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1.
It wasn’t the first time Stede had noticed it. It happened with Chauncey and the British firing squad, and it happened with the surprise attack from Ned Low. Both times Ed had put a hand protectively to Stede’s chest and put himself between Stede and whatever the danger was. He couldn’t deny that, at the times, it had been very reassuring.
Stede didn’t realise it was going to become a habit though.
This time it happened when someone accidentally misfired a pistol. A simple afternoon enjoying the breeze on the quarter deck turned chaotic in an instant, and Ed shoved Stede behind him as he looked for the source of the shot.
“Sorry!” Frenchie called, waving at the pistol with his cleaning rag. “Forgot it was loaded.”
“Shit, fuck,” Ed breathed, his hand pressed to Stede’s lapel, reassured by its presence. “It’s a wonder half this crew isn’t dead already.”
Stede looked at the back of Ed’s head, then down at the hand on his chest, then back up.
“Did you know you do that?”
“Hm?” Ed turned back to him.
“This whole protecting thing. Stepping in front of me. You keep doing it.”
Ed played it cool.
“Yeah. So?”
“Well, stop it, you nut,” Stede scoldingly slapped his hand away with his lacy sleeve. “You’ll get hurt one day.”
Ed huffed.
“Yeah. Sure.” He lied.
2.
The next time it happened, Ed and Stede were in the dinghy, gently floating off the stern as they fished for the crew’s next meal.
They were having no luck, but Stede enjoyed the time sitting quietly beside Ed, their shoulders touching as they fished off either side. According to Ed, this increased their chances of a catch by 0.00000000000000001 percent, as this way they could cover more ocean. Stede suspected though, that he just liked sitting directly next to him, where he could easily nuzzle at his foot with his own and feel the warmth of his body next to his.
“Oops, look out!”
Stede gave a startled yelp and dropped his fishing rod as Ed suddenly stood and pushed him back, and he landed on his surprised behind in the bottom of the boat. His feet flipped into the air as he became wedged between two seats like an ill folded deck chair.
When Stede looked back up, Ed held a wiggling fish in his hand, still attached the line of his rod, apparently caught mid-air.
“Sorry mate, it was coming straight for ya.”
“Ah. Nice catch.” Stede admired the fish, its rainbow scales glinting in the sunlight as Ed held it proudly. “Both literally and metaphorically.”
“I’m getting better.” Ed smiled bashfully, taking the hook out of the fish’s gaping mouth.
“You certainly are! Look at the size of it! It would have taken my head clean off!” Stede tried to sit up. “Uh, Ed.”
“Yeah mate?”
“A little help?”
“Aw shit, sorry.”
Ed put the fish in a bucket and offered his hand to Stede. Stede took it gratefully, but they soon both discovered that he was thoroughly stuck between the planks, like a turtle on its back.
“Try to wiggle-“
“I can’t wiggle-“
“Let me just-“
“There must be a more elegant way of doing this-“
“How did you even get jammed-“
“You pushed me!”
“Hang on, I’m gonna-“
“Ed, put the rod down for Gods’ sake-“
“I can use it to lever you-“
“Stop rocking the boat, Ed!-“
“Stop kicking me then!”
“I’m not-!”
“You’re gonna clip me in my bawls-”
A few curses and shouts later, the dinghy capsized.
That fish couldn’t swim away fast enough from the pair of idiots.
3.
Walking back to the ship from Spanish Jackie’s was almost guaranteed to be an eventful affair. Between the various states of intoxication and the general nature of the republic of pirates, it wasn’t exactly a picnic.
Stede had maybe, just maybe, had a little bit too much to drink, and had decided that swinging from a rope attached to the roof of the pub was a spectacular idea. Crashing down onto a table and kicking a few angry pirates in the face on the way, Ed had decided they should call it a night before Jackie took their noses.
Hauling Stede along with his arm slung over Ed’s shoulders, Stede was muttering sea shanties into Ed’s ear. He probably thought he was whispering, but he was not. He had learned one that night that he had now decided he was particularly fond of.
“I'll take you home again, Kathleeeeeeeeen
Across the ocean wild and wiiiiiiiiide
To where your heart has ever beeeeeeen
Since you were first my bonnie briiiiiiide.”
