Archive of Our Own

Out of all of the experiences Grian had had, being stabbed was probably not top of the list. It definitely beat being tortured, but the pain mixed with the knowledge his ship was being raided mixed with that familiar sickness that came with passing out— it certainly wasn’t great. Plus the fact he’d been stabbed right in the gut, which also wasn’t great.

It meant he was probably going to die.

And yet he wasn’t dead.

He remembers feeling like he was about to, remembers seeing some sort of dark, shadowy angel tower over him, and he remembers falling into a slumber that was supposed to last forever.

Yet he was blinking his eyes open, awoken most likely by the bright light streaming through the windows right into his face, meaning he had to squint his eyes immediately closed again, groaning. He didn’t expect to hear a not-so-quiet “oh shoot!” from beside him, but suddenly the light dimmed, enough for him to attempt to open his eyes again.

The room was now, thankfully, cloaked in an artificial darkness, what looked to be a desk stood across the room with a chair behind it, several rows of books on shelves lining the walls. Grian knew this place.

He was on his ship still.

His ship that was raided?

But he thought…

“You’re probably super thirsty,” the voice said again, the voice Grian had mostly forgotten about, and he let his eyes drift across to the end of his bed. There sat a man, in a simple white button down (with frankly too many buttons down) and a dark brown flowy jacket, a pair of darker brown bottoms flowing to the floor. His skin was quite tanned from the sun, his dark brown hair dyed blonde on the tips, and most notably was the large scar across his face, dark and cruel and Grian would pay thousands to know what it was from. Because gashes on the face don’t usually make such a statement in their leave. And then the man was standing—and he was tall, tall and broad and Grian couldn’t figure out whether that was the man or the angle he was laying at.

After a moment he came back, cup of water in hand and, the moment Grian sat up, suddenly feeling parched, he gently tipped it into his mouth.

He didn’t last long before the pain in his stomach started pulsing.

Not a dream, then.

“Shoot— don’t stress your dressings,” the man told him, placing the water back down before gently pushing his chest down so he was laying flat again, as if he wasn’t the one who encouraged him to sit up in the first place.

And, even if the man had a good point, it still rubbed him the wrong way. “Who do you think you’re—?“ he was cut off by his own coughs.

“Don’t push yourself, Captain,” the man emphasised, obviously answering Grian’s question, but there was an edge to his words, to the sparkle in his eye, that told Grian he didn’t exactly mean it. So he only narrowed his eyes further. The man didn’t even acknowledge it, looking around the room instead. “Why do you have so many books?”

“Because I like to read?” Grian replied with a frown, shuffling to sit up a little easier, wincing as he did so. “What’s your problem, dude? Why are you even here?” It was obvious he was a pirate, but not any Grian knew.

“We took control of your ship,” the man replied with a shrug, Grian gaping back at him. “We saved who we could— but in the state you were in, you were all gonna die if we didn’t step in.”

And he said it as if he expected something.

Something Grian would never give, especially to someone like him.

He knew pirates like the man in front of him. Selfish, ignorant, savage.

Acting like they were saviours when they definitely just wanted repayment.

“You raided my ship,” Grian started, swinging his legs over the bed and standing, doing his best to pretend he didn’t feel unsteady on them as he stared the guy down, the other simply blinking back up at him, “You took control of it— let my people die, and you want a thank you?”

“Well yeah.” The man replied with a huff, leaning back on his hands, tilting his head a little. Grian briefly wondered how many people such an action had worked on before, vowing to not be added to the tally, even if he really wanted his eyes to drift to his exposed chest. “You’re alive right now, and you wouldn’t be alive without my help.”

“Was your Captain even okay with this?” Grian found himself asking, resting a hand on his cocked hip and pretending his stomach didn’t hurt like a bitch. The fabric was sticky against his skin, very obviously needing to be changed, but he wasn’t going to tell the other because that would mean acknowledging he wrapped and stitched it in the first place. “I bet he just wanted to keep me alive for information before sacking me off again.”

“Not quite,” the man huffed, kicking one leg over the other, and Grian kept his gaze firmly on his face, stressing his jaw a little with the effort, “He’s intrigued by you, actually,” he was saying, and there was that flicker in his eyes that filled Grian with nothing but suspicion, continuing to glare at him, “He’s heard many things about you, Captain.”

And then he was standing.

Grian didn’t give him the satisfaction of stepping back, instead looking up and meeting sharp green eyes, the large scar across his face more telling of the amount of danger Grian was in than anything else. Because here was this pirate—strong, tall, been through hell and back and somehow still standing on his ship—so different from himself, with a thousand more stories from serving under one of the most violent pirates of their time.

Captain Scar.

Murderer of thousands of men, hundreds of ships, and with a million marks to tell the story. A man who had been terrorising the ocean for over a decade, a man who had heard about him and was intrigued.

Intrigued enough to let one of the members of his crew keep him alive.

It made sense, Grian was no ordinary pirate. He didn’t kill, didn’t raid, paid his crew a fair wage. And sure, some people admired him for it, whatever.

But most people saw him as incompetent.

Maybe he was.

Maybe he was just doing this whole pirate thing to prove something to himself.

Not that this guy had to know that.

It was partially Grian’s fault, he knew. That pirate from the other day that told him their Captain wanted to speak to him, their tell-tale make-up, their looming presence. In hindsight, they couldn’t have been a part of any other crew, but Grian had just—

Point was, he probably shouldn’t have indirectly told the greatest, fiercest pirate Captain of all time to go suck eggs.

“Oh yeah?” Grian asked, hiding his wince as his wound contracted, urging to have someone tend to it. Not that Grian was going to let that happen. “Like what?”

The man looked him up and down then, as if he had to think about it. As if he couldn’t quite recall why people spoke so much about him on the seas.

