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Published:
2024-11-13
Completed:
2024-11-13
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3,185
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5/5
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Summary:

Curly gets a second chance. Everyone else gets concerned.

Notes:

So! Mouthwashing!

I don’t know why I wrote this. But here it is anyway. Enjoy?

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Talk to Anya

Chapter Text

          Something is wrong with Curly.

          Curly is a punctual man. He follows the mandated time allotments down to the minute. An early riser, is Curly.

          Today he sleeps late. Today he’s still in his room when the rest of the crew gathers for breakfast. Today he doesn’t call out an answer or open the door when Anya knocks.

          “Captain?”

          Nothing. They’ve already checked everywhere else; this is the only place Curly could be.

          “Captain, I’m going to open the door. Please tell me now if you aren’t ready.”

          Nothing. Not even a rustle to indicate motion.

          Anya opens the door. No locks in the sleeping quarters, she thinks, and not now, Anya.

          And there he is. Their ever-diligent captain, lying flat on his back in bed, eyes darting about beneath their lids and chest heaving. A nightmare?

          Anya knows you are not supposed to wake people from nightmares. But she’s worried. This is already strange behaviour coming from Curly, sleeping in so late, and she can’t shake the feeling that something deeper is at play.

          She approaches cautiously. Kneels by the bed, by the headboard, so hopefully he can’t reach her if he lashes out upon awakening. “Captain, wake up-”

          At her touch, Curly’s eyes snap open. He practically launches himself off the bed, that’s how quickly he sits up. He gasps for breath as he does so, one huge, painful-sounding inhale followed by harsh panting and coughing, like a drowned man after CPR.

          Anya, startled in spite of herself, falls back.

          For a few moments, it’s clear that Curly isn’t even in the room with her right now. Breathing gradually calming to urgent but no longer at risk of hyperventilation, he stares off into space, then down at his hands. One comes up to touch hesitantly at his face, the other lifts the blanket to bare his legs.

          Curly starts to cry.

          His shoulders quake. His back hunches. He buries his face in his hands, runs his fingers through his hair almost like he can’t believe it’s there. Somehow, in spite of all this, he barely makes a sound.

          Whatever nightmares he’d just emerged from, they must’ve been dreadful. Anya concludes that a little help is in order and goes to fetch him some water and tissues.

          “How’s El Capitan?” Swansea asks gruffly when she passes him in the hall.

          Anya bites her lip, conflicted. Patient-doctor confidentiality is crucial, she knows. But on a cramped ship with limited privacy and thousands of things that could go wrong, it could be dangerous to keep any concerns hidden.

          “He’ll be alright,” she decides on. “It was just a nightmare.”

          Swansea nods at that and moves on. Anya returns to Curly’s quarters.

          He’s not in bed when she arrives. Instead, he’s standing in the little en suite with his hands clenched tight around the lip of the sink, staring into his reflection’s eyes with the desperation of a man possessed.

          He looks haunted.

          “Captain,” Anya tries.

          Curly whirls to face her. For a moment, he stares, uncomprehending. Then his eyes go red-rimmed and wet, and suddenly he’s lurching forward, stumbling, hands outstretched and trembling.

          Anya flinches.

          Curly stops.

          He looks down at his hands, then at her stomach – he knows he suspects how can this be no it’s coincidence the nightmare something’s wrong – and instead hugs himself tightly. His eyes go back to her face, roving her features as though simultaneously drinking her in and checking for something he’s relieved he can’t find.

          He’s openly crying now.

          He still hasn’t made a sound.

Chapter 2: Find the Gun

Chapter Text

          Something is wrong with Curly.

          Swansea finds him in the cockpit, struggling to pull the gun case out of its locker. It’s not a heavy case. Sure, it’s wedged in there, but not that tightly.

          The real issue is that Curly’s hands won’t stop shaking.

          Swansea isn’t a man of words. Complements and reassurances are meaningless drivel on his tongue, fracture on their way past his teeth and spill from his lips as sharp-edged sarcasm. When he expresses concern, his voice turns it into complaint. The climb up his throat hardens sympathy into resentment.

          Swansea isn’t a man of words, so he doesn’t speak. He nudges Curly aside and jimmies the case free. His voice is a traitor but his hands have never been anything but steady.

          When he turns to pass the case to their captain, Curly is watching him.