The end of each line of lyrics were shouted with gusto as they stumbled along the dirty streets. There was no hope of shushing him, try as he might. Ed hoped the neighbourhood was already awake, because if they weren’t previously, they would certainly be now.
Also, he couldn’t help wondering. Who the fuck was Kathleen?
As they neared the docks, a window above the street level was thrown open. Ed stopped, pushing Stede back with a gentle hand to the chest, and Stede stopped singing as he stumbled backwards haphazardly, losing the support of Ed’s stabilizing arm around his shoulders.
A chamber pot was abruptly emptied from above, pouring waste onto the spot where Ed and Stede would have been standing.
“Hey, watch it, you dirty fucks!” Ed shouted, waving a fist at the window as it closed.
Stede peered around Ed, regarding the waste on the dirt with a disapproving and confused expression as he swayed on the spot.
“Ed?”
“Yeah mate?”
“Shhhhhhhhh-“
Stede pressed a finger to Ed’s lips, sealing them shut and running a finger lazily along Ed’s stubble.
“I need to tell you something… it- it’s very important. Very. So shhhhhhhhhhh, listen…”
Stede leaned into Ed, as if to whisper. He drew a very deep breath.
“I’ll take you home again, Kathleeeeeeeeen-“
“Stede.”
“Shhhhhhhhhhh.” Stede put a hand to Ed’s chest. “Don’t you know Ed?” He leaned in, his breath tickling Ed’s ear.
“You’re Kathleen.”
“…Oh.”
Stede gazed deeply into his eyes… then promptly threw up on their feet.
4.
Ed sat under a shady palm, smoking his pipe, and watched as Stede and the crew explored some nearby rockpools. Everyone had seemed to decide that Fang was the perfect repository for all the starfish they had found, and every inch of the man’s bare skin was now covered in them, much to their amusement.
“They tickle!” Fang giggled, trying not to move as Lucius positioned a starfish perfectly on his forehead like a crown.
Stede waved to Ed, who smiled and gave a small wave back, and Stede tracked up the beach, pants rolled up above the knee as the sand clung to his light leg hairs.
“Look!” Stede presented Ed with a large shell. “Isn’t the pattern just spectacular?”
Ed shaded his eyes, looking at the large conch shell. He’d seen many like it before, but Stede was so pleased with his find that he couldn’t help but smile.
“Nice,” he agreed, nodding.
“Do you think I could drill a hole in it and use it as a horn?” Stede lifted the shell to his face, scrutinizing every angle. “I’ve seen it done in paintings.”
Ed scrunched up his face disapprovingly. “Just ‘cos you’ve seen something in a painting, it doesn’t make it real.”
“I know that, but still, it’s worth a try! I’m going to go find something to make a hole in it. “
Stede took off along the shore towards a thicket of rocks and trees, and Ed shook his head, resting back against the palm he was shading himself under and closing his eyes with a huff.
A suspicious amount of time later, Stede still wasn’t back.
Ed cracked his eyes open against the bright sunlight and looked down the beach. He saw Stede in the distance.
He was… strutting?
Ed rubbed his eyes, making sure the light wasn’t playing a trick on him. Yep, definitely some kind of jovial strut.
He watched as Stede hopped from one foot to the other, one hand raised above his head, his other arm folded to his side, as he directed his movements to something in the treeline.
“The fuck?” Ed grumbled, pushing himself up and stretching as he went to investigate.
Maybe the heat had got to him, Ed contemplated, wondering how easy it would be to dunk Stede in the waves to cool him off.
“Look Ed!” Stede half shouted, half whispered as Ed drew near. “I’m communicating with it!”
“Communicating with- the FUCK is that?!”
Ed grabbed Stede and shoved him behind him defensively, positioning himself in the spot where Stede had previously been doing his dazzling display of moves.
“What fucking monstrosity-“
“Oh Ed, isn’t it lovely? I believe it’s called a ‘flamingo’.”
The pair stared at the strange bird before them, with its elongated neck and huge black beak. It bobbed its head back and forth, regarding the men in front of it. It stood on one leg, and Stede tried to imitate the stance before losing his balance in the sand.