“An avian prince, who ran away from a happy, rich family, to create a rag-tag team on the seas, only to attempt to create rules for a lawless game.” He slowly explained, each word familiar to Grian’s ears, keeping his expression stern. “You truly are one of a kind, Captain.”

“Well, nothing compared to yours.” He mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as the other raised an eyebrow, somehow closer than he was before.

Not that Grian was thinking about it all that much.

“What was that?”

“Captain Scar?” Grian prompted, waiting for the nod before continuing, unable to help the frown forming on his face, “He’s feared— unparalleled. Undefeatable. It’s hard to go up against.”

“Is that what you think?” The man urged, sounding more frantic than Grian would’ve assumed. Though, he supposed, all of Scar’s crew were extremely loyal to him. One bad thing—or one thing presumed to be bad—said about him was all it took to have your fingers slowly chopped off, one by one, by his merciless cook’s controlled movements. “That’s all he is? Feared?”

“Well you would be quite scared of someone if they’d sunk thirty-eight ships in the past five years alone.”

“Thirty-nine.”

“… huh?”

The man sat back down on the bed, slumping over so his chin could rest on his palm, elevated by his knee, his eyes fixed to the window on his left. “Thirty-nine. I sunk the ship of the people that invaded you.”

“Wh— my point still stands.” Grian scoffed, making his way to his wardrobe to pretend he was looking for clothes to wear, instead just using it for support, subtly holding his stomach. “People fear him, and for good reason. It’s quite difficult to form any opinion past that. People don’t like to think about what they’re scared of.”

“I suppose they don’t.”

A voice interrupted them, shouting from the deck just outside. “Captain?!”

A voice he didn’t recognise. So they probably weren’t calling for him.

“Shouldn’t you be out there looking for him too?” Grian commented offhandedly, waving a dismissive hand over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. He should worry about being stabbed in the back—literally and figuratively—but he assumed a lot of work went into saving him, work that the other person probably wasn’t keen on undoing so quickly.

“Uhhhhhhhh—“

The door slammed open. “Captain!” The voice from before shouted, and Grian turned to face them. It was a blonde kid—no older than twenty-five, if Grian had to guess—with golden wings, similar to Grian’s own but smaller, more capable of floating down rather than flying across. He had his own flurry of scars, just like the rest of the crew, but his were smaller and lighter, likely due to his lesser time on the sea. He was wearing a simple white shirt himself with a brown vest and black bottoms, boots tied tightly to his feet. Most importantly, however, was when he spoke, he sounded relieved.

As if he’d found who he was looking for.

“We’ve been looking all over for you, why are you still in here?” The boy was asking with a huff, and Grian slowly turned his attention from the blonde man to the man sitting on his bed.

To the Captain sat on his bed.

“Captain?” Grian asked, willing the fear in his heart to calm a little.

Sure, this was Captain Scar, notorious for— well, murdering, pillaging, torturing, stealing, arson—

But he was also a man who patched him up. Even if Grian didn’t want to thank him for saving him, or his crew, he still did it. For a price or not, he used up his resources, and time, and effort into keeping them alive.

None of that would be thrown away immediately.

“Uh— Grian here was waking up. I wanted to sit with him to make sure he didn’t stop breathing.” Scar replied, sounding genuine at the very least, and, considering the other man’s sort of knowing look he presumed he could trust it, holding his stomach a little tighter and hoping no one would notice. He’d probably stressed the sutures more than he should’ve. “Now that he’s up I want to introduce the crew, we’ll be out in a couple minutes, promise.”

And he did sound honest. And not at all like he was going to murder Grian to prove a point and drag his bleeding body out onto the deck.

The man who’d come in before simply nodded and shut the door again, immediately shouting the news to everyone, but Grian couldn’t take his attention off of the other.

He looked different now.

Sharper jawline, larger fists, more prominent muscles along his arms and legs and—

He was definitely built like a pirate captain, in a way that Grian certainly was not.

Despite this, there was still a lingering hatred in his veins, a reluctance to be anything more than accommodating, that made him say, “So, Scar, why are you still in here?”

At least the man had the gall to look embarrassed.

But he gestured vaguely to Grian’s injury, avoiding his eyes. “Your sutures need redoing. They came undone while you were talking.”

“And you expect me to let you do them?” Grian huffed, simply amused by the prospect. Doing them while he was unconscious was one thing, but while Grian knew about it?

He would rather get his own crew on the case— or do it himself.

Even then, he had to check on them first, see who was missing and who they’d managed to save. That was always more of a priority to him than his own health.

That could be sorted at a later time.

“My crew need to see me, and I need to see them. My stitches can wait.”

The man coughed then, a sound awkward and stilted that left Grian confused once again, squinting from across the room.

“My crew.”

“What.”

“They’re my crew,” Scar repeated, standing— and this time there was a notable walking stick in his hand that he’d obviously forgone beforehand, bruised and scabbed knuckles folded around the handle. “I’m your new Captain.”

“… yeah no.”

“Wh— what do you mean no?!”

Grian didn’t bother replying, walking out of the room and letting the door swing shut in the pirate’s face, too annoyed to deal with him. It was easier to focus on his annoyance than his bone-deep fear, after all. The moment he was on deck, he was greeted with familiar cheers. Joel was the first beside him, wrapping an arm around his neck and ruffling his hair, grinning like the mad man he was. “The Captain’s awake! No one doubted you, bro.”

“I doubted you.” Pearl chimed in with a smirk, but it was obvious to Grian she was joking, smiling just as easily back. Of course Mumbo didn’t get the memo, shoving her with an accusatory glance.

