AN: Sorry for the delay, ever since I switched over to Ao3 as my main platform, I tend to forget to update things on this site as often. To make up for it, gonna post both new chapters at the same time. That being said, if you want updates as soon as they happen, you can find me on Ao3 under the same username. I prefer their site because of the advanced tagging and searching systems, so I only still post here because I know I have followers and this is where I started (over ten years ago, and wow is that wild to think about).
ACT II - The Infamous Captain Conlon
The vertigo from traveling by the candle is almost completely drowned out by the pain in Jack's burnt hand and the painful tug around his neck from where Katherine is clinging to him. As his vision starts to clear, the sense of vertigo doesn't fade, and he wavers on his feet. It doesn't seem like the other two are doing any better than him, both swaying into him. The rain is thrashing at them like buckets of ice and Jack has to squint to even see anything through the waves of water.
"Jesus Christ!" he yelps, instinctively tightening the arm around Davey's waist. His brain is having trouble processing what exactly he's seeing, but it looks very much like–
"Are we on a cloud?!" Katherine shouts in his ear. Her arms clench around his neck hard enough to make breathing difficult. "How are we on a cloud? Why are we on a cloud?"
"Dunce!" David says, shoving away from Jack. Despite Jack's panic, none of them abruptly fall through the squishy cloud below their feet, which is something so weird he doesn't even want to think about it right now. "You said 'think of home,' so you thought of your home, and I thought of mine, and now we're somewhere in the middle!"
"Why'd – Kath, I can't breathe," he rasps, and she finally lets go of his neck only to latch onto his arm painfully. "Why'd you think o' your home?" Jack asks, turning his attention back to the star, who is unflinchingly pacing along the opposite edge of the cloud.
"I was panicking!" Davey shouts, wheeling on Jack. "If you didn't notice, a guy just tried to cut my heart out. I wasn't exactly thinking straight, okay? Maybe you should've been more specific."
"Specific?" Jack yells incredulously. "Guy with a knife, remember?"
A blade of lightning shoots through the clouds above them, and Katherine screams, drawing closer to Jack's side. "Can we talk about this another time? Like maybe when we're not standing on a cloud in the middle of a thunderstorm?" she yelps, white with fear.
"And how's we s'pose to get down?" Jack snaps. He glances towards the edge of the cloud but this high up, he can't see anything except more layers of frothy gray clouds below them. "'Cause if youse got an idea, I'd love to-gah!" A sudden massive weight falls over him and then tugs, scooping all three of them up in a tangle of limbs and rope. Jack can't tell which way is up as they tumble over each other, yelping as sharp elbows jab and heads knock together. A minute later, they're dumped in a heap on a hard surface.
Jack peers up through the web of ropes to find a circle of faces peering back. It's nearly impossible to make out any features since they're all wearing slickers and hats or goggles. One of them steps forward and leers. "Look a'this, boys," he says, his voice a heavy drawl even as he half-shouts over the sound of the storm. "Nabbed ourselves a coupla lightnin' thieves. And they brought us a pretty bird, too."
Jeers go up from the crowd. "We ain't thieves!" Jack says. He finally manages to find the edge of the net and tosses it aside, only to find himself facing a dozen or so swords.
The first one, who must be their leader, sneers and crouches down in front of him. "Yeah, sure you ain't," he says. "Youse just up in a storm for the fun o' it." He straightens up and gestures to a few of the others. "Racer, Specs, dump these fellas in the brig. Give 'em a minute ta' cool off. And Finch, why doncha show the skirt ta' my cabin? Rest o' youse, back ta' work."
Hands reach and pull, tugging Katherine one direction and the boys another. Katherine doesn't go without a fight, kicking and screaming. Jack's threats are ignored as the crew members twist his arms up behind his back and bind his wrists tightly. Davey gets the same treatment, and the two of them are shoved to the far end of what Jack can now tell is some sort of honest-to-God pirate ship.
A door opens, and the hands at his back push so hard Jack falls to his knees in the room. It looks like it's used more for storage than anything, boxes and barrels arranged around the walls. The two crewmen steer Jack and Davey to a large crate, sitting them back-to-back and lashing their bound hands together with another length of rope.
"Make ya'selves comfy," one of the crewman says, words garbled around the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. The voice startles Jack, and he realizes that the pirate's just a kid, probably not much younger than Jack. Around the goggles, his pale skin is liberally freckled. The other guy with him is considerably taller and dark-skinned, hovering back with his arms crossed over his chest. "And welcome 'board the Brooklyn," Cigar Kid finishes with a mocking bow, "compliments of Cap'n Conlon."
And as the two turn for the door, Jack hears the kid with the cigar mutter, "Five-to-one, Cap stomps them." The taller kid joins in his laughter as the door shuts with a snap.
Jack is a live wire, every muscle locked up with the need to be expelling this furious energy and no way to get it out. His mind is racing with scenarios, planning ahead and trying not to imagine what is going to happen to them. And then Davey sighs and slumps against his back, and Jack feels some of the tension drain out of him. Things have been so chaotic since, but it finally really sinks in that he found the star and that he's alive, at least for the time being.
"Davey, you a'right?" he asks, just to be sure.
"Considering someone was trying to cut my heart out less than an hour ago, I'm swell," Davey replies, and Jack huffs a laugh. David exhales again and shrugs his shoulders, trying to shift them into a more comfortable position. The movement makes the ropes rub at the burns on Jack's hand, and he hisses through his teeth. "Are you alright?" Davey asks, twisting his head to try and see Jack in his peripherals.
"Eh, m'good," Jack says. "That fire was hot is all." David hums but doesn't say anything; Jack jumps in surprise when a pair of cold hands close awkwardly around his fingers, the damp skin soothing some of the heat. Of course, the contact does nothing for the heat that blossoms once again in his stomach, but that's a problem for another time. Jack sighs heavily and lets his head fall back onto David's shoulder. "M'sorry."
"What for?" Davey asks curiously.
"The candle," says Jack, and his stomach twists with guilt. "Was s'posed to use it to getcha home."