“God, fucking nightmare fuel that is. Stop trying to piss it off!” Ed slapped at Stede, who had only just regained his one footed stance successfully.
“I’m not pissing it off! Look, I think it likes me!”
The flamingo squawked, cocking its head slightly.
“I don’t trust it. Look at its beady eyes. Why is it so pink?” Ed waved his arms at it, but it stood still. “Bloody pink birds. Go on, shoo! Fucking nature.”
“Don’t scare it away! I’m making friends with it.” Stede pleaded, staring at it with fascination.
“Nup. You’re not bringing that on board.”
“Aw come on! What, so Buttons can be friends with seagulls and I happen to stumble across one tiny little bird-“
“It’s not little!” Ed gestured between the bird and Stede. “It’s almost as big as you!“
“Aw come on! I could keep it in my wardrobe, it would blend in beautifully, you’d hardly know it was there!”
There was a rustle from behind the bird, and Ed and Stede turned their attention back to it to find another five, ten…twenty? Flamingo heads, popping up all through the thicket, the raised voices of the men garnering their undivided attention.
Ed and Stede froze.
“Stede?”
“Yes?”
“Do these flamjingoes normally travel in packs?”
“Uh, flocks? Perhaps…” Stede answered, reaching forward to grab onto Ed’s shirt and dragging him slowly backwards towards him as more and more beady bird eyes fell upon them.
“Can they fly?”
All the flamingos suddenly looked at them and they all had the same thought at the same time.
“Fuck.”
And since that day, the legend tells of a lone abandoned conch shell that, when raised to your ear, echoes not with waves of the ocean, but with the screeches of Blackbeard, the Gentleman Pirate, and approximately one hundred and seventy-four enraged flamingos.
5.
The crew was never one to pass on a night of drinking. Having docked at a small port to resupply, jaunty Irish music had lured the crew inland to a small pub where the raucous melody was matched by the stomping of feet.
Ed had taken one look in the door and scowled at the big crowd and lively folk tunes.
“Not my scene. I’m gonna go get some tobacco, don’t wait up.”
He had turned down the nearby alley, and before Stede could protest or join him, the crew swept him up and into the pub, claiming him as their ‘designated sailor’. They soon secured a table, crowding around on small stools as a tray of drinks promptly arrived.
Stede tried to shuffle his stool back as far from the dance floor as he could, but it seemed no matter how hard he tried, the dance floor was coming to him. The lively crowd of pub goers swirled and stomped to the music. The band, high on a raised platform, boasted great feats of musical ingenuity which had not previously been heard on a penny whistle. This only served to drive the congregation to more furious dancing, skirts and shirts twirling in a massive blur before them.
Stede had wondered whether this was that dancing disease he had read about once, where an entire village had danced themselves to death. He regarded his drink suspiciously.
Soon, most of the crew had joined the dancing, leaving Stede sitting like a wallflower cradling his little glass of rum. He tried to keep an eye on everyone. Lucius was grinding on Pete like he was a pole, much to Pete’s delight, and Frenchie and Roach were tangoing hand in hand, Roach having somehow acquired a red rose which he clamped between his teeth. Even Wee John had somehow managed to climb up on stage with the band and was vigorously bashing a cowbell in rhythm to the beat. Soon lost track of everyone in the massive throng.
A woman made her way from across the room, her bosom practically spilling from the top of her tight corset. She smiled at him, wiggling her hips suggestively.
“Aren’t you a fancy fella?” She looked Stede up and down, drinking in the finery of his clothes. “A dish like you shouldn’t be alone! Care for a spin?”
“Thank you, but I’m-“
“Come on sweetheart!” A busty woman leant down, her proximity to Stede making him politely wriggle away and spill his glass of rum. “Just one dance! Who knows, it might lead to a night of passion.”
“Oh, no thank you! I’m just enjoying a drink with some mates.” Stede smiled politely as he tried not to touch the woman, leaning back on his stool as much as was humanly possible without falling on the floor.
“What mates?” She raised an eyebrow at the empty table, and Stede spluttered.
“Well, they are here…” he looked around. “Somewhere…”
“Come on! A dance never killed anyone!”