“Don’t be mean, the guy just woke up.” He scowled, looking back at Grian and letting his features showcase his relief, his mustache a little wonkier than usual. It was funny—he usually put such effort into looking presentable, retaining quite a few of the same morals Grian himself did, and yet with just his Captain out of commission and a new crew looking over them he lost that small sense of self.

It happened a lot as a pirate, Grian found. All it took was something small, like being tied to a mast and having your feathers plucked from your wings that typically stayed hidden, and suddenly a taut wire in your brain is snapping. As assumed, Scar walked out right after this, and Grian didn’t even give him the satisfaction of turning around and acknowledging him, instead focusing on his crew.

Yes, they’d lost a few, and Grian knew he’d be grieving them for longer than he could guess, but many of them were still there. Joel, his right-hand man and number one annoyance in life, harnessing a perfect shot with a bow from the bird's nest when times got tough. Pearl, a master with her sword who became even more dangerous the later the hour, which was an issue for many pirates striking at night hoping they’d be disarmed—5AM Pearl was no ordinary pirate, they’d find. Mumbo was a man they’d found at a market, a journalist who wanted to record their journey, the man making constant notes in his book, but he also came in handy if they needed to make any repairs to the ship.

And that was it.

But that was okay—Grian was okay.

There were many pirates around he didn’t recognise, too. Captain Scar’s crew, he assumed.

The man got to introducing them before Grian could even try.

“This is Jimmy,” he started, planting a heavy hand on the blonde man’s shoulder, grinning wide with pride. “He was more for morale at the start, but he’s picked up fighting skills over the years and is quickly becoming one of our best fighters. He’s my right-hand man and is great at taking over the wheel if and when I need a break.”

He then stepped behind him and motioned to the woman next to Jimmy. Her hair was a pretty bubblegum pink, and she was wearing a pink dress unfitting for a pirate—even though it was ripped at the ends with stains of what Grian could only assume was blood splattered across it. And her eyes, a deceiving light blue. In the right light she could pass as royalty, but in the sun Grian could see a large scar up her left arm, starting at her elbow and almost reaching her shoulder. “This,” Scar started, the woman tightening her hold on her sword, eyes not leaving Grian and the man still holding him. “Is Lizzie. She’s usually the first to raid a ship, because she can do it herself, and if she can’t she can hold herself easily till we get there. A fantastic shot, too, can I just say.”

And that sharp look faded into fondness, Lizzie turning to face her captain as her sword dropped beside her. “Thanks, Scar!”

The man nodded and then moved onto the next person. “Etho,” he said, motioning to the man, a headband tied around his head, one of his eyes having a scar pass completely through it, his eye dyed a blood red. Not to mention his bright white hair, not native to any country Grian knew of. The Captain seemed to be in the same predicament, despite the amount of time he’d inevitably known the guy for. “We don’t really know where he came from, or how old he is— in fact he looks the exact same as he did when he joined the crew years ago. But he’s a reliable man, fantastic at breaking down barriers and speaking for those we’ve lost.”

Etho simply nodded at him, and all Grian could do was nod back.

Scar moved on.

“This man is Bdubs,” he introduced, the pirate in question grinning brightly.

“Hiya!”

“… hey.”

“He’s our cook, and he helps out with sewing our outfits back together when we get in a sitch. He can fight, if necessary, but we like having a completely uninjured and capable man on board for if we need back-up or support getting back on our feet.”

And he moved on.

Honestly Grian was getting a little lost with the names and roles, repeating them in his head as Scar motioned to this new person. They had quite long ginger hair, their skin tinted green with a scar across their face that looked almost stitched. A necromancer, if Grian had to guess. The more they used their abilities the more they looked like their counterparts. “Cleo, fantastic at keeping people in line when I’m unable to. If I’m out of commission, she’s the step-up Captain, and they honestly do a better job at it than I do.”

“You’re not a good liar, Cap.” They scoffed, resting a hand on a cocked up as Scar smirked, evidently caught.

Grian recounted the names in his head again, looking back at each of their faces.

Jimmy, Lizzie, Etho? Bdubs, Cleo—

“Gem and BigB are looking through our stock at the moment,” Scar then said, and Grian internally cursed himself, “Gem is our best fighter—one of the only people who can best me in hand-to-hand combat—and BigB has huge traps.”

“Like… dangerous traps? To fall into?” Grian asked carefully, already looking around the deck, but Scar just scoffed.

“No, muscles.”

“I don’t… see how that’s relevant—“

“Anyway, that’s the crew,” Scar interrupted, clapping as he grinned once more, bright and joyous and Grian could not believe this was the same man who was responsible for so much carnage. “So, who do you have with you?”

“They can introduce themselves?” Grian replied with a look between them all, everyone equally as confused as Grian, thank the gods.

Joel jumped to it first, obviously. “I’m Joel, I’m great at fighting, I bet I could beat Gem without a sweat, and I also make all of the crew’s gear when we’re off land.” Joel introduced, and Grian could practically feel the hostility from the others, already regretting his every life decision.

Maybe he should have introduced Joel and let the other two introduce themselves.

“Oh uh, me next?” Pearl asked, looking over at Joel who nodded in encouragement, grinning as Pearl coughed. “Hi, I’m Pearl, I just do a bit of everything around here— mainly for protection at night.”

Because, where Grian was an avian, Pearl was what is called a phantom. In the daytime, they seemed like regular humans, but at night they grew wings the size of the sails above their heads, and talons as sharp as finely made swords.

No one ever had a chance.

Pearl then glanced over at Mumbo, nudged him a bit, and he coughed, stepping forward, eyes flicking nervously between all of the pirates in front of him. “Hi. I’m Mumbo.”

When he said nothing else, Grian looked over at him with a frown. “That’s it? Nothing else to note?”