David laughs. "Well since you used it to get me away from a crazed warlock that wanted to kill me, I think it can be forgiven."
"What's'is thing about your heart anyway?" Jack asks.
The hands slip off Jack's, and he feels the loss of contact somewhere deeper that he won't acknowledge. David clears his throat. "Immortality," he says. "I've heard stories about it happening before. If people consume the heart of a star, it can make them live, well, not forever, but long enough to make it feel like it."
A shudder of disgust rolls down Jack's spine, and he tastes bile at the back of his throat. "Consume? Ya mean like eat?! What kinda crazy person'd eat someone's heart? That's disgusting!"
Davey's shoulders relax back against Jack. "Yeah, I guess I'm lucky it was you that found me first then."
"Dunno how lucky we is," Jack scoffs. "Firs' the warlock, now sky pirates. We ain't doin' so good so far."
"Fair point," David agrees with a laugh. "This place hasn't been much fun, I can see why you're so eager to get away. What's that place you wanted to go again?"
"Santa Fe," Jack answers and he can't stop the instinctive smile.
"What's so special about Santa Fe?" Davey asks. The majority of the time when Jack hears that question, it's condescending or skeptical, but the star just sounds genuinely curious. "You got family there?"
Jack snorts. "Don't got family nowhere." He shrugs and shifts his head on Davey's shoulder, and when the star doesn't seem bothered by it, Jack lets his muscles uncoil. "Nah, just gotta get away from the city. Can't stay there no more. All the noise and people and awful stuff. I wanna get somewhere I can see the sky and the stars." He chuckles and bumps his forehead against Davey's jaw. "Ya know, otha stars."
David makes an amused noise. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "Just - I don't know, that sounds less like going somewhere and more like running away."
"What's the diff'rence?"
"Well, I mean, so I've been watching humanity for a long time," says David. "I've seen people going around and having adventures and finding their place. And it just seems to me like the ones that are running away from something, those people never really find the right place, you know?" Jack hums noncommittally, shoving the thought away because he doesn't want to think about it. He's not running away from New York; he's following his dreams of Santa Fe. It's not the same thing.
Davey sighs and lets his head tip back onto Jack's shoulder, mirroring his position. "It's kind of funny, really," he muses. "All these years, I wanted nothing more than to have one of those adventures I watched people having. Back home, I'm just one of a billion. Nothing to make me different from any of my brothers or sisters. I knew where I belonged but I never really fit, you know? I always dreamed of going on my own adventure." He huffs wryly. "Guess that's why they say be careful what you wish for."
Jack grabs Davey's hand and squeezes. "M'sorry, Davey," he says. "I never shoulda dragged you into this. Shoulda just give ya the candle. You'd be home safe now if it weren't for me."
"Yeah, right back to my boring life. And you'd be trapped in Stormhold with no way home and no way to Santa Fe," the star replies. "It's not your fault. Besides, you aren't safe here either, are you?" In the corner of his eye, Jack can see David shooting a meaningful glance at him. "That light, back at the inn, the one that pushed Wiesel away. That was you, wasn't it? You're a Fey?"
"Stupid word for it," Jack grumbles. David prods him with an elbow. "Yeah, I guess so. I didn't - I mean, I didn't do it on purpose or nothin'. I just - he was gonna kill you."
"I can't believe you're Fey," says David. "You said you're from the other side of the Wall."
Jack grunts. "I grew up o'er there," he says. "But I was born here. Least, that's what Miss Medda says. Says I was one o' them kids that got sold for being kinda magic 'fore she snuck me over the Wall."
"Jack, I-" Davey trails off. "I'm sorry."
"S'fine. Don't remember none it." Jack exhales through his nose. "On'y thing I wish I-" He bites off the end of the sentence, swallowing back the confession. He doesn't open up to people, doesn't talk about this feelings stuff, and the fact that talking to Davey is so easy almost scares him. It only gets worse when David's hand shifts in his, their fingers loosely threaded together as Davey makes a noise to prompt him on. "I had a brotha," Jack admits. "A kid brotha that didn't make it, and I don't even remember him."
Davey is silent, and Jack waits for the judgment. He waits for David to turn away, be repulsed, or worst of all, to pity him. Jack can't stand pity. Instead, Davey just tips his head until his damp forehead lands against Jack's cheek. Beyond the door, the sounds of the storm rage on, interspersed with shouts and bangs of the sailors working.
"We are in trouble here, aren't we?" Davey asks.
Jack huffs a laugh. "Oh yeah, we's proper fixed." And honestly, the feeling in Jack's chest when he realizes that Davey hasn't let go of his hand tells him that he's got far more problems than just sky pirates.
The sound of the door slamming off the wall jerks Davey from his doze and he feels Jack snap upright as well. They both twist to face the newcomer, and David's eyes widen in surprise. Finding out some of the pirates are kids was shocking enough, but this takes the cake: their captain is too. The boy standing in the doorway is short, at least a full head shorter than David. He's ditched the raingear, and now he's wearing just a sleeveless top and breeches that expose a compact, muscular build.
"Mornin', gents," the leader says, his drawling accent loud in the small room. The two pirates that brought them in are flanking their captain, leaning against either side of the closed door with their arms folded over their chest. The captain slowly draws a sword from the sheath at his waist and rests the blade on his shoulder, grinning dangerously. "I hope youse feelin' more helpful than the skirt."
Jack snarls, leaning as far forward as he can with his hands still tied to David's. "If ya hurt her-"
The captain – Conlon, the pirates had called him earlier – levels the point of his sword with Jack's throat, eyes flashing. "You betta watch ya mouth there," the shorter man growls. "I don't take kind ta' threats."
"Look, we don't want trouble," Davey interrupts because he can feel Jack vibrating with tension. "This is just a misunderstanding."
"Ya know what I think this is?" the captain says, and he doesn't move his sword even as he turns to look at Davey. "I think youse a couple two-bit lightnin' thieves tryna step in on my turf."
"Please, we're not thieves," David insists. "We didn't mean to end up here, it was an accident."