“I beg to differ.” Stede mumbled into his glass, smiling politely.
The woman was practically sitting on Stede’s lap now, grabbing at his jaw with a sweaty hand. Stede tried not to get an eyeful of breasts as she pressed herself against him.
“How about you buy me a drink then? Take pity on this thirsty, thirsty woman!”
He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.
“Here,” a gravelly voice said, and Edward appeared, stepping in between him and the offending woman.
“Allow me.”
The woman blanched in surprise as she stood, looking Ed up and down. “Hello handsome! You wanna dance? How about you buy me a drink first?”
“On the contrary,” Ed smiled disarmingly. “You were about to steal my dance partner.”
He turned, offering his hand to Stede.
“May I have the honour of a lively romp around the dancefloor?”
Stede balked at him in surprise. The woman flushed red with embarrassment, then anger.
“You-“
“Oi!” A huge man suddenly appeared, arms rippling with tattoos as he looked down on Ed and Stede. “You interferin’ with my ladies work?”
“No?” Stede piped up, standing up beside Ed and pointing. “She was harassing me for drinks! Among other things.”
“Tough shit.” The man pointed at a sign above the bar. It said Ladies Night, buy a pint!
“My pub.” He stepped towards them. “My rules.”
“Those are some very obscure conditions of entry,” grumbled Stede. “Poor business practice if you ask me. What is that supposed to mean? Does that mean I’m required to buy a pint for all the ladies here? Or does it mean ladies have to buy a pint for themselves as an entry ticket? Very confusing. And sexist! Also, many of those here probably can’t read that sign, so-”
“It means you have to do what I say, you ruffle-fronted dandy.”
Stede adjusted his jacket self consciously as Ed stared the man down.
“Look,” Ed sighed. “I know your girl here is one of those bar wenches who make people ‘dance’ to drive up the thirst and the pimp game. Whatever. Nothing wrong with that, it’s a respectable profession.” Ed glanced at the woman, who crossed her arms in frustration.
“But you just insulted my friend.” Ed looked around. “And given that everyone here seems to be having a wonderful fucking time in this absolute piss-hole of an establishment, we’ll just ask for an apology and be on our merry way.”
The man jeered, showing all six of his teeth as he laughed down at the pair.
“Or what? What are you going to do, you blackened bilge rat?” He looked over at Stede. “What’s stopping me from taking your fancy friend and treating him to some real pirate hospitality?”
“This.” Ed said.
Stede jumped as a shot ran out, sparks and smoke flying as the aggressive man flew backwards, blown off his feet. The music stopped, everyone turning to find the source of the noise. It was only then that everyone noticed the pistol in Ed’s hand, still smoking.
“You shot him!” Stede squeaked, looking down at the man who groaned as he rolled on the floor, clutching his bleeding side. “Did you mean to do that?”
“Just scraped his left side. He’ll live.” Ed tucked his gun away. “Probably.”
“You fucking-!”
Ed ducked, dragging Stede down with him as the busty wench lobbed a barstool at them. It sailed over them, hitting a man in the back and sending him sprawling to the floor, spilling his pint.
“Hey! No one bar-stools big Mikey!” came a cry from someone across the room.
A bottle went sailing in the bar wench’s direction, and she ducked. It struck another woman across the top of her hair, glass spraying down on her and several others.
“You bloody strumpet!” The bottled woman threw a punch.
And just like that, all hell was breaking loose. Bottles sailed, tables were shattered, bites were bitten, bodies were slammed, punches were thrown left right and centre. In the middle of it all, the band decided it was time to start playing again, and started a lively chaotic tune that somehow matched the anarchy unfolding around them.
Ed pushed Stede up against the wall, standing protectively in front of him and shielding him from any flying debris.
“Shall we get the hell out of here?” Ed looked back to Stede, who nodded quickly as he gripped onto Ed’s shoulders.
“Please. I don’t want to get my suit dirty.”
Ed whistled, and the crew took that as a signal to clear out, grabbing any remaining drinks on the way as they ducked and weaved through the brawl. They spilled out of the door into the brisk night air, tripping on the cobblestones underfoot.
Ed laughed, slapping Stede on the back.