“Um, I’m a journalist for Captain Grian— I don’t have to take notes on you guys, and I won’t I promise—“

It was Scar who interrupted him, grinning as he walked up, looking down at the notepad with something like intrigue glistening in his emerald eyes. “No, do. Tell the world about us— no bias, though, I want no misconceptions.”

And Grian couldn’t help but think he said it in the same tone as he’d spoken earlier.

Is that what you think?

That’s all he is? Feared?

“Now, I am going back to my quarters and fixing up my sutures. Pearl, can you come give me a hand?”

“Yeah sure.” She agreed, and just as Grian was walking off he heard her sharply whisper to Scar, “If you so much as try and lay a single finger on him, I swear to the gods you will not be shown mercy by 5AM Pearl.”

When Scar didn’t respond, Grian took it as a win, holding his door open for a moment to let Pearl in before letting it swing shut behind him.

The last thing he saw was Scar’s unreadable gaze.

✦

Over the first couple weeks of sailing with Captain Scar, Grian had come to learn a few things about him.

One; he was weird.

Not once had he seen any hostile behaviour from him at all, but all people talked about on the boat were the horrors they’d seen, the litres of blood dripping from his sword. All he did was speak to his crew with respect and kindness, constantly laughing with someone at dinner or talking someone’s ear off during the day.

Then, at night, he’d sail.

Two; he didn’t sleep.

Over the entire nine days Grian had been sailing with him, he had not seen him sleep even a wink. There were a few times he’d seen Jimmy on the wheel, but when he inquired about his Captain’s whereabouts the answer was always the same—he wasn’t feeling great and needed to rest.

Three; Scar’s right leg wasn’t entirely functional.

Judging by his behaviour, it was a bone that didn’t repair correctly that instilled him with chronic pain, a pain that flared up every now and then. The lack of sleep surely didn’t help either, his body and mind too exhausted to fight the ache, but the Captain never mentioned it, and everyone understood it, so Grian didn’t bring it up either.

Not that he liked talking to the guy.

Four; Captain Scar liked talking to him.

At first Grian had thought it was some tactic to get close to him, disarm him, and rip his limbs off one by one, but the Captain had been solid in what he’d said when Grian had first woken up.

He’s intrigued by you.

The questioning started out as familiar questions, questions that Grian assumed he would be asked.

Why did you leave the life you had to be a pirate?

Why do you pay your crew?

Letting a civilian onto a boat is a bold move, he could get seriously injured, how do you know you can protect him?

The usual.

But it was as Grian was sitting at his desk writing out a list of everything they’d need when they docked that the man waltzed into his room (he didn’t believe in knocking) and loudly shouted, “What’s your favourite food, Captain?”

Five; Scar vehemently insisted he didn’t want to call Grian by his name, which put him in a predicament considering he insists he’s the only captain of the ship.

“Nothing you could afford.” Grian replied without looking up from his paper and quill, Scar immediately moving over to lean over his desk, trying to read the words upside down.

“What are you writing?”

“A shopping list,” Grian replied again, ink swirling across the page, and Scar just hummed again, tilting his head.

“Can I try?”

And Grian didn’t have the heart to say no.

He should’ve, considering his list now read;

• Apples
• Flour
• Gunpowder
• Fabric
• kLab

“Wow, good job.” Grian replied flatly, taking the paper back as Scar pouted at him.

“I never learned how to write! Or read, really.” He leaned over the desk again, closer to Grian than before, but this time Grian found he had no choice but to look up, meeting his eyes. They really were interesting, up close. Swirls of greens, blacks, and blues, long brown eyelashes emphasising the colour. “Would you teach me?”

“Why don’t you ask Mumbo?” Grian tried, running a mental list of everything he needed to do before they docked and not liking the idea of spending hours on something he had a feeling would be pointless. And, considering there was a writer on board, Grian could easily say there was a better option for a teacher than himself. “He knows far more about it than I do.”

“Yeah but,” Scar sighed, pouting as Grian held back a smile, entirely amused, “Mumbo’s scared of me.”

“And I’m not?”

“You tell me, Captain.”

It sounded like a question, a threat, and a wish all at once, wrapped neatly with a pretty little bow.

But, most importantly, it sounded like a challenge.

A challenge Grian found himself easily accepting, not a single ounce of fear in his body of it going wrong.

And wasn’t that weird?

“Maybe just a little,” he replied, but he could see a flicker in Scar’s eyes that told him he knew he was joking, the man grinning with pride.

“See, so Mumbo can’t teach me because he’s scared of me, but you’re not, so why can’t you?”

“I’m busy.”

Then there was a knock at the door, and Grian found himself breathing a sigh of relief when the man stood up straight again, arms crossed over his chest as he turned to face the door, his back leaning against the desk.

“Who is it?” Grian called, the door opening to see the exact man he wanted to.

Mumbo, who was already retreating at the sight of the other Captain.

“Don’t leave!” Grian called, the door freezing halfway closed before slowly opening again. “I need you.”

Mumbo’s eyes flicked to Scar, then back to him with a wince. “You sure? I can just go get someone else—“

“Unless you know someone else that’s literate,” Grian replied with a knowing smirk, twiddling his feather in his hand, Mumbo groaning. “Come on buddy, Scar’s not that scary.”

And he would’ve stood by it, but when they both looked at the Captain himself, he was levelling Mumbo with the most threatening look Grian thought he could muster, green eyes almost black as he tilted his head down slightly, hair falling into his face.

“Come on man, you’re not helping my case here.”

And suddenly that childish, light look was back on his face again as he turned, pouting once more. “But I want you to teach me, not him.”

“You’ll both be sat in here with me anyway,” Grian reasoned with a shrug, continuing to write his list and vehemently ignoring the kLab last written, fighting the amused smile trying to climb onto his features. “I have Captain duties to attend to.”