"An ax'dent?" the captain echoes mockingly, and the pirate with the cigar chuckles. "Right. You s'pect me ta' believe youse guys got up in a storm on ax'dent? Nah, I don' think so." He leans in and lowers his voice to a hiss, "Play ya parts and none youse gotta get hurt."
"So here's how it's gonna go," Captain Conlon says, straightening up and raising his voice again. "Here on the Brooklyn, there's no mercy for thieves. Should drop ya off with the Bulls next time we make lan'fall. Pay's good for Refuge runaways. Would make a nice bonus for my boys." Beyond the door, there's an uproar of approval, and David abruptly realizes why the captain's been half-shouting the whole time.
"But the thing is, I recognize a Scab when I see one," Conlon practically snarls. Outside, the crowd boos loudly. "And I sure ain't gonna have dirty four-flusha's like that on my ship. Now your li'l lady friend, her I can make use of, but youse two-?"
"Don'tcha dare!" Jack shouts, thrashing so hard against his bonds that it almost knocks Davey over. "Keep youse hands off her, or I swear to God-" The punch rebounds Jack's head off the back of Davey's skull and effectively stuns them both. Someone cuts the ropes tying the two together, and the tall, black pirate hauls Davey to his feet.
Meanwhile, Captain Conlon has dragged Jack upright by his collar. "Pretty sure I warned ya," the captain sneers viciously, and he flicks the point of his sword up to Jack's chest, "to watch ya mouth." With a wicked grin, the captain thrusts forward and drives his sword straight through Jack's chest.
"No!"
Jack's eyes go wide with surprise as he glances down at the sword, frowning like he can't quite process what he's seeing. When the captain pulls his blade free, Jack staggers back against a cluster of barrels and, without his hands to catch himself, crumples to the ground. There is a dark spot spreading across his shirt and a ribbon of scarlet bubbles over the corner of his mouth. He seizes twice and then goes still, eyes wide and vacant.
"You killed him!" David screams, furious and terrified. "You killed him, you murderer!"
A blow to the jaw snaps David's head back and silences him. "No, Scabs like you what sells out youse own kind are the killa's," the captain growls. Captain Conlon raises his sword again, the silver coated in dark blood that drips to the floor. Davey tries to pull away, but the tall pirate has him trapped. He watches as the sword levels with his sternum and then, as if in slow motion, surges forward. David squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain, and waits.
And waits.
Confused, Davey squints down. Sure enough, there's the hilt of a sword resting against his breastbone, and the white of his shirt is turning dark in a slowly expanding circle, but somehow there is no pain. There are no sensations at all apart from a strange, disjointed touch against the outer curve of his ribs. David glances, and for the briefest second, he can see something thin and dark there, resting in the gap between his arm and chest; he blinks, and it's gone again.
David looks up, and the captain gives him a significant look before drawing his arm back. The star watches in wonder as the sword emerges from his chest, blade streaked with gore, but he still feels nothing.
And suddenly, he realizes what he's supposed to do: Play ya parts.
David coughs and stumbles back into the pirate behind him. The hands on his arms loosen, and Davey falls, smacking his shoulder hard on the floor. He gasps for breath and then curls over onto his front, burying his face against the wooden planks and letting his body go slack.
"Race, Specs, clean up this trash, wouldja?" the captain says. David keeps his eyes closed, but he can hear as Conlon stomps across the room and flings the door open. There's a hasty scurry of footsteps as the crewmen gathered on the other side of the door scramble to get out of his way. "Don'tcha forget, this is what happens to Feys what turn on they own kind," Captain Conlon announces loudly. "Now don'tcha all got jobs to be doin'? I'm gonna go have a chat with our new guest. Interrupt me and I'mma toss you overboard."
There are layering cheers and laughter from the deck as the pirates head back to their work until someone shuts the door and cuts off the majority of the noise. Davey holds as still as he can, trying not to breathe and also trying not to panic. The floorboards vibrate as someone approaches, and then there's a hand on his back. "Don't say nothin'," the voice whispers and then the ropes around David's wrist are cut away. "Keep quiet and we'll getcha outta here."
Davey dares to pry one eye open just a bit, and he sees the black pirate crouched next to him, one hand still resting on the star's shoulder. He offers an encouraging smile and uses the back of his other wrist to push the thick-lensed glasses he's wearing back up his nose. The pirate puts a finger to his lips and then stands up, helping David up at the same time.
Perplexed, Davey immediately looks down at his chest, smoothing one hand over the place where he'd watched a sword go through him. There's nothing there, not even a stain or tear in the fabric to mark the spot. A small noise jerks David's attention up and he locks eyes with Jack, who is standing on the other side of the room next to the pirate with the cigar. David lets out a breath of relief when he sees that Jack's shirt is just as unmarked as his own, no sign of his being stabbed.
Before either of them can do more, the pirate with the cigar gestures and crosses the room to one of the low crates sitting against the wall. He taps a knuckle twice against the side and something inside clicks, like a lock sliding free.
Of all the things David expected to see when the top of the crate lifts, it's not the curly-haired little kid that peers over the edge. He's several years younger than the pirates, a bright innocence to his face as he tugs the brim of his bowler hat and grins at them. "Ya did good, shortstop," the pirate with the cigar whispers. "Take 'em through to the Cap, 'kay?"
The kid beams and gives an enthusiastic salute, before dropping down and disappearing inside the crate again. Cigar Kid nods toward the box, and both Jack and Davey lean in curiously. The bottom of the container is a gaping hole that seems to open into some sort of crawlspace, with a narrow rope ladder dangling down the side. The kid is standing at the bottom of the ladder, looking up expectantly with a lantern in one hand.
"Les'll show ya through," the taller pirate says quietly, adjusting his glasses again. "Don't worry, he don't bite much." Below them, the kid, presumably Les, sticks out his tongue.
"Katherine?" Jack asks, tone low and urgent. "The girl with us. Is she-?"
"With the captain," the black boy answers and nods toward the crate again. "Just follow Les."
"And for God's sake, shaddup," Cigar Kid adds in a hiss. "Now go 'fore folks get suspicious."
