Lying on the deck, he could have sworn he heard someone there with him. That wasn't possible; this thing was abandoned, a junker. No one taking proper care would let it fall into this state. It was an abandoned wreck, like him.

He could feel it, though, sometimes, just a flicker of presence, but as soon as he cracked open his weary eyes, he was alone. His nervous system must be a mess, sensing things that weren't there. An undistinguished word, the notion of a hand just over his body, and a warm numbness that came with it every time he thought he sensed the presence. Mind tricks on a failing body.

But, that feeling they brought with them, as if assuring he didn't need to stay in this state, that he could be so much happier, and leave all this behind… it tempted him. He was tired… so tired. This presence wanted to help, to take him where he didn't need to wallow in shame or pity any longer. Whoever it was, they didn't judge him for everything he'd ruined.

Cutty Flam choked on the slurry of phlegm and blood gathering in the back of his throat, and spat it out beside him on the deck.

He didn't have the right to feel like there was someone out there, pitying him. He'd brought this onto himself, and wishing for someone to make the pain go away wasn't going to fix any of the damage done. Not to him. Not to anyone. And he wouldn't let himself let go of this pain until he fixed it for all of them.

Trying not to put too much effort on his shattered arms, he pulled himself up, and a bleary eye caught sight of a flash of white in the red pooled beneath him.

A few white feathers, quickly staining in his blood. A seagull must have been resting with him, but there was no sign of the bird anymore. Made sense; he had to get moving, too.