Even though both of them clearly wanted to disagree, to turn it down, one sharp look from Grian told them they didn’t have much choice, and Scar walked over to the smaller table on the other side of the room like a man walking the plank, as if every bone in his body was going against the action. Mumbo approached Grian’s desk first, coughing, and Grian looked up to encourage him to speak. “Just wanted to let you know that Joel challenged Gem to another fight tonight.”

And, like clockwork, Grian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Those two are never going to stop, are they?”

“Not until someone wins.” Mumbo replied with equal amounts of exhaustion, and Grian just forced a nod, forced himself back to his work.

“Great, thanks for letting me know.”

At first, the two of them were too apprehensive to really learn anything. But with time, and light conversation, and for some reason Mumbo explaining that he had no one waiting at home because that had never been a goal of his in life, did the two settle into something easier.

Stilted, sure, but, by the end of the hour Scar was slamming a paper on the desk with a proud grin, and when Grian looked down at it he scoffed.

It was a terribly written, but at least legible, Scar.

Maybe there was some hope for him after all.

✦

It was Lizzie that dropped the letter off to his office.

Over the past two weeks they’d grown somewhat friendly— probably due to Scar’s constant close proximity to him, and Lizzie’s close proximity to Scar, but Grian found he quite liked her. She had a charisma that always left him feeling a little more upbeat than before, with a brighter smile on his face. He could see why Scar liked having her on the ship.

“What’s this?” Grian asked, even though he could already tell by the way the envelope was sealed, gently opening it.

Lizzie shrugged back, “Not sure, some boat dropped it off and said to give it to the captain of the ship.”

That made Grian smirk, opening the envelope and pulling out the letter. “And you didn’t give it to your captain?”

“I don’t think this letter was intended for him, let’s just put it that way.” She replied, smiling back, and Grian supposed that was true.

Because it was just another fancy party. An excuse for the rich to drink and brag.

He’d always hated them— mainly because he used to attend them with his father, and it was the only time he ever acted as if Grian was more than a bug on the floor. It was fake, of course. Everything at these sorts of parties was.

But Scar just had to walk in.

“What we talking about?”

“Just some party I’ve been invited to.”

“Wh— well let’s go!”

Grian’s immediate reaction was to crinkle his nose and tuck the letter back into the envelope. “Not a shot.”

“Oh come on, Grian!” Scar bemoaned, clutching at the fabric of his clothes with a pout and pleading eyes, forcing him to look at Lizzie and beg for help. Sadly, she just seemed bemused by the whole situation. “Just this one! I’ve never been to a party before!”

“Well these aren’t good parties.” Grian felt the need to tell him, Scar continuing to pout, tugging at his clothes again.

“Please! I’ll behave, I promise.”

“I’m surprised you even know the word please.”

“Wh— hey! What’s that meant to mean?”

“You have no manners,” Grian informed him, and was surprised to see Scar actually take this into consideration, straightening, “If you want to go to this, you have to learn the trick of my trade. Which means knocking on doors, saying please and thank you, and using all your cutlery correctly.”

And so that was how they spent their day.

It had been a little funny to watch Scar trying to use a tiny escargot fork, threatening to stab Joel in the eye with it if he didn’t stop laughing, but they’d gotten there in the end. Grian then stole some of Mumbo’s clothes for the man to borrow, considering he was taller and probably closer to Scar’s height, and they were set to go. All that was left was to brush out Scar’s hair, tying it in a neat bun at the back of his head with a red ribbon.

“There.” Grian announced, resting his hands on Scar’s shoulders and meeting his eye in the tall mirror, the man gaping at himself. He was all tidied up, with all of the dirt scrubbed off of him and his hair washed and softened, not a spot of grease in it. He was wearing a fancy off-white ruffled shirt tucked into a pair of tight black bottoms, dress shoes tied to his feet. Grian had also indulged in dabbling a little make-up on the guy, bringing out his prettiest features—

Not that he was pretty, of course.

“What do you think?”

“I’m like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Scar replied, running a careful hand over his hair. “You’re magical, Grian.”

The party went… differently than Grian expected. Of course the other people there were the same as always—hoity-toity liars. And because they were hoity-toity liars, he had a pretty good inkling that Scar wouldn’t get along with them very well.

Because Scar was many things; merciless; vengeful; an adept murderer.

But a liar was something he’d never been.

So when Scar started explaining his travels, his exploits, his raids, he’d expected the guy to be forced out by fork and torch. But they’d laughed, and asked questions, and Scar’s smile had brightened—

Grian just needed some air.

There had always been something about the ocean that drew him in. The wind, maybe, or the smell, or maybe some mystical third party, something about his heritage and yearning to go home. Or maybe it was just about escaping the place he had been trapped in, like a bird in a cage, and the ocean was furthest he could get. But he breathed it in, ran a hand through his hair, and jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder.

Upon turning around he found it was just Lizzie— looking a little guilty for making him jump but otherwise worried, and Grian had no clue why until she spoke.

“Everything okay? You walked out of there a little quick.” She asked, leaning on the balcony banister alongside him, tilting her head a little to see him better.

And Grian found that, where lying used to be a little easier, he found the words stuck in his throat. “I just— seeing him get along with them so well,” Grian mumbled, gesturing vaguely to the dining room Grian had left just minutes prior, “I don’t know. Maybe he should’ve had this life, not me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I hate it— everything.” Grian emphasised, gripping the banister a little tighter. “The smell of good food, the sound of a violin— something violent comes out of me. And it’s a good life, a privileged one, one someone else should’ve been given instead of me.”

“And yet you ran.” Lizzie told him with a shrug, looking out onto the sea. “Many people judge you for it, pirates even, say you’re a privileged asshole that doesn’t know what he’s doing and is trying to pretend to be broke.”