“Thank God that fight started.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know how to fucking dance.”
Stede stopped.
“Did you just start a brawl because you didn’t want me to know that?”
“Maybe,” Ed mumbled. “Also, that guy was being a massive dick.”
“Well, he was, I suppose.” Stede adjusted himself, brushing off the few shards of glass that had got caught in his ruffles.
The group, most of them thoroughly sloshed, began to stumble back towards the dock. Roach had somehow got his hands on a bunch of roses in addition to the one he had been dancing with earlier and was gracing the crew each with a single stem tucked into their shirts or behind their ears.
Stede linked his arm through Ed’s.
“For the record, I’d be proud to dance with you. No matter how many left feet you have.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Stede affirmed. Ed looked like he didn’t really believe him but smiled anyway.
“As long as you stop doing the thing.”
Ed frowned. “What thing?”
“You know, the thing.” Stede stopped abruptly as Roach approached them with two roses, and shoved Ed behind him, holding a hand out to stop Roach dead in his tracks.
“Back ye scallywag! Thou rapscallion! Nothing and no one dares to touch my co-captain!” He deepened his voice, impersonating Ed flawlessly.
Roach, drunk and confused, held the stem out still. “But it’s just pretty flowers, boss.”
Stede broke character, accepting the stems gratefully. “Thank you, Roach. How lovely.”
Stede turned back to Ed, waving the petals in his face. “See?”
“Fuck off, I don’t do that.” He swatted the flower away.
“You do.”
“I do not!“
The crew turned back to them from their befuddled promenade, the roses adorning each of them seeming to join the conversation, all the faces staring towards the pair.
“Literally so often, oh my god-““You do it all the feckin’ time-“ “Subconscious protection is the epitome of romance-“
Stede raised his hands. “See? Now cut it out,” he tucked the flower into Ed’s front pocket.
“Or I’ll have to start doing the same to you.”
+1
A bit of light pillaging has never hurt anyone.
That was a lie. It definitely has.
Stede deflected a blow from an enemy cutlass as the crew of the Revenge clambered onto the Merchant ship, shouting as the waved his blade. He had been practicing his war cry, much to the crew’s dismay, and was keen for a chance to test it out. However, couldn’t seem to find a moment where it seemed organic to use it, as they all soon realised that they might be slightly outnumbered.
More men spilled onto the deck from the hold below, and Stede looked around, searching for Ed among the fighting crowd. Somehow Ed had managed to position himself high on the ships quarter deck, where he could fight off the assault from all angles, scoping out the enemies’ movements.
Stede turned, positioning himself so he could run and aide Ed if he needed to, trying to keep on the base of the quarterdeck as he swung his cutlass this way and that like a frenzied porcupine. Not that he would be much help to Ed since Eds fighting skills were clearly superior, but Stede’s own skills had improved marginally since he started pirating.
It seemed that Ed’s attackers were either scared shitless of him, or so set on taking down the famous Blackbeard that their movements were impulsive and miscalculated, and Ed struck them down with an effortless air. But Stede still stuck close by.
You know, just in case.
Turning his attention back to the advancing sailors, Stede gave a kick, knocking one man back into two other men, and they slammed down in a pile against the rails like toppling bowling pins.
That would have been a good time to release his victory yodel, if he hadn’t suddenly been assailed by a particularly brutish sailor.
The large slob of a man, the front of his shirt stained with God-knows-what, charged at Stede, and Stede narrowly stepped back to avoid being bowled over, bringing his cutlass up to block the attack from what looked like a very rusty machete. Stede vaguely wondered if this was their cook, as his machete looked similar to Roach’s favourite.
The man’s attack was relentless, and Stede found himself being driven back against the stairs to the quarterdeck. With an ‘oof’ he bumped into it, and realising that he had nowhere to go, ducked as the machete made directly for his neck.
The rusty blade slammed into the woodwork of the steps behind him, showering his blonde hair with splinters as he resorted to crawling away from the man, who was now trying to dislodge his weapon.
Once he was clear, he stood with an exhilarated huff, only to be confronted with four cutlasses surrounding him, all pointed at his chest.
Stede raised his hands in a mock surrender, before scrunching his eyes shut, sure that he was about to be impaled from four different directions.