          It’s been hours since Anya led him into the lounge for something to eat. Swansea had seen them in passing, Curly sitting hunched and small, nearly unresponsive as Anya tried to coax what passed for toast on this heap of junk into him. He’d heard Curly throw it all up later, the echoing halls of the Tulpar doing nothing to disguise the sound of retching.

          Now Swansea realizes what he hadn’t heard, should’ve heard. In all this time, Curly has yet to utter a single word.

          “You see things, working rigs like this,” he says. Curly’s eyes are fever-bright and unblinking. He stares, at Swansea’s neck, his arms, his forehead. When his gaze finds Swansea’s, it skitters downward and Swansea turns his head away so he doesn’t have to see the panic welling up there. “Tulpar’s a deathtrap. So’s all them other ships they send idiots like us to fix up. Every kinda horrible death you can imagine, just sittin’ there waitin’ for someone to make a wrong move.”

          Curly’s breath hitches painfully.

          “People get hurt,” Swansea goes on. “People die. Or they see it happen to someone else and it makes something in their head break. You don’t come back from that, not the way you want to.”

          He hears the first tear fall with a soft plat onto the metal floor. A low, anguished sound barely distinguishable from a wheeze tears from Curly’s mouth like a motor running on too little to start up.

          Swansea doesn’t look. “Damn miracle I stayed sober this long. ’Specially with those Pony Express jackasses sendin’ that walkin’, talkin’ safety hazard to hang off my coattails all the damn time. Every time I close my eyes, the stupid kid’s makin’ that wrong move and we’re back down to four.”

          A hand, once steady, now trembling, curls around his forearm. The grip is tight but Swansea can tell he could break it easily. Curly doesn’t want to hurt him, either. This is the frantic grip of a man already fallen off the cliff. This is the hold of a doomed hand on a lifeline.

          “Wrong moves are a helluva lot easier with a gun.”

          The swish of hair moving leads Swansea to look up. Curly is shaking his head, already wide eyes practically full moons in his wan face. He doesn’t speak, but he shouts when he draws the case toward his chest and curls around it. No wrong moves. I won’t let there be.

          The code scanner lies on the floor by his feet. Shards of broken glass shine against the metal and stick out from the copilot seat’s armrest; Curly must’ve bashed the business end of the scanner into it, destroying both the protective outer barrier and the lightbulb inside.

          Nobody’s opening that case now.

          Swansea huffs. “Fuckin’ mess,” he growls, and goes to find a broom.

          He never does find out what Curly did with the gun.

Chapter 3: Get to the Vent

Chapter Text

          Something is wrong with Curly.

          Look, Daisuke’s a dumbass but he’s not an idiot, alright? Sure, he doesn’t know a lot – or anything – about keeping ships in working order, or helping people stay healthy, or running a crew, or whatever it is Jimmy’s paid for. And maybe it’s stupid to pretend everything’s gonna be okay even when it’s currently crumbling down around him. But that’s what Daisuke does, he puts on a smile and finds the silver lining, and when something falls apart, he pulls out the duct tape.

          So yeah, he notices how Anya hovers. He notices that Swansea’s grumbling has lost its usual edge in exchange for something more performative. And he sure as hell notices that Curly isn’t talking anymore.

          He doesn’t get the chance to look closer, though. Swansea has a million little tasks for him to finish first, half of them suspiciously easy or redundant. Daisuke doesn’t mind, it’s probably very important for him to know how to do these things like they’re instinct, but they are getting in the way of his master plan to see how their captain’s really doing.

          Anya said it was nightmares. Daisuke wants to believe her, but c’mon. This is Curly they’re talking about. He bounces back from literally everything, with a smile to boot. He’s kinda Daisuke’s hero that way.

          Also there’s no way this is the first time Curly’s had a nightmare since they left.

          Pain lights up Daisuke’s face like fire and he snaps back to the here and now with a yelp.

          “Kid-!” Swansea hustles over and snatches the screwdriver before it can clatter to the floor. “Stupid fuckin’- were you tryin’ to put your own eye out? What the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

          Daisuke, clutching his face, makes the mistake of wincing. It hurts and he winces again, then catches himself. “Sorry, boss!” he blurts automatically. “I just thought I could-”

          “That’s the problem,” Swansea tells him waspishly. “You thought. Leave the thinkin’ to me and go practice your wiring.”

          Fix your face up first, he doesn’t say, but he does steer Daisuke back to face the door when Daisuke heads for his wiring kit. And he gives Daisuke a little shove to send him off, and what else would he be urging Daisuke to do that isn’t in Utility?