“Thanks.”

“But I disagree.” Lizzie continued, and Grian just hummed in questioning, watching the lapping waves. “You felt trapped, and for good reason. Someone clipped your wings, so you’re seeking for a way to regrow the feathers.”

His phantom wings twitched on his back at the mention. It was no secret that he was an avian, that his wings were loud and grand, but he preferred to keep them hidden when he could. To show someone your wings meant holding great trust in them, and there was no telling who you could come across on the seas, on land.

Grian didn’t trust many people.

He trusted his crew— his crew trusted him, and he’d failed them.

So the wings stayed hidden.

No point in revealing them if he was in constant company of someone he couldn’t trust anymore.

“That means a lot to me Lizzie, thanks.” He replied anyway, turning to her with a light smile, but before he could reply footsteps were dashing out onto the deck, laughter following behind him.

Scar looked worse for wear, and Grian was entirely shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. He was equally as shocked to be pulled into a tight hug, Scar’s face buried into his shoulder as he took shaky breaths. All Grian could do was pat his back, having a feeling he already knew what had happened.

“They’re such horrible people, Captain!”

“I know.”

“They were mean but— but nice? I don’t—“

“Yeah, I know Scar.”

“I’m going to fucking murder them all—“

“Slow down, buddy,” Grian huffed, keeping his grip tight enough to ensure the other wouldn’t run away, pulling back to look the other in the eye, smirking a proud smile of his own. He’d been waiting for a chance like this. “Let them be their own demise.”

And that’s how Grian, Scar, and Lizzie found themselves rowing back to their ship with stolen goods and a burning ship behind them.

All in all, not a bad night.

✦

It was an accident that Scar had seen his wings, but an accident Grian wasn’t mad about.

Even after all of his courtesy lessons, Scar hadn’t learned to knock, and after all the hustle and bustle on the ship that day they were quite ruffled— including the fact he’d kept them hidden for so long, they weren’t in great shape.

And it was as he had his wings out, shirt discarded in favour of stretching them out to their full length, that the door was thrust open. “Hey Grian! Where are the—?”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

At first, Grian wasn’t entirely sure what to say, what to do. But he glanced at his wings, the feathers ruffled, some in places he couldn’t reach, and he made a decision. Mumbo was busy, Joel was probably with Lizzie, and Pearl had never really gotten the hang of preening. And he’d come to trust Scar, more than he trusted himself.

So he waved his wing in a greeting, nodding to the door before continuing to pull his feathers out, “Close the door.”

And Scar did without missing a beat, face flushed bright red as he stayed put.

So Grian sighed and smiled up at him, tucking his wings in a little. “Come here, I don’t bite.”

“You sure?” Scar huffed, feigning confidence as he sat by Grian, a solid two feet between them. A comfortable two feet. It was warranted when Grian stuck a wing out, resting it comfortably in the man’s lap. “What? You want me to—?”

“You know how?”

“Jimmy taught me once, Lizzie usually preens his wings though,” Scar confessed, running his fingers over his wings, Grian holding back a shiver at the sensation. They hadn’t been preened in months—possibly over a year, if he thought hard enough about it–but he simply hadn’t had the time for it. “I don’t exactly remember how though.”

It was with an amused huff that Grian took Scar’s hand, gently carding it through until he found a loose feather, holding it still. “Now tug lightly– it doesn’t need much pressure to give.”

Scar did as instructed, tugging the feather out, only to hold it up to his face and marvel at it. “Can I keep it? It won’t disappear on me will it?”

“Keep it, I don’t need it.” Grian waved off, nodding at his wing. “Now you know what you’re doing.”

Even so, the man paused, biting his lip, before looking up at Grian with a little more hope than was probably necessary. “Could you show me again? Just to make sure I do it right.”

Now, Grian was a weak man, in all contexts of the word, but especially to Scar’s whims.

So he took his hand again, guided it over his feathers, and he pretended it didn’t mean as much as it did.

✦

“Home sweet home.” Cleo announced as they hopped off the boat, Grian standing on the deck to ensure everyone got off alright. “How I haven’t missed you!”

“This seems lovely, Cleo!” Scar shouted down to her, sticking by Grian’s side. They just rolled their eyes and continued walking, Etho and Bdubs at their heels. “Why have you never brought us here before?”

“Because I hate it!” They shouted back, spinning to glare up at their captain, “Why do you think I left?”

“Because you wanted to learn how to fish? I don’t know!”

Grian couldn’t help his scoff, following behind Gem as she left the boat, Scar closing the gate over behind them. “Is that why you wanted to become a pirate?”

Because most pirates Grian knew were running from something, just like Cleo was. But Scar just shook his head.

“My mother,” he said, and there was this soft, grievous look on his face as they slowed their pace a little, Grian looking up at him with a curious look. As little lies as Scar told, he didn’t tell many truths either. “My father was abusive— one day he went too far.” Grian wasn’t sure what to say to that, wasm’t sure if he needed to say anything at all, just frowning as he continued to walk, Scar fidgeting beside him. “It shaped me, I think. Killing my father. I was past the point of no return before I was even a teen.”

And Grian… hadn’t known that.

He wasn’t sure it was public knowledge.

And, judging by Scar’s closed-off body language and flitting eyes, not knowledge to many people at all.

“Hurry up, boys!” Mumbo called from the treeline, looking directly up at them, and Grian thought well we can’t keep Mumbo waiting and grabbed Scar’s wrist, tugging him onto the sandy beach below.

Being on land was relieving, recentred him, and had him looking back at Scar.

Scar, who was looking down at the hand holding his arm, blushing unlike the vicious pirate he was known to be.

Grian continued to tug him.

