Work Text:
Captain Anchor stared out at the sea. The docks were silent and dead, save for the few birds cawing loudly overhead.
He wanted to kill them.
His body felt weighted and dead. He wasn’t sure what to do without her. He wasn’t even aware that he was jumping onto his ship until he was already on it, his boots thumping against the wood. Out of instinct, Anchor walked into his quarters, standing in the doorway silently, like a petrified sentinel. He sighed through his nose, long and sad.
“What have they done to ye, Pencil…” he muttered, finally moving to pick his daughter up and bring her out onto the deck.
Inphernals.
He wanted to kill them.
He leaned her against a crate, crouching in front of her and grasping her hands— so small, so pale and cold in his grasp. He squeezed them gently, as if trying to transfer his warmth to her would bring her back.
Anchor knew there was nothing he could do. It didn’t make it hurt any less, he couldn’t accept it.
“SFOTH’s sake, if only I wasn’t so useless…” he snarled to himself, breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over. He stood up and forced himself away, climbing up to untie the mast. He would’ve bid farewell to the port and the land, but he doesn’t care about it anymore.
He sat there for a long time, feeling the wind whistle by and sting his face until it turned pink. Up by himself, he thinks in a gloomy spiral, hand tightening on the wooden pole beside him. This was all his fault, he wasn’t good enough for her, wasn’t good at anything. He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t fight. He’s just a coward who hides on the ocean.
He wanted to kill them.
He sighs again and climbs down, not bothering to avoid getting splinters stuck in his fingertips this time.
Instinctively, he looks over at Pencil, still lying limply against the crate. He looks back at Crossroads, slowly fading into the distance, then at the surrounding ocean. There aren’t any other boats.
Finally, he breaks down and runs over to her, stumbling onto his hands and knees and grabbing her in a tight hug. Anchor wails into her shoulder, smearing salty tears and snot on her cool skin. “I’m sorry— I’m so sorry, Pencil!”
He can recall her smile, clear as day, and it just makes him cry harder. He wants to break something, dig his claws into her skin, but he doesn’t want to destroy what’s left of her.
A particularly large wave slams against the hull of the ship, rocking it violently and sending him sprawling to the floor. Before she can tumble away, he reaches out to grab at her arm, steadying her and holding her against his chest. Anchor looks up at the pale blue sky, laden with clouds that threatened to weep alongside him.
He sits there until he loses track of time, crying until his eyes burn and his limbs quiver. Every time he calms down a little, he remembers her laughter and songs and starts bawling all over again.
He didn’t deserve, didn’t want to be the one alive. She should be here still, singing and drawing and staying with someone more fit to take care of her. It wasn’t fair.
He wanted.
Anchor whimpered and slowly loosened his grip, wiping the tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand and sniffling softly.
“You don’t owe me yer life, papa,” he can hear her call softly, smiling gently.
He isn’t sure what to say, how to respond. He stands up and walks over to stare at the dark, murky sea. He can still feel tears drying on his face, but he can’t bother with them anymore.
His chest twists painfully, and he sobs again. “I— I remember ye… think about ye every day.” He looked over at her body, lying limply on the deck. “Do ye think of me?”
Her eyes are blank with struggles and grief. Not for what has happened, but what hasn’t. “You aren’t a bad parent, papa. You don’t owe me your life for something you couldn’t stop.”
“But I-I— I could’ve figured something out! And yet I didn’t… just let myself get beat into the dirt.” He insists, voice hitching as he gazes at the sea.
“Ye were outnumbered!” She insists. When he doesn’t reply, she looks down the ocean as well, with its angry, churning waves slapping against the boat. “What do ye want…?”
“I…” he swallowed hard, his throat drier than cotton. “I don’t know what I want, but I don’t think it’s this.” He looks up at the sky and yelps when another large wave nearly capsizes the ship, scrambling to grab at something to keep him from falling off. He shrieks as Pencil tumbles to the side and thuds against the railing, reaching out to her.
“No! Stand fast, ye mustn’t break this easy!” She calls.
“But… but I can’t lose ye!” He sobs. “I don’t want to! You mean too much, Pencil!”
“I’m dead, papa, and nobody’s going to help ye being me back. Just let go. Please,” she begged, body hanging halfway off the ship. “I don’t want ye to hurt anymore…”
His vision blurred with fresh tears, although he blinked them away.
“Yer so talented, and so special,” she continued, the sea lapping hungrily at her limbs. “I’m gone, but yer not. Ye’ve so much to live for, and friends who’ll miss ye if yer gone. My bones will always be here at the bottom of the ocean, but I’ll always think of ye.”
Anchor opens his mouth to wail as the ocean finally claims her corpse, cut off with a grunt as the ship manages to right itself with a loud groan of wood. He scrambles to the railing, reaching out and watching her fade beneath the water. “No… no. No.”
He pulls off his coat and heaves himself halfway over the railing, although he… hesitates.
His head hurts, but it’s… clearer now. She wants him to live. She doesn’t want him to lose his way and join her beneath the water.
He slowly moves back and collapses flat on his back, staring at the sky that had finally decided to rain. His eyes sting and his throat aches and his limbs feel heavy, but he feels a bit lighter now, with the solace of peace and rest.
She’ll always be with him, live forever in his mind even when her body is gone.
Captain Anchor hums softly and sits up, moving to turn the ship around and sail back to Crossroads. He’ll stay another day.