Davey and Jack exchange glances, and then the human shrugs and climbs over the edge of the crate. As soon as he gets to the bottom, David follows him into the container, feeling intensely uncomfortable as he is reminded of the fact that he's still only wearing a dressing gown.
"Get the lock," the bespectacled pirate says, pointing at one corner of the crate, and then he lowers the lid. David fumbles his fingers over the edge until he finds the deadbolt there and slides it into place. He's tall enough that it's only two more steps to the bottom.
The crawlspace is actually some sort of tunnel, barely hip high so that even the kid is stooping to stand in it. "C'mon," Les whispers and then starts to shuffle down the tunnel. Jack and David both have to get on their hands and knees to follow. It's slow going as they crawl through the tunnel, trying to make as little noise as possible, and within seconds, David's knees are aching from the hard boards. They can hear the sounds of the ship around them, shouts and thundering footfalls from above, and David's afraid to even breathe too loudly.
Another rope ladder signifies the end of the tunnel, and Les scales it up and taps his knuckles on the flat wood above them. There's a long, drawn-out moment as they wait, hunched in the darkness, and then the floor panel suddenly lifts away, letting in a narrow slant of light. Captain Conlon is kneeling over the opening, and he smirks. "Nice of ya ta' join us."
The captain moves out of the way, and Les hauls himself out. Jack follows and then offers a hand down to pull Davey up behind him. They are in another smaller storage room, barely more than a closet, filled with boxes and trunks. The captain slides the trapdoor back into place, and it blends seamlessly into the wood, invisible save for a tiny notch where a knife can be used to pry the panel up.
Captain Conlon takes a long look at Jack and David, hovering awkwardly in the corner of the closet, and smirks. "Ya look like drowned rats," he remarks in amusement. "There's clothes in that trunk there, get ya'selves dressed. Tired o' lookin' at them scrawny legs."
David shuffles in embarrassment, but even as Jack takes a protective step in front of him, the human is fighting back a smile. Without another word, the captain leaves through the door behind him, and Les bounces out after him. Jack promptly lets out a heavy breath that sounds torn between exhaustion and relief. "You got any idea what's goin' on?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow at David.
"Not really," the star admits.
"Least it's not just me," Jack says and shrugs. His gaze slides over David, and he grins. "He's right, you look pretty pathetic. Let's find ya some clothes 'fore you catch a chill."
As Jack rummages through the trunk of clothes, David sits awkwardly on a crate and picks at the bandage on his leg. Between the storm and crawling around in the bowels of the ship, the cloth is now filthy, stiff and brittle in the patches where it's dried from the rain. Davey gives it up as a lost cause and unties the knot, gingerly unwrapping the dirty strip of cloth from his calf.
"Christ, Davey." The star looks up to see that Jack has looked up and is staring at David's leg with horror. Davey glances down again and can see why the human reacted that way; even though the pain is gone, there is still a thick, violet-red mark that curls up the length of his foot and calf, ending in a massive bruise just above his knee.
"It doesn't hurt," Davey assures Jack, who looks a little like he might be ill. "Whatever Wiesel put on it took out the pain. Guess I should be thankful to him for that much, at least."
Jack's lip curls angrily at the mention of the warlock, but some of the fear leaves his expression. "Ya sure that don't hurt? 'Cause it looks bad."
"Really, it's fine," David insists. He flexes his leg experimentally and smiles when none of the pain resurges. All that's left now is the dull pang of a pulled muscle. "Magic does that, I hear," David adds when he finds that Jack is still tracing his gaze over the brand. "Leaves lasting scars, I mean. Marks. But it really doesn't hurt anymore. What about your hand?"
"It ain't bad," Jack says even as David reaches over and grabs the appendage. The star tries to be careful as he turns Jack's hand over in his palm, checking the reddened skin for signs of something more dangerous. Although his skin is glossy in patches, burnt raw and tender, there's no broken skin or signs of infection.
"Looks like you shouldn't have any lasting damage," Davey says. He brushes his fingertips along a stripe of bright red below Jack's thumb that apparently took the brunt of the heat, and the human shudders. David looks up, meaning to apologize for hurting him, but the look in Jack's eyes most definitely isn't pain. Startled, Davey hastily drops the human's hand and clears his throat. "Maybe we can see if the captain has some bandages for that," he stammers. "Or we can scavenge fabric from your shirt to make one."
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Jack says, and then he turns his attention back to the trunk of clothing. Despite himself, David leans in curiously. It's a chaotic mess of fabric, with no semblance of organization between sizes and styles and colors. Having never bothered with picking clothes, Davey's a little overwhelmed by the options.
Jack, on the other hand, is looking at the trunk like it's an actual treasure chest. "Look at all'is," the human says in awe. "The boys back home'd kill for this much clothes."
Intrigued, Davey pans his eyes over Jack's clothes; trousers just slightly too short in the leg, the fabric of the knees bleached where threads have gotten thin; shirt a bit snug in the shoulders; shoes scuffed and soles obviously repaired, the laces mismatched. It had never occurred to him before, but Davey realizes that Jack has likely owned these clothes for some time, and doesn't have a wide variety of others.
Oblivious to David's observation, Jack pulls out a pair of trousers and holds them up to get an idea of the length. "Here, these oughta fit ya," he says, passing them to the star. "Hopefully. Youse damn tall."
Davey snorts a laugh, and he stands up to tug the pants on. They are just a bit loose in the waist, but the cuffs mercifully reach all the way to his ankles. "I didn't exactly choose to be tall," he points out, and it feels oddly comforting to slip back into their usual banter. "Did you choose to be annoying?"
Jack responds by throwing a balled up undershirt at the star's face. Davey peels the gritty dressing gown off, tossing it aside and replacing it with the undershirt. When his head emerges from the collar, he finds Jack watching him. A warm flush starts on the back of Davey's neck, coupled with a strange leaping in his stomach.
"Oh, uh," Jack turns back to the trunk, busying his hands, and he emerges with a blue shirt. "Here, try this."
David pulls the shirt on and immediately laughs; he's half-drowning in the top, his narrow shoulders and chest nowhere close to filling out the width of the shirt. Jack glances up and barks a laugh, loud and surprised. "I think it'll fit you better," Davey says, shrugging the shirt off and passing it back.