He heard a yell, or rather, a spectacular battle cry, he thought, and he opened his eyes to see Ed swing into view, landing near Stede as he let go of a rope, his sword slashing down to topple the sailors who were getting too close.
Stede saw not four threatening cutlasses, but a beautiful, enraged Ed.
“Don’t close your fuckin’ eyes in the middle of a fight! What have I told you?”
“High ground?”
“High ground!”
Ed grabbed his arm and dragged him up the steps to the quarterdeck, past the brute who had now dislodged his machete, and for good measure, Ed took advantage of the man’s ill-attention and kicked him overboard forcefully.
Stede grabbed the machete out of his hands as he went over, nodding a courteous ‘thank you’ as Ed dragged him up to the deck. They ended up back-to-back as more men swarmed after them.
“Are you doing the thing again?” Stede yelled back to Ed, who looked at him with a mischievous wink.
“Don’t know what you’re on about, mate.”
Stede didn’t have time to scold him as the assault continued, now from all kinds of men from all directions.
Stede blocked a blow from above with his cutlass, and used the rusty machete he had acquired to slash at another mans ribs, as he heard Ed’s pistol fire, and two men flew back from them in a cloud of smoke and gunpowder.
“Two in one!”
“Show off!”
The crew had seemed to gauge that most of the merchants were swarming towards their captains, and they fought their way up towards the quarter deck.
Stede saw Roach lose a grip on his weapon, and tossed him the machete to defend himself. Roach caught it by its splintered handle and admired it lovingly.
“Ooh, tetanus!” Roach gave him a thumbs up as he wielded the rusty blade. “Thanks boss!”
He screeched an amazing battle cry (even if Stede said so himself), launching himself over the railing and onto a pile of men who had surrounded Pete and Lucius.
The crowd around them was beginning to thin, and Stede imagined how incredibly cool they must look right now, the Gentleman Pirate and Blackbeard fighting back-to-back among the fray.
Somehow, Ed had ended up with three men fighting him from the poop deck (the only deck higher than the quarter deck, curse them), and Stede was looking over the main deck of the ship as he dispatched his last opponent.
It was then he saw it.
From the other end of the ship, a group of merchants, in a last ditch effort to take out the pirate captains without actually being in close proximity to them, had hauled a large crate of cargo high above the deck, and then cut the support ropes holding it.
It was now swinging towards them with unstoppable force.
“ED, LOOK OUT!”
Instinctively, Stede stepped back, pushing Ed down to the deck behind him. Ed was caught off guard, focusing on the attack at his front, and fell to his knees, pain ricocheting up from his brace and causing him to double over with a pained shout.
“Stede, what-“
There was a crash, and a terrific splintering of wood exploded all around him. Ed closed his eyes and shielded his face from the splinters that showered him, grateful for the leather he was wearing. And suddenly, the three men who had been assailing him were gone.
Ed shook the splinters of wood from his hair, and looked at the chunk of the ship that was now missing. The taffrail and part of the poop deck was gone, splintered beyond repair.
“Holy shit.”
He looked around.
“Stede?”
He clambered to his feet, looking down into the frothing water below the stern. Planks and debris were everywhere.
So was the blood.
Inky, dark crimson leaked its way up to the surface, staining the water.
Ed’s heart stopped beating in his chest.
Alone on the quarter deck, Ed realised what had happened.
Stede had knocked him out of the way. The swinging crate had taken out his last few attackers.
But it had also taken out Stede.
He had the sense to yell “MAN OVERBOARD!”, before he threw himself into the churning water.
The yells and clashing of the fighting above muffled into incomprehensible murmurs as Ed plunged below the surface. He opened his eyes against the stinging of the salt and the debris bubbling around him and searched desperately in the murky water.
By some miracle, the water cleared for a split second, and in the opening, he saw the body of one Stede Bonnet, sinking slowly in the din.
With a burst of bubbles that would have been a shout if he were above water, Ed kicked furiously, pushing downwards. He realised the water was getting darker, not because of the lack of sunlight hitting the depths, but because there was so much blood.