Maybe a treasure map wasn’t Grian’s greatest idea yet. And, though he liked to believe he had good judgement, this was sadly not his finest moment. Because someone sold him a map, and he thought well maybe I can get Scar’s mind off of it.

But the man was sulking for the entire journey.

Grian, being the avian he was, didn’t notice for most of it, constantly distracted by something new—something sparkly in the bushes, a perfect piece of fruit on a tree, observing the lines of the map itself and how they swirled. It was only when Grian was a little ahead, and Mumbo pulled Scar back, that Grian took pause.

“Grian is taking you on this expedition because he thought you would enjoy it,” the man was whisper-shouting, any fear that would’ve previously been in his voice having dissipated in the weeks of their travelling together. Grian continued to pick some berries in front of himself, pretending not to hear. “At least pretend you like it.”

“I do!” Scar insisted, and Grian felt sharp emerald eyes on him, trying his best not to freeze as he pulled another berry down. People often forget birds have great hearing. “I just— he’s expecting to find something at the end, when there won’t be anything. It seems a bit fruitless, don’t you think?”

“Well he’s got plenty of fruit.”

Grian did have plenty of fruit— great fruit too, all perfectly ripe. He had a few apples, lots of berries—blackberries, raspberries, some other berry that looked intriguing—and a few oranges. He couldn’t help himself.

Plus, Joel makes a fantastic apple pie. And Grian deserved a treat for all of his hard work recently.

“Come on guys!” Grian shouted back, lifting his map into the air, “We’ll be there in no time!”

“Can we sit down for a moment first?” Scar asked, walking to stand beside Grian, looking ahead to the log on the floor, a smaller one opposite. When Grian looked over at him, he realised that he’d left his walking stick on board, and his stance was growing a little unsteady, so of course he obliged, helping the Captain down onto the larger log before sitting beside him himself, Mumbo across from them. The man then looked over at the basket in Grian’s lap, eyes glistening with wonder. “Can I try some?”

“Hm?” Grian replied, looking between him and his fruit, holding the basket a little tighter on impulse.

But the thought of giving him some…

It wasn’t as dreadful as it usually was.

It sounded quite nice actually.

So he plucked a berry from his basket and held it out, Scar biting it right from his fingers, and Grian couldn’t help but grin, fetching another.

“Oh. My gods.” Mumbo was whispering across from them, but Grian ignored it, just letting Scar eat another berry, the juice going on his fingers a little.

So Grian licked it off, turning to face Mumbo, only finding him gaping.

“What?”

“You two are hopeless.” He laughed, sounding done with everything, and Scar looked over then too, brows furrowing in Grian’s periphery.

“What are you talking about?”

Mumbo just continued gaping.

So Grian shrugged and took another berry from his basket, smiling brighter when Scar took it again, his own smile fond.

Yeah, this was a good idea after all.

✦

Grian didn’t like this new guy.

He claimed to be Scar’s best friend, but Grian had personally never heard of him.

“Sorry,” Grian hissed, knowing he didn’t sound very sorry. Mainly because he wasn’t. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Oh! I’m Tango,” he introduced, grinning and offering a hand, but Grian just glared at it, keeping his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

He didn’t like this Tango guy.

Because, over the past few weeks, Scar had gained some sense. And suddenly he felt it was appropriate to be drinking early in the morning and throw Pearl into the ocean, forcing Lizzie to then have to go get her out. Not that Scar took notice, of course, too busy singing loud tunes with an arm slung around Tango’s neck, his drink flying everywhere despite it being in a glass bottle.

Yeah, Grian didn’t like him much at all.

No one agreed with him much, though.

Jimmy kept striking up conversation with the guy whenever he and Scar were apart, Pearl would sing along when she knew the song— Etho sang along the whole time because he knew every song because he’d been on boats for so long. These days, Joel and Lizzie typically stuck together, so even though they weren’t joining in they would laugh from the sidelines, or Joel would egg Scar on.

Grian hated it.

And, thankfully, someone approached him and agreed.

“You look… upset.” Gem started, nudging him with her elbow, and Grian just hummed, supposing it was about right. “Get too used to domesticated Scar?”

“Domesticated?” Grian asked with a frown, grimacing at the word, but Gem just shrugged. “He’s not an animal.”

“Used to be.” Gem told him with a smile, continuing to watch the group in front of them. “We wouldn’t be able to go a week without raiding some boat or another, he’d get antsy— since he took control of this ship, he hasn’t felt the need to.”

“So what’s this then?” Grian scoffed, motioning to the two in question, arms linked as they skipped in circles. “A release of his energy? Defiance? A way to feel young again?”

“The Captain hasn’t been happy for a while now,” Gem told him, and Grian couldn’t help his frown, looking over at her. But her eyes were fixed to Scar, to her crewmates. It was obvious they saw each other as family, and Grian was amazed how, with such little information told, Gem could figure out so much simply because she knew their Captain. “No one will ever be able to fix that. Happiness isn’t an escape to him, it’s an ice cream stolen from the king after getting his arm chopped off.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d tell you, if you asked,” she told him, and Grian supposed that was true, but he also wanted to hear her take on it. She’d probably be more honest simply because she was an outsider point of view—Scar often saw things as less important or significant if they regarded himself. Gem must’ve understood this, eyes watching Scar sit on the banister of the deck, spare hand clutching his bad leg. “He doesn’t feel worthy of his title— since he hurt his leg, since that fight, in his eyes no one has been brave enough to face him.”

Then she looked up at him, something sparkling in her eyes, and Grian swallowed.

“Until you.”

“I’m not brave.”

“You don’t have to be,” Gem replied, brushing the non-existent dirt off of her clothes. “You just have to see him for what he is.”

“And what’s that?”

“Human.”

