forward and removed the weapon, pressing the point against the weak wood of the porch and leaning slightly against it.
“What’re you up to?” he asked with feigned nonchalance that did little to hide the worry in his voice.
“Oh,” Stede said as if only then remembering where he was. “Just… couldn’t stay asleep. Probably the cat pawing at the front door again.”
“The cat’s been sleeping in the spare room for weeks. You know that, you’re the one who keeps letting him in at night.”
Stede huffed out a tiny laugh, rubbing a hand over his face and mumbling something in the affirmative. Ed let the moment of silence sit for a bit, allowed Stede the chance to wake fully before speaking again, raising the sword at hip’s height and giving it a shake.
“You’ve got a sword.”
“Hm. So I have.”
Sighing, Ed deposited the sword near the door and took his place in the other chair. He counted his breaths again, slowly, and when Stede made no attempt to move or provide any other explanation, he decided to press on.
“What are you really doing out here, Stede?”
The other man eyed him then focused his gaze out into the darkness toward the sea. The moonlight played off of it beautifully, a white and blue mass that extended out into pitch, never ending black. Ed could tell that he was weighing the idea of telling him the truth, whether the conversation was one he wished to have, now or at all. Ed chose not to press, not to push, simply sat in the quiet for once and waited.
“I…” Stede started, fingers twisting over one another in his lap. After a moment, he sighed, and Ed could tell that Stede’s dam was finally breaking. “Sometimes it still doesn’t feel safe.”
Ed blinked, studying Stede’s profile, the ridges of his nose and the sparse hairs that made home on his cheeks. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d studied Stede so closely was, but now that he was looking, really looking, he noted the slight redness to his eyes, the shadows that they sat within. He looked… tired. More tired than Ed ever remembered seeing, as if he’d spent countless nights awake, waiting for an enemy that had not and was not likely to appear.
“So you’ve been sitting up on guard?” Ed spoke. “Waiting for an attack?”
“I don’t know,” Stede replied with a shrug and a small shake of his head. “I don’t know what I’m expecting, or whom, or when. I just… know that I can’t let it happen. Not again.”
He paused, and Ed watched him worry his bottom lip between his teeth, watched the way that his nostrils flared and his eyes began to gloss over. Stede turned his head finally, and Ed felt a ball of guilt rise in his chest. Not the usual guilt - for what he’d done to his father, to others, for the crew, for Izzy - something new.
“I can’t let someone take you from me again, I won’t,” Stede said, barely a whisper, only just audible and rasped out as if it was ripped. He covered his face with his hands immediately after, as if to hide away from the thought.
Understanding finally hit Ed like a wave. For God knew how many nights, Stede had forgone sleep in favor of sitting on their porch, weapon at the ready, because the thought of Ed dying when they’d only really just begun to live was terrifying and unbearable. All at once, Ed felt like he was suddenly remembering that so much of his trauma, so much of his pain had also happened to Stede. It had happened to them. Ed’s fear and anxiety that threatened to swallow him whole also sat within the man beside him, who constantly checked on Ed, who followed him steadfastly and kept Ed from falling apart. And Ed had scarcely checked on him, convinced that he was fine, believing that the constant positivity and optimism came from a place where there was only calm and no turmoil.
“Stede,” Ed found himself moving without thinking, kneeling down on the porch with bare knees, ignoring the way that the rough, weathered wood dug into his skin. “Stede, I’m so sorry.”
“What?” Stede spoke, voice heavy with tears and trying like hell to hide it, clearly hoping that if he kept his hands plastered to his face, it would stop.
Ed reached up, pulling down on Stede’s wrists and revealing his solemn expression, brows slightly furrowed with confusion. When he’d successfully moved Stede’s arms away from himself, Ed shuffled forward, cursing quietly at his bad knee and how much the position made him ache, but pushing that aside. He settled his body between the other man’s knees, reaching his own hands up to cradle Stede’s face. For a moment, he didn’t elaborate, just feeling - the warmth of Stede’s skin and the wetness of tears, the movement as he swallowed and studied Ed’s face in the dim light that permeated from the candle on the table.
“I never asked,” he said softly, one thumb moving gently against Stede’s cheek. “I’ve never asked how you’re doing. How you’re… fucking dealing with all of this. I’m having breakdowns twice a month and I’ve never even asked if you’re okay. Christ.”
Ed could feel from the tautness of the muscles beneath his fingertips that Stede was clenching his jaw, fighting the impulse to argue, to tell Ed that he was fine and that it didn’t matter, to downplay his feelings and existence like he always had, tuck it back away within himself and apologize for the inconvenience. He could practically see the gears turning if he stared hard enough.
“Don’t,” Ed warned. “Don’t tell me you’re good if you’re not.”
Stede’s eyes bounced between both of Ed’s, searching them for an answer that could only be his own. When he spoke again, the words shook, but they were the truth.
“I’m… it’s not always like this but I’m not… good,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life.”
Stede’s eyes slid closed and more than one tear trailed down his cheek, these unbridled and joining the ones he’d before attempted to conceal. A shaking hand reached up to hold onto Ed’s wrist, feeling the pulse beating beneath his fingers, feeling something to ground himself.
“Okay,” Ed breathed out, finding his own eyes had grown wet and trying his best to be strong, something solid and comforting despite it. He could feel Stede tremble as he straightened up as best as he could, meeting Stede halfway as Ed pulled his head downward and rested their foreheads together. “It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
Ed had never fancied himself as well spoken, especially not compared to Stede, who could speak a sonnet into existence without a second thought. Stede who had written him a dozen lovely letters in only the hopes that a single one would make it to a spiraling Ed so that he would know how wanted and loved that he was. Ed knew he could never be so eloquent, but just the few repeated words he’d managed in this moment seemed to touch Stede in the same way that he’d been doing for Ed since the moment Stede had stopped being afraid to say them.
When Stede’s other hand, the one not locked in a vice grip around Ed’s wrist, settled on the side of Ed’s face, and Stede’s breathing hitched in a quiet sob of both release and relief, Ed sighed. He wouldn’t remember what words he’d whispered then, just that he’d knelt on a throbbing knee for what felt like hours, whispering them over and over again, until tears stopped falling from both of their eyes, and Stede seemed to be taking in a normal amount of breath again.
Ed had almost felt entranced, lulled into a new kind of calm himself knowing that neither was he suffering alone, nor did he need to attempt to deal with it alone, so it took him slightly aback when Stede pressed forward and captured his lips in a brief kiss. He hummed a little noise of surprise, blinking himself out of his stupor and pulling back a bit, finding Stede looking back at him with a small smile. Ed couldn’t help but mirror it, feeling helpless to do anything but smile back when that radiance was directed at him - despite what was and who he was - as it so often seemed to be.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be,” Stede answered, pulling Ed slowly to his feet with caution to his bad knee attempting to buckle out from under him. Stede wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist, pressing his face into the mess that was Ed’s hair, yet to be tamed for the day ahead. “We will be.”