          Anya isn’t in Medical when he arrives, so he just washes the blood off his face and sticks band-aids along the shallow cut before heading back to do what he’s been told. By the time Swansea runs outta ways to keep him occupied, it’s dinnertime and Curly has long disappeared back into his room.

          Bummer.

          He’s not at breakfast the next morning, and when Daisuke asks Anya, she says he’s taking some time to recover from flu.

          That sounds more realistic than nightmares. It’s gotta be embarrassing to be taken out by a measly little stomach bug, especially when you’re such a cool, strong guy. Poor Curly.

          Daisuke decides to wait until after lunch to go say hi, maybe bring something to cheer him up. Maybe a mixtape so they can listen to some sweet tunes. And if that doesn’t work, well, Daisuke’s spent his whole life learning how to make people happy. He’ll figure something out.

          In the meantime, that vent Swansea’s been complaining about is open and he reckons the big boss’ll be pleased if it’s dealt with. It’ll be a surprise!

          Daisuke eyes the vent speculatively, then fills a small toolbox with the stuff he needs and drags the ladder over so he can get started.

          He’s halfway up the ladder and peering into the spark-lit depths when a strangled noise somewhere behind him makes him jump. His foot slips, he shrieks and braces for impact…

          … and large hands catch him around the middle.

          It’s hard to tell who’s more surprised, Daisuke or Curly. For a moment, neither of them moves. Daisuke knows he’s not super light – it’s all those muscles – but Curly continues to hold him like he weighs nothing.

          Then the moment passes and Curly gently lowers him to the ground. He doesn’t let go, though, instead backing away from the ladder and pulling Daisuke along with him. One hand clutches Daisuke’s shoulder, the other arm crossing Daisuke’s chest kinda like a seatbelt. It doesn’t feel like Swansea’s impatient manhandling. It’s… protective.

          Curly is scared.

          “Thanks, Captain,” Daisuke says once they’ve stopped, now several paces away from where he almost went splat against the floor. He pats Curly’s arm and twists to grin at him – hopefully a smile will help.

          Instead, Curly’s grip tightens. His face pales with undisguised horror as his eyes trace the scabbed-over cut running across Daisuke’s forehead, nose, and cheek. Then he pulls back – both hands on Daisuke’s shoulders now – and looks him up and down frantically.

          Okay, this isn’t flu.

          “I’m fine,” Daisuke hurries to tell him, in the voice he uses specifically to laugh off near-misses and reassure his mom when he does get hurt. “Just fell off the ladder, that’s all. And you caught me before I broke anything, so it’s like nothing happened, right?”

          Curly lets go. One hand hovers over Daisuke’s chest, then drops. He focuses on yesterday’s screwdriver wound with a look that would be pointed if it didn’t scream of distress.

          “Oh, this?” Daisuke taps the line of scabbing and shrugs when Curly nods. “I dropped a screwdriver on my face yesterday. You’d think I dropped a bomb, that’s how loud Swansea yelled. Hey, did you know screwdrivers are sharp? Or, I dunno, not like knife sharp, but if they fall on you, they can scratch you up pretty good.”

          He’s rambling, but Curly’s breathing slows a little and he sags like he just dropped something really heavy so that’s probably a good sign. The captain still looks scared, though, and now he’s staring behind Daisuke at… the vent…

          “Oh,” Daisuke realizes. “No, nothing happened with the vent. I didn’t even get all the way up there before, y’know, I ended up on the ground. I was thinking I’d do something about all the sparks, but-”

          It looks even worse up close and I’m not that dumb, he wants to say. The words don’t really make it out of his mouth though, because Curly abruptly pulls him into a hug.

          It’s too tight. The fingers curling into his shirt are digging into his skin too. Breathing becomes difficult with his face shoved into Curly’s shoulder.

          Daisuke hugs Curly right back. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he says, tilting his face up so he’s not speaking into thick denim. “I’m not going back up there.”

          It takes awhile for the shuddering to go away. Daisuke’s pretty sure Curly starts crying at some point, but it’s hard to tell between the whole face-in-denim thing and the fact that Curly’s so quiet. At last, Curly lets go and backs away, offering Daisuke the wobbliest hint of a smile.

          Okay. So. Daisuke’s not, like, the best at helping with panic attacks or whatever that just was. That doesn’t mean he can’t still work his magic, right?