✦

Being arrested by the British Navy wasn’t exactly in his calendar for the day, especially after his calendar for every day had been mope alone in my room.

He wasn’t sure quite why he felt sad about Scar being kicked off of the boat— why he’d called for it to happen and then sat moping about it for days, sat watching them from afar through a microscope. Mumbo had come in a few times, tried to talk him through it and cheer him up, but everything the man said just made him want to cry more.

He missed Scar.

Missed his laughter and his funny little jokes, missed when the man spent fifteen minutes writing a cute little note only for it to say u r coot. He missed his presence, because no matter the circumstance Grian felt safe.

A good example was when he was having a rope tied around his hands as he was shoved to the floor by a navy official, and he looked to his left, and there was Scar.

Already looking at him as he hardly struggled against his ropes.

Because as long as Scar was there, with a foot pressed against his own, a single point of contact as he offered his most reassuring smile, Grian knew he’d be okay.

He’d have to be.

✦

Life living under the crown felt like, to put it simply, slowly having each of your organs torn out one by one.

All Grian had ever wanted was to be on the open ocean. He’d left the woman he’d been forced to marry, the kids he was pressured to have by his parents, to sail to freedom.

And now he was trapped on land once more.

Technically, Scar was with him, but he seemed… quiet. Normal.

Nothing like the Scar Grian had come to know and love.

His long hair, that usually flew about in the wind, was tied back into a neat braid, a bandage over his face. And he was sitting on his bed folding clothes while Grian complained about being deemed dead.

Maybe his wife wanted him dead.

Maybe she was waiting for it to happen.

Maybe she knew he wasn’t going to survive piracy.

Because he wasn’t. Not until Scar saved him.

Captain Scar, terroriser of the seas, hunter of thousands, feared by the world, was happily folding clothes on his bed.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He asked Grian, once the man came down from his top bunk. “To not have that pressure constantly on your shoulders— I slept last night, Grian!”

Yet his eyebags looked darker than they’d ever been.

“Why’s there a bandage over your face?” Grian asked instead of replying, drifting a hand over the fabric, and Scar just shrugged, seeming unbothered by it.

“Said I’d be too recognisable, that they wanted me alive not dead.”

“Right.”

“But this is nice, isn’t it? Having a break? Not constantly fearing for your life?”

Grian wanted to say yes, just to make him happy.

But he couldn’t.

So, instead, he stood and left, and headed for the beach.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, hours maybe.

And he thought.

He thought about his wife, his children, his crew, Scar.

He thought about the ocean ahead of him, the feeling he so missed of the boat rocking beneath him, listening to the chatter of his friends— his family. Of Joel and Lizzie giggling to themselves, Mumbo reading his work out loud, Pearl and Gem conspiring to prank Jimmy who was chatting to BigB, asking about his traps, then Etho and Bdubs, threatening divorces to each other (when they’d gotten married, Grian couldn’t say, because he wasn’t entirely they were).

And Scar. Who was always standing beside him. Who always let him lead. Who believed in him and trusted him and loved him.

The Scar that no longer existed.

“Hey,” a voice called behind him, quiet but unmistakably his good friend, the man sitting beside him with a sigh. Grian continued to sit with his knees pulled up to his chest, looking out onto the ocean, knowing someone else was looking at the same thing. “I missed you.”

Grian huffed, glancing to his side to find emerald eyes trained on him, studying him.

“I know this isn’t exactly your style—“

“It’s not that it’s not—“

“I just like taking things slower. Everything before was so— everywhere. I don’t know.” Scar huffed, obviously trying to find the words to describe his feelings. “It wasn’t— I didn’t enjoy it, in the end. I didn’t feel like me. I haven’t, for a long time.”

“Well what’s you?”

“These past few weeks,” Scar started, lifting a handful of sand and dropping it, watching the sand fall between his fingers, a soft look on his face. “It’s the most I’ve felt in years— possibly ever. The most me I’ve ever felt. I’ve been happy.”

Happiness isn’t an escape to him.

Grian turned the words over in his head, considering.

“And what’s made you happy?” Grian dared to ask, turning to completely face him, finding Scar copying his movement, looking him dead in the eyes.

Before, when they’d met, and Scar had looked at him like that, Grian had felt hunted.

Now he felt free.

“You.”

Then a hand was on his face, careful and delicate and gentle, and it was pulling him in, reminiscent of the evening tides before them. Scar kissed him like he meant it, like he’d always meant it, like he’d never stop meaning it. He somehow kissed him like they didn’t have much time and yet had all of it in the world.

And he held him, so very gently, and Grian thought this, this is what I want.

But he knew, with every fibre in his being, it wasn’t what he’d do.

He’d never been very good at being selfish.

It’s how he acquired his name, after all. The Sweet Angel.

Truly, Grian wouldn’t describe himself as sweet nor an angel, but his standards didn’t live up to those of a pirate’s, those of Captain Scar.

“What do you say, let’s run away together,” Scar said when they broke apart, breathless as he pressed his forehead to Grian’s, grinning with the force of a thousand suns. “We’ll travel across the globe and settle down somewhere faraway where no one will find us.”

And Scar stared at him, hopeful and excited and everything he had the right to be.

Yet, Grian found himself telling Scar the first lie he’d ever told him.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Scar replied, cradling his face with both hands, and Grian just smiled back, trying not to let his pain show.

Because there was no way he could move on with his life, with his love, with the knowledge that he’d destroyed someone else's.

It wouldn’t be fair.

But he also couldn’t bear to see the heartbreak on Scar’s face.

Maybe he was selfish after all.

Because he nodded, and Scar ran off to prepare, and Grian stared back at the ocean, at the small wooden row boat on the beach, two single oars placed inside of it.

And he stood.