"Never really noticed, but youse a skinny thing," Jack comments. He stands up and works on the buttons of his shirt, tugging it free from the waist of his trousers. David means to turn his attention back to the trunk, but as the sleeves slide off Jack's arms, his gaze catches.
The first thing he notices is the change of color; while Jack's face and forearms are a light golden brown, his upper arms and shoulders are pale. There are collections of pink spots and stripes, scars of every variation sprinkled across his visible skin that hint at dozens of stories. When he moves his arms, indentations hollow beneath his skin to reveal the lay of muscle. Then Jack reaches for the hem of his undershirt and David immediately snaps his gaze down to the trunk of clothes, the fire at the back of his neck spreading up into his ears and cheeks.
Davey has been watching humans for a long time, and while he's never experienced these feelings himself, he's got a pretty good idea of what this one is, and it's very much not good.
Jack pulls the blue shirt on over the top of a fresh undershirt, and he gives himself a moment to relish the feel of good, sturdy fabric on his skin. New clothes were a rare commodity at the boys' home, the sort that usually only came when a kid completely outgrew the last set. Even then, most all of his clothes had come from older boys at the home, passed along from boy to boy as they hit growth spurts and shot up like weeds, or were donations from the nearby church when people was feelin' all charitable around the holidays. The only piece of clothing Jack owns that never belonged to someone else is his newsboy cap, a gift from Medda two birthdays ago.
This shirt has obviously been worn before, but the fabric is in far better condition than his and is actually big enough for the extra inch or so of width he's gained in the shoulders over the last year. He sets about rolling up the sleeves meticulously, determinedly keeping his eyes down because he can hear Davey still getting dressed. Not that looking down keeps his mind from straying because the whole reason he'd grabbed this shirt in the first place is the color, a blue that woulda complemented the star's eyes nicely. Christ, he's turning into some sorta pantywaist.
Jack plucks off the flower that Medda gave him and pins it to his new shirt with a sentimental smile. Not like the good luck charm has really done him much good so far; course, he's not dead yet so he supposes it can't hurt to hang onto it. 'Sides, it's from Medda.
"What do you think?" David asks, and when Jack looks up, he spreads his arms. The star is wearing a white and blue checked shirt tucked into his trousers, along with a threadbare waistcoat that's hanging unbuttoned, but the sizes are just slightly off. It gives him a softer look, something more casual than the public schoolboy look. It doesn't help that he's still barefoot and his hair is standing on end, and he's picked up a bunch of scrapes and bruises over the last two days, including a shallow scratch on his throat and a violet splotch on his cheekbone.
"Youse startin' to look like a proper guttersnipe like me," Jack says honestly, chuckling. "Kinda suits ya, ach'ly." Davey grins, and it makes that shimmer flood into his cheeks again for a second, brightening up the tiny closet. "C'mon, let's go figure out what we's got ourselves inta." He slings an arm around Davey's shoulders before he can second-guess himself, and the star chuckles under his breath as he stumbles along with him into the next room.
"Gods above, took ya ladies long 'nough." Captain Conlon is sitting in a chair behind a desk strewn with papers, his crossed ankles propped up on one corner. The office looks exactly like Jack always imagined a pirate's cabin would look; shelves of brass instruments, a large map painted onto faded linen tacked up on one wall, a pair of crossed swords with ornate hilts hanging behind the desk. Two doors lead to other rooms, and a third presumedly goes back out to the deck. A worn leather sofa spans the wall between two of the doors, and it's occupied by the little kid Les and Lady Katherine.
"You okay, Plumber?" Jack asks as soon as his gaze lands on her.
Katherine is wearing a pair of men's breeches, and a shirt that is far too large for her is belted in around her waist. Despite her own handful of scrapes and bruises, she smiles cheerfully. "I'm fine," she assures him. "Our captain has been a most hospitable host."
Jack's nose wrinkles up in confusion at the unfamiliar word, but she sounds genuine enough that he doesn't push the topic. "Sure. So, does anyone wanna fill me in on what the hell's goin' on here?"
"Youse sailin' with the famous Cap'n Spot Conlon," Les chimes in grandly, bouncing slightly in his seat. "He's the most dangerous sky pirate in all'a Stormhold."
The captain smirks in the kid's direction. "Look, so here's how it goes," he says, lacing his hands together behind his head. "I gots a reputation ta' protect. Can't go lettin' people think they can gets away with stealin' from the Brooklyn. But lucky for youse two, I also made a promise a long time ago that I don't kill nobody 'less I have no choice, and I 'specially don't kill our kind. So s'far as them out there thinks, you two is dead. Youse gonna stay in here and keep quiet until we make lan'fall, and then once the crew's all gone inta' town, you and the princess here are free to go. Got it?"
"Wait, princess?" Davey asks, looking at Katherine in surprise.
"I'm not a princess," Katherine rebuts, shooting a pointed look at the captain. Then she stands and crosses to them, beaming up at David. "Sorry, we didn't get a chance to properly introduce ourselves earlier. Lady Katherine Plumber."
"David," the star responds bemusedly, accepting her proffered hand and brushing a quick kiss over her knuckles.
"Plumber 'ere is on some quest to become the king o' this place," Jack interjects, earning him an eye roll from Katherine.
Captain Conlon snorts. "Ain't never had a girl on the throne," he says. "Hells, I didn't think the girls even tried."
"Well maybe that's part of the problem," Katherine retorts hotly. "Stormhold needs a change. All the kids on this ship, you're all Fey runaways, aren't you?"
"Is that how you did the thing with the sword?" David asks eagerly, turning to the captain. "Your Fey gift?"
"Nah, that's the kid," Conlon says, gesturing at Les, who beams proudly.
"But how?" Davey says. "Because I watched that sword go through my chest, and there's no way that should be possible."