He ignored the floating bodies of his attackers, their limbs and clothes tangled with inky redness. Ed almost felt sorry for them; the amount of blood floating off their corpses would have equalled a painful death, if not catastrophic injury.
He didn’t have time to concentrate on them, though he was grateful that once he passed the bodies, the water was much clearer of blood.
He neared Stede now, whose eyes were closed as he floated like a pallid ghost. Just unconscious, Ed told himself.
He wouldn’t consider any other possibility.
He grabbed Stede’s arm, which was floating limply above his head, and went to wrap an arm around the man’s waist to haul him upwards, but stopped as he felt a large chunk of wood protruding from Stede’s left side. He repositioned his arms under Stede’s shoulders, and with bursting lungs, kicked upwards, hauling Stede’s dead weight further towards the light.
At last, they broke through the surface, and Ed gasped air into his bursting lungs.
“Stede,” he turned Stede onto his back, holding his head above the surface against his torso. “Stede.”
Ed thumped a fist to Stede’s chest, not wanting to hurt him, but to jolt him enough to shock his body back to consciousness.
Stede’s eyes snapped open blearily and he coughed weakly, expelling a mouthful of water, and felt a blistering pain in his side as his skin pulled against the massive splinter.
He flailed in the water slightly as he regained his bearings in Eds arms. He ended up clinging to Ed’s shoulder as Ed grabbed a nearby piece of broken off decking to keep them both afloat.
“Ow.” Stede breathed into Ed’s ear.
“Yeah, no shit.”
In the water, Stede closed a hand around the splinter, and Ed saw what he was about to do.
“Stede, don’t!”
With one swift motion, Stede yanked it out.
“Goddamnit, Stede!”
The water around them began to fill with a fresh, bright red. Stede looked down, letting the wood shard float away in the water as he raised his hand to confusedly observe the stain of his own blood.
“You should have left it you idiot! It was stopping you from bleeding out!”
“Oh…sorry…” Stede murmured, his eyes feeling heavy with the weight of light headedness.
“Fuuuuck.”
Ed hauled Stede onto the floating wood panelling, getting the top half of his body out of the water and applying pressure to the now freely-bleeding hole in Stede’s side. Stede hissed with the pain, his head plonking back against the planks.
“Hey Ed?” Stede turned his head to look at Ed, kicking beside him in the water.
“Yeah?” Ed pressed with all his might, blood leaking out from between his gloved hands.
“Did we win?”
Ed looked back at the ship, and he heard Fang call for someone to lower a dingy for them. He saw other heads from their crew poke over the side, before scrambling to follow Fang’s orders.
“Yeah, why not? We won, mate.”
Stede raised a closed fist, as if waving a little victory flag.
“Woohoo. Alright.” He grimaced. “I hope they…have jam on board. We coul’ use s’me jam…”
Stede felt his eyes begin to slip closed.
“No, Stede.” Ed’s voice was stern but laced with concern. “Eye’s open mate. Keep an eye out for sharks for me, we’ll be back on board in no time.”
“Bu’ we won. Sharks wouldn’t dare spoil this victory.” Stede sighed contentedly. “An’ it was all thanks to th’ thing.”
“What?”
Stede feebly mimed pushing Ed behind him, his eyes cracked open to slits as he smiled at Ed. “The thing. Works e’erytime… you taught me that…”
Stede’s eyes slipped shut. It was nice to just… float.
“Stede. Stede, hey!”
Ed hauled himself onto the planks beside him, careful not to upend them both into the water, and grabbed Stede’s face in his wet palm.
“Open your eyes, Stede. No time for a fuckin’ nap, you layabout. Hey!”
Stede vaguely felt a wet hand slapping at his face, grasping at his lapel as pressure was pressed even more on his side, as he heard incoherent shouts from beside him. Water sloshed at them as if he were their own island in the ocean. Dark concerned eyes floated above him, ingrained in his mind as he sank into blackness.
Those same dark eyes greeted him when he finally did crack his eyes open. He was a good degree more comfortable than he had last been when he was last conscious. He shifted under the sheets, and felt bandages pull around his stomach.
He looked up. Ed was there, sitting on the side of the bed, looking both furious and relieved.
“You fucking idiot.’