          “Here’s the deal,” he announces, taking a few steps and pivoting so now Curly, still facing him, has his back to the Bad Vent. “I’m gonna share my special secret stash with you iiif you don’t tell Swansea I went behind his back. Cool?”

          Curly blinks at him, then huffs out a thankfully tearless sigh and nods. When he shakes Daisuke’s hand, most of the tremor is gone from his fingers. He’s even smiling more now.

          Daisuke beams at him, and soon they are playing Pokémon in the lounge, passing a packet of sweetener back and forth.

          Curly doesn’t talk. Daisuke fills the silence for him.

          It’s about as close to okay as they can get.

Chapter 4: Fix This

Chapter Text

          Something is wrong with Curly.

          Yeah, Jimmy noticed. What, you think he can’t tell when there’s a problem? Curly’s the closest thing he has to a best friend, of course he’s gonna notice when the guy suddenly flips out and disappears for days on end.

          Maybe the air’s too thin at the top of the ladder. Maybe he’s been standing up there for too long, sucking in breaths that just don’t cut it, too distracted in looking down to realize his own achievement’s killing him.

          That’s the thing about Curly, isn’t it? He likes to laud himself as a team player, a good leader, the benevolent head of the pack. But when responsibility presses down on him like gravity, he’s unprepared to take the fall.

          Jimmy wouldn’t make that mistake. Jimmy’s had to fight for every fucking thing he ever got his hands on. He knows how to keep his balance. He knows you can’t substitute smiles and empty words for oxygen.

          He’s a good friend, though, so after three days of radio silence, he decides enough is enough. He’ll find Curly and talk sense into him. Or maybe he’ll help him off that ladder. Curly could use some time on the lower rungs.

          The Tulpar isn’t a very big ship. Logically, there’s few places a grown man could hide.

          Curly has apparently decided to be illogical.

          Jimmy searches. Oh, he searches. He doesn’t bother asking the others, they won’t know anything (they never do) and even if they did, their input would be useless. Too uncooperative. Too dimwitted. Too focused inward.

          Finally, after what feels like hours of going around in circles, he finds Curly. (Curly finds him. Does it matter?) He’s searching through Utility again when the door slides open and footsteps clank across the floor.

          Jimmy turns. There’s his best friend, in all his greasy-haired, wan-faced glory. “There you are,” he says, coming to meet him. “What the hell’s wrong with you, why’ve you been avoiding me-”

          Jimmy has nothing else to say. This is because Curly’s fist slams into his jaw with the force of a sledgehammer.

          Jimmy crumples. He sees Curly walk over to where he lands and crouch in front of him. When his eyes close, he hears duct tape stretch and tear, feels pressure on his wrists as they’re bound together.

          Then Jimmy gives up on consciousness and knows no more.

Chapter 5: Take Responsibility

Chapter Text

          Something is wrong with Curly.

          The fear is gone. The crying is gone. The hiding is gone.

          Curly storms through the Tulpar. His boots beat a warlike rhythm against the ground. His eyes are still wide, but wild now. His jaw is set in determination.

          They follow him, of course. They call out to him as he passes, and when he doesn’t answer, they fall into step behind him. It’s not safe to leave someone alone when they’re acting aggressively. Not here.

          It takes some time to find what Curly’s looking for. At the same time that Jimmy walks the circuit of the Tulpar in search of Curly, Curly covers the same circuit looking for him.

          It’s Curly who finds Jimmy. (It matters.)

          Jimmy comes to meet him, face creased in annoyance. “There you are. What the hell’s wrong with you, why’ve you been avoiding me-”

          And Curly wordlessly, furiously winds up and slugs him.

          Suddenly Jimmy is on the floor and the man nobody recognizes as their captain is crouched over him, binding his wrists with duct tape. Then Curly rises to his feet and just stands over his best friend’s limp body, breathing hard but finally standing tall.

          His shoulders are back. His head is ducked low, like a predator almost. His hands dangle at his sides in fists.

          Anya, Swansea, and Daisuke stand just inside the doorway and watch, uncertain.

          After a moment, Curly turns. He’s shaking just a little, and there are tears in his eyes, and his smile is sharp and bright and fragile as sunlight reflecting off ice as he rasps, “I fixed it.”

Notes:

Curly isn't a bad guy but I do think it says something that he doesn't take action until he himself has suffered by Jimmy's hand.