The captain grins mischievously and stands up, reaching for his belt. He nods once to Les and then draws his sword, the blade glinting bright and dangerous in the air between them. "Watch this," he says and then promptly drags the blade across his palm. David and Katherine both make noises of shock as blood wells up in the gash, dripping between his fingers onto the wooden floorboards. Jack follows Conlon's gaze when the captain glances over at Les again, and when Jack turns back, the blood is gone. Not just the blood, but the cut and even the sword. Instead, Conlon is holding a black cane like a weapon, the end of it resting on his unblemished palm.
"That's incredible," Katherine says, stepping forward to get a better look at the captain's hand. "I've never seen a Knack like that before. You can make people see things?"
"Kinda," Les says, hopping down off the sofa. "I can't make things up. But if people thinks they's gonna see it, I can make it look true."
"So when a pirate draws something from a sheath," Davey says slowly, brow furrowed in concentration, "since we expected it to be a sword, you made it look like a sword."
"And when a fearsome pirate captain swings a sword at ya," Conlon continues with a smirk, "you see blood." He twirls the cane in his hand and then tucks it back into the sheath at his hip. "S'only reason we keep the li'l stowaway, really." Les fusses petulantly, swiping at the captain with his hat, and Conlon shoves him back off-handedly like the motion is more habit than anything. "Speakin'a, getta move on, kid," he adds. "Elmer's gonna need a hand fixin' up them nets, so scoot."
Les immediately rebounds from his annoyance and he tosses a sharp salute to them all before turning and scurrying out of the cabin. Conlon rolls his eyes. "Right, I gotta ship to run," he says. "You two don't leave this cabin. There's spare bedrolls in that room there. And princess, youse, of course, welcome to the bed again." He tips Katherine a big wink, and she shakes her head but the annoyance seems half-hearted. "My boys'll bring in food in a bit. Until then, don't cause trouble," Conlon finishes with a pointed look at Jack.
"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Jack intones dryly.
"Smart ass," Conlon mutters. He shrugs off his suspenders on one side, rucking up the hem of his shirt, and then ruffles a hand through his hair. When Jack raises an eyebrow, the captain shrugs. "Boys think I'm havin' a chat with the lady," he explains. "I mean, unless you wanna," he says to Katherine, nodding toward one of the doors, and gets a furious glare in return. "Didn' think so. S'fine, princesses ain't my style anyway.".
He heads for the door and then pauses at the frame, half-glancing back over his shoulder. "An' ya might s'well call me Spot," he offers, half-reluctant. "Most ev'ryone does anyway."
An awkward silence hovers in the room after the captain leaves, all three of them shuffling uncertainly. It's Lady Katherine who finally breaks the quiet, clearing her throat gently. "So, Mr. Kelly," she says in an overly casual tone, "when you said you were looking for a friend, it would appear that you left out a few details."
The tension in the room snaps back stronger than before, and Davey's heart jumps into his throat. Jack's hand clamps down on David's wrist and he takes a protective half-step in front of the star. "You ain't got no room to talk 'bout lyin' to folks," Jack says.
"I didn't lie to you," Katherine retorts but she's holding her hands in a sign of surrender, "and I didn't accuse you of lying. We just weren't telling everything." She nods toward where Jack's still gripping Davey's arm and adds, "And I'm not going to hurt anyone, if that's what you're thinking."
"Oh, well, if ya say so," Jack says sarcastically. "But see, I'm a li'l worried 'bout the fact that youse cozy with the fella that just tried to kill my friend."
Katherine's nose wrinkles up in blatant disgust. "I am no more a fan of Mr. Wiesel than you are," she says. "I know him because he is a mercenary who has worked for the royal families of Stormhold for a long time. He's the man the king uses when he needs his dirty work done."
"Awful convenient timin', ain't it though?" Jack says suspiciously. "You pickin' me up and takin' me straight to the guy."
"Because we were looking for your friend," Katherine says. "You wanted a ride and I gave you one. It was your idea to check and see if he was at the inn. I didn't know Wiesel was going to be there."
"Jack." Davey reaches up with his free hand, touching the human's bicep to get his attention. Jack turns his head to show he's listening, but he doesn't take his eyes off Lady Katherine. "If you two hadn't gotten there when you did, I would've been dead," the star says and feels Jack's muscles twitch beneath his palm. "If she was working with Wiesel, don't you think she would've stopped you from going there? Or at least waylaid you a bit more?"
"Could be part of the trick," Jack says but he doesn't sound convinced at his own words.
"And besides, Wiesel said something about taking her in for a bounty," David adds.
Katherine's smile is self-deprecating. "Told you I've made enemies in the royal family." His shoulders are still a tense line but Jack loosens his grip on Davey's wrist, although he doesn't let go. "I know you don't have much reason to trust me, but I don't mean you two any trouble, I promise," she says. "I just – I wasn't expecting this."
"You mean you weren't expecting me," Davey says with a wry grin.
"Do you blame me?" she responded with a pointed look. "I mean do you know how long it's been since a-" She pauses, glancing at the door and lowering her voice slightly, "a star landed in Stormhold? That's the sort of thing that only happens once every few hundred years. The odds of actually meeting one, let alone randomly stumbling across one that's palling around the forest with a Fey, they're astronomical."
"Pun intended?" David mutters and Katherine cracks a smile.
"No, but the point still stands," she replies. She moves over to prop a hip against the captain's desk, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning. "I might not be a danger to you, but you've got Wiesel on your tail now, and that's a problem," she says solemnly. "He's a powerful warlock and a great tracker. You two are going to need to make sure you keep moving or he's going to catch up to you, and I don't think your Babylon candle trick is going to work a second time."
"Doesn't matta, we ain't got anotha one," Jack admits. He casts a quick, sidelong glance at David, and adds, "Ya wouldn't happen to know where we can get anotha, wouldja?"
Katherine tugs at a curl thoughtfully. "Honestly, I haven't seen one in ages," she says. "They're so difficult to make, they sort of fell out of fashion a long time ago. There might be someone at one of the bigger market towns, Wall or Jerna maybe, that might have one for sale, but it won't be cheap. The only other thing I can think is to have one made, but the people powerful enough to do that aren't usually inclined to do favors for Fey. And if they find out what you are…" She trails off with a pointed look at Davey, and he feels a cold chill race up his spine.