Stede grinned up at him.
“At least I know how to dance.”
Ed huffed, pressing a hand to Stede’s wrist.
“I thought you might not be around to teach me for a minute there. God, Stede, there was so much blood-“
“Hey, I’m alright-“ Stede went to sit up, but Ed pushed him down gently.
“Stay put, you lunatic. You cracked a couple of ribs too. You’re lucky that cargo only clipped you.”
“Ah.” Stede nodded, he could definitely feel that was the case. “Looks like I’m not going anywhere then.” He looked around their cabin. “How long have I been out?”
“About a day. Blood loss’ll do that to you.”
Stede looked down at the bandages and noticed for the first time the littered marks on his skin.
“Looks like I tried to replace the blood in me with splinters.”
“Yep.” Ed popped the ‘p’ knowingly. And he would know, he was the one who had spent the last day meticulously picking out the slivers of wood from under Stede’s skin.
“You’re on bed rest, Captains orders, so take it easy, you rogue.”
“I’ll try.” Stede smiled. “Did we procure some jam at least?”
“Yeah.”
“Ooh, what kind?”
“I dunno, just jam, the ushe, made from fruit and shit.”
“Well I hope it wasn’t made of shit-“ Stede joked, but stopped when he saw Ed’s severe set jaw, his eyes slightly watery.
“Ed?”
Ed sniffed, clearing his throat, and looking away.
“You did the thing.”
“The thing?”
Stede recalled the moments before the cargo had hit him.
“Ah, the thing. The pushing thing? The thing with the pushing. Yes, that thing.”
Stede pointed at Ed for a second. “See how it feels? It’s bloody stressful!”
“Yeah, its bloody stressful! Let’s never, ever, do that for each other again. Deal?” Ed extended his hand, and Stede took it, shaking it vigorously.
“Deal.”
The men separated hands, staring at each other. Ed squinted, studying Stede’s smug face.
“Did you just lie to me?”
“Yep.”
“You pompous fucker.”
Stede smirked. “Well, did you just lie to me?”
Ed looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his gloves. “Might’ve.” He mumbled.
“Ah.” Stede contemplated. “Well, lets just make a deal to try not to get killed then.”
“Can’t guarantee that, mate.”
“Yeah,” Stede agreed. “But I know that you’ll try.” He put a hand gently over Ed’s. “For me?”
Ed shot Stede a withering look but didn’t take his hand away.
“Sure. Whatever. Shut up.”
Stede smiled.
A knock came at the cabin door, and Lucius pushed the door open, a small jar in his hands.
“Ah, sleeping beauty is awake I see. Bought you some of that jam, delicious stuff. Roach is whipping up some bread for it.”
Ed stood and approached him, taking the jar, but the moment Ed placed his hands on the glass, Black Pete bolted in out of nowhere, and jammed himself between Ed’s outstretched hand and Lucius, pushing him back.
“What the f-“
“Back!” Pete stretched his arms out dramatically, putting one hand to Lucius’ chest protectively. “No one lays a hand on this booty!”
Before Ed could reply to that, Wee John rushed in, putting himself between Pete and Ed.
“Aye, we must all protect!”
“No, I’m protecting-“ Pete argued, pushing his way forward as the rest of the crew flooded into the cabin. Soon, a great cacophony of bodies were pushing their way in front of each other, all holding out their hands in a protective gesture.
“Apparently there’s someone that needs protecting? Just thought I’d join-” Frenchie pushed them all back.
”I’m good at that, I’ve got the cheekbones for it-“ Fang pushed his way forwards.
“The captain’s set a good example!” Roach waved his machete as he pushed forward, the group ducking to avoid the rusty blade. “I just loooove using my body as a human shield-“
Ed stood, confused at the rambling troupe before him, before spotting Lucius at the back, who looked thoroughly entertained, raising an eyebrow at him.
They heard a chortle from the other side of the room, and Ed turned to see Stede double over in the bed, both with laughter and in pain as he clutched at his ribs, wiping tears from his eyes with amusement.
Edward crossed his arms like a petulant child.
“Oi, get fucked, the lot of you.”
“Oh, we will!”
Lucius barely avoided the jar that was tossed at him.