Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. Just my imagination borrowing them for a bit.
Rough hands grab his shirt, shaking him awake. My head, he thinks, squinting against the light of dawn.
"Killian!" he hears, his brother's voice near frantic. "Where's the silver? What have you done with your money?"
Before he can react, before he can try to put together the splintered pieces of his thoughts, Liam's hands reach into his shirt and pull out his coin purse.
He can't help the feeling of dread that comes over him, but he can't remember why, until he hears his brother's angry words.
"You gambled."
The events, some of them anyway, from the night before filter into his memory. The rum, the cards, the offer of camaraderie from the crew they'd soon be leaving, something to occupy the time until Liam's return.
The memory turns hazy after the fourth round of drink, and the nausea that rises in his throat isn't only because of the alcohol.
Bloody hell.
He shakes out the pouch, hoping to find one coin, something to prove he isn't the irresponsible failure he keeps proving himself to be, but it's empty.
"Sorry, brother," he whispers, voice hoarse from thirst and guilt.
A clinking sound pulls his gaze upward. Silver's standing over the hatch, dropping coins from one hand to the other. His coins, the ones that would finally grant him freedom from this miserable life. The coins he lost to anger and vice.
"You bastard!" Liam hisses, stepping forward, and he can only imagine the look of righteous indignation on his brother's face. It's undeserved, he knows it is, his own choices being the only thing to blame.
"I'm not responsible for his weakness," he hears the captain say as he slips the empty purse back into his shirt, his fingers trembling as his head continues to throb painfully in time with his erratic heartbeat. "And you still have your money. If you want my advice, cut anchor and leave the dead weight behind."
He's right, he thinks sadly. It's Liam's chance to get out, be free, live the life he wants so badly.
"Just do it, Liam," he mutters, the volume hurting his head, the words hurting his heart with the truth he feels so deeply. "Go. I can never be the brother you deserve."
"Let's set sail, Jones," the captain says, a grin in his voice. Killian covers his face with his hand, the light, the shame, nausea roiling in his unsettled gut overwhelming him, too much. "It's either the Navy or more grain runs for your favourite captain."
Silence. There's silence, and he wonders how Liam can even be considering such a proposal. He'll be out soon enough, he'll join his brother as soon as he can manage to save the coin to buy his own freedom. Why should Liam be punished for his own stupidity?
"Then grain runs it shall be."
"No!" he cries out, reaching for his brother feebly. But the sickness overwhelms him, the weakness wins out, and he can only collapse against his arm on the mast as the world spins dizzyingly. He swallows hard, desperate not to lose either the contents of his stomach or the tears that suddenly fill his eyes.
The shame that filled him was unlike anything he'd felt before. This was nothing like coming late for his shift, this wasn't like the consequences for mouthing off to an officer, this wasn't even like the fights he frequently got into, the burning anger in him only placated by raging outbursts and heavy drink, exchanged for periods of loathing and self doubt. The punishment for this would be more than just lashes or a beating.
This was Liam's future, Liam's dream, and it was gone.
Because of him, always because of him, and he'd have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his miserable life.
"Come hell or high water, I cannot leave my brother," he hears his brother say, and he can no longer hold back the violent churning in his belly and he throws up.
His stomach clenches painfully as the remnants of whatever he's recently eaten, and drunk, come tearing up his throat and land on the deck in front of him. He retches, again and again, tears squeezing between his closed eyes to fall to the wooden planks below, mixing with his sick. I'm sorry, Liam, he thinks between bouts. I'm so sorry, brother.
He doesn't realise he's whispering the words out loud until he hears his brother's quiet voice. "It's all right, Killian," Liam's hand rubbing his back as he tries to eject the shame in each seize of his gut. "I'm right here."
He chokes out a sob, and he feels Liam press a damp cloth to his sweat-soaked forehead. Of course he's here, it's all his fault his brother hasn't been able to leave the wretched merchant ship that's been their home for far too long.
"You shouldn't stay here," he whispers, his throat sore and swollen. "You should have left me."
"Nonsense," Liam replies as he mops his face, the cool water against his heated skin so much more relief than he deserves. "I can't leave my little brother. Who else is going to yell at me when I mess up?"
Killian can only shake his head, the tears threatening against his eyes. "You don't, Liam," he whispers, "you never have. I'm the one holding you back from greatness."
His brother is quiet for a moment, and then says softly. "Then I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me." He lifts his head too quickly, the pounding at his temples intensified as he fixes his brother with a curious stare. "No more drink, Killian," Liam continues. "If we're going to get out of here, you need to learn to control yourself, and you're a mess with that damned flask all the time."
He nods slowly, but Liam isn't finished.
"You're going to work hard, you're going to show up on time, and you're going to avoid fights with the other men. Do you hear me?"
"I hear you," Killian rasps weakly, wanting to mean it so much more than he thinks possible, than he thinks himself capable. "I'll do my best, brother."
Liam shakes his head. "No," he says, his large hands on Killian's smaller shoulders. "That's not good enough, not anymore. If you truly want to make up for gambling away your silver, you have to do better than that. I'll help you, I'll do whatever I can, but you need to try harder."
Killian swallows, and nods again. "I think I can do that."
His brother pats his shoulder and smiles gently. "Good," he says. "Now come help me clean up this mess you made."
He manages a weak grin. "Aye aye, Captain Jones."