"There's really that many folks willin' to kill for immortality?" Jack asks, face twisted up in disgust.
"They might not do it for themselves, but they wouldn't shy away from selling him on to someone who is more willing to get their hands dirty," Katherine says darkly. "If word gets out that there's a star in Stormhold, that the king wants him, you'll have a hard time getting anywhere."
Jack huffs and drags a hand through his hair. "You know any otha way to get him home?" he asks, a hint of desperation in his tone.
"Not off the top of my head," she says, and her expression is apologetic. "I might be able to ask around, check with some of the other families and look through some books, but all of that will take time and I can't make any promises. I'm sorry I can't be more help."
"Thanks anyway," Davey says and offers her a small smile. He bumps a shoulder against Jack's. "We'll figure something else out, okay? For now, let's just focus on getting out of here alive."
"Which, for the moment, means keeping our heads down and not leaving this room," Katherine says with a rueful grin. "Exciting."
David wanders over to the sofa and drops down onto the cushions, sinking back into the fabric. The little sleep he's gotten over the last few days is catching up to him, and it's well into the morning now.
"Ya okay?" Jack asks, taking a few steps closer and twisting his hat between his fingers.
"Just tired," Davey says with a small smile. "It's been a long night."
Jack huffs a laugh. "That's puttin' it mildly," he agrees. "I'm here, if ya wanna sleep. I'll keep an eye on ya."
"You won't disappear this time?" David replies and surprises himself by the note of bitterness that slips out underneath. Jack frowns, drawing back like he's been slapped.
"Me disappear?" Jack retorts sharply. "What 'bout you?"
"You were gone!" David says. "What was I supposed to do?"
"I left ya a note," Jack says. Davey blinks, confused and caught off guard. Jack seems to see something in the star's expression, because the lines of his face soften. "Ya didn't see it?"
Davey shakes his head. "I just woke up and you weren't there. I thought you must've taken the candle and gone."
"I went to get us some food," Jack says with a breathless laugh. He finally crosses the rest of the distance and sinks down onto the sofa next to Davey. "Woke up early and was starvin'. I put a note in ya shirt pocket so ya'd know I was comin' back."
"I never saw," Davey says, and he pats his shirt pocket even though he knows the motion is entirely useless - this isn't even the same shirt he was wearing then.
Jack snorts and shakes his head. "Figures." He forces himself to relax the grip on his hat, smoothing out the wrinkles he's twisted into it. "Christ, scared the life outta me when I came back and ya wasn't there. Thought someone musta kidnapped ya or somethin'."
The stricken tone of the human's voice lights something deep in David's chest, and he remembers the look of pure relief when Jack had seen him at the inn. With a small smile, Davey reaches over and sets his hand on Jack's forearm, a tiny motion of reassurance. Jack exhales through his nose and something seems to unwind in his shoulders.
"Sleep, Davey," he says and his voice has gone fond again. "I'mma keep watch, youse okay. And just - I ain't goin' nowhere, so ya know."
"Maybe this time, if you do, just wake me up instead," David suggests, grinning wryly. Jack chuckles and shoves him playfully, and when Davey lands against the arm of the sofa, he doesn't bother sitting back up. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes for a few minutes.
Jack waits until he's sure Davey is asleep before he moves, being careful not to jostle the sofa too much as he stands up. He crosses to where Katherine is still leaning against the captain's desk, distractedly skimming through papers on the surface in a blatant attempt to pretend she wasn't listening. Jack sits on the corner of the desk and clears his throat. "I need ya to tell me more 'bout this Fey stuff."
Katherine looks up, eyebrows raising in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"Need to know how this works," Jack says, flexing his hands idly. He can still feel it, faintly, that distant buzz deep under his skin that has been in place since he landed in Stormhold. In the beginning, he'd mistaken it for adrenaline, but he's fairly positive that what he's feeling is actually the magic. It hovers just below the surface, an untapped well that he doesn't quite know how to access. "If I'm Fey and I got magic, I gotta know how it works. In case I need it."
The implications behind his words don't go over her head, judging by the way Katherine's gaze flicks to where Davey is curled up on the sofa. "You mean in case you need to defend yourself?" she asks.
"Worked once," Jack points out. "I know it ain't much, but if folks is comin' afta us and I got somethin' that can help..."
"Of course," Katherine agrees. "If you have the means to defend yourself, you should employ them. Absolutely." She hoists herself up to sit on the edge of the desk next to him, fidgeting awkwardly with the leather band holding her shirt in place. "I'm not an expert but I'll try to answer whatever questions I can."
Jack nods. "Thanks. So this magic, it ain't just them - what'd ya call 'em? Knacks?"
"Right," Katherine says. "Knacks are a natural ability that develops from the magic, but that's not the extent of a Fey's power. It varies person to person, of course, like any other talent, but with the proper training and practice, Fey can do any number of things."
"What 'bout warlocks then?" Jack asks. "What's they got that makes 'em stronger 'an us?"
Katherine huffs a derisive noise. "Honestly? Money, mostly." Jack frowns in confusion. "That's the thing, Jack; warlocks are Fey. They are born with the same potential for magic as any of you. The difference is that they are born into families with money or connections, so they get the proper training they need to master their magic."
Jack recoils in anger, white-hot indignation swelling in his gut. "And that gives 'em the right to treat the rest their kind like slaves?" he hisses. "We gotta be slaves just 'cause we can't afford them fancy schools?"
"Like I said, it's a broken system," Katherine says resentfully. "It wasn't like this in the beginning, from what I've heard. They sold it as giving the Fey a purpose. Those who couldn't afford warlock training were given jobs that made them feel useful, where they could use their magic for the betterment of society. Then, over time, the restrictions got tighter and new rules were put in place, until it became what we have now."
His stomach is churning and Jack leans his weight into his palms on the edges of the desk just to give himself something tangible to focus on, his knuckles bleached white from the pressure. A lifetime of being looked down on for his social status, for being forgotten and disregarded simply because he didn't have the money to warrant more than a glance, is crawling along his spine to mingle with the earlier indignation. It's the sort of thing that's rankled him for years, even though he knows that there's nothing he can do to change it.
"Right," Jack says, swallowing down the anger and forcing it to the back. There'll be time for that later. For now, his focus needs to be on keeping himself and Davey safe. "So youse sayin' I can do the same sorta stuff that warlock Weasel did?"
"In theory, yes," Katherine says. "But in practice? Jack, warlocks study for years, learning spells and herblore and mastery of the elements to best utilize their power. You have two days before we make landfall and no access to spellbooks or a warlock to train you."
"Ain't never been much for book learnin' anyway," Jack says with an indifferent shrug. "Always found I learn best by doin'."
Katherine laughs softly, muffling it behind her hand. "So you plan to just teach yourself the sort of magic that warlocks spend years studying?" she asks, as if to clarify, and shakes her head. "I would think you're completely insane, but after the last day, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Every time I think I have you figured out, you've surprised me. So I suppose if anyone can do it, it might as well be you."
"That almost sounded like a compliment," Jack remarks, amused. "You startin' to get sweet on me?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Katherine replies, scoffing. "Besides, even if you weren't obnoxious and insufferable, I have higher morals than to pursue someone already spoken for."
Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "I ain't spoken for." Katherine frowns and glances from Jack to the sofa, and the pieces click into place all at once. A hollow dread forms in his stomach at the implication, an inherent need to distance himself from the sort of rumors that'll get him arrested. "Ain't nothin' going on there, Plumber," he says firmly.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to - I just - " Katherine bites her lip. "You just seem to be quite close."
"As friends," Jack says. He puts as much conviction into it as he can, even as something in his chest twinges painfully.
Katherine nods in understanding. "Of course," she agrees and it somehow sounds like she's humoring him, but her expression is neutral. "It's just sweet, how protective you are of each other. How long have you known each other?"
"'Bout two days now," Jack says and it's Katherine's turn to be shocked. "On'y met the night 'fore I met you. Made a deal to help each otha out and we's just been stickin' together. Safer 'an bein' on our own, at this point."
"Incredible." Katherine shakes her head but doesn't elaborate on that any further. "Well, as far as actually learning how to use your magic, you may have better luck with asking the captain for advice. The best I can tell you is to find that feeling inside, where you can feel your magic, and get familiar with it. It'll be easier to use if you know how to access it."
Jack frowns, rubbing his palms together, as he focuses on that hum under his skin. It's difficult to locate precisely where it is, like it's a liquid pulse that shifts through his body in waves. Trying to pin it down is making his head pound, and he groans. "I don't - it ain't like a thing, it's just sorta-"
"Jack." Katherine's voice is gentle and she places a hand on his arm. "Not to be rude, but you look dead on your feet. It might be easier to focus if you've had some sleep."
He wants to protest, instinctively reluctant to show any sort of weakness in front of someone he's still not entirely sure he can trust. Unfortunately, now that she's drawn his attention to it, he can't ignore the weight settled into his bones. He's only slept in fits and bursts over the last two days, and between the fear of Davey disappearing and the fight with the warlock and being captured by sky pirates, the adrenaline has taken its toll.
"Ya ain't gonna take 'vantage of me?" Jack asks, teasing to deflect. "Ya know, a fella can feel all vulnerable."
Katherine laughs, rolling her eyes. "You're the most impossible boy," she says and shakes her head. "Go. I actually got to sleep last night. I'll make sure those dirty pirates keep their hands to themselves."
With a chuckle, Jack slips off the desk and crosses over to the sofa. He settles down against the opposite arm, curling his legs up onto the cushions and tugging his hat down over his eyes. Before he nods off, he stretches his legs just slightly until his foot nudges against one of Davey's, just to reassure himself that the star is still there.
A faint noise tugs at the edge of Jack's awareness and he hovers for a moment on the edge of sleep. Life experience has turned him into a light sleeper and if he picks up any hint that he's in danger, he can be awake in seconds. The sound comes again and it definitely isn't a threat but it's still enough to rouse him.
It's nearly pitch black in the tiny storeroom where they've been exiled. (When the boy called Race delivered food for them, he added the captain's stipulation that the two boys keep themselves hidden in the closet as much as possible, in case someone barges unexpectedly into the captain's cabin.) There's a small window set high into the wall, but all it tells him is that it's nighttime, nothing more than the faintest impression of moonlight coming through the gap.
Jack reaches out toward where he last saw the lantern and manages to find it after two swipes, and fumbles through getting it lit. He lets his eyes adjust to the sudden light before lifting the lantern and setting it on a crate where it can illuminate the small closet. The trunks and barrels cast jagged, hulking shadows up the walls, but it's the floor that holds his attention.
David is curled up on one of the thin bedrolls the captain provided, and really, someone with such long limbs should not be capable of turning into that small of a ball. It's hard to make out his expression in the weak light, but sharp arrows of black fill the creases of his forehead when the star winces. Then Jack finally hears it again, the sound that dragged him out of sleep: a whimper.
"Davey," Jack whispers, careful to not be heard outside the door. "Wake up, Davey." The star makes another tragic noise, hands clenching into fists. Bad dreams are nothing new to Jack. There were countless nights that a cry or scream would echo through the boys' home, and the standard reaction would be for everyone to pretend they hadn't been woken by it. It was a general rule among the orphans that nightmares were not discussed, and any tears that fell at night didn't count.
That being said, Jack hates the thought of leaving Davey in the midst of a bad dream. Leaning over, Jack grabs David's shoulder and shakes him gently. "Hey, Davey, wake up."
Gasping for breath, the star suddenly bolts upright, hands scrabbling over his chest frantically. His eyes are blown wide in fear as he claws at his shirt and he whines, high and terrified. "Whoa, hey," Jack says, grasping David's shoulder despite the way the star tries to flinch away. With his other hand, he gets ahold of one of Davey's wrists before the guy can scratch himself. "Easy there, Davey, s'okay."
"Jack?" Davey asks, confused. His eyes flick around the room and then finally fix on Jack's face in the dim lighting.
"You okay?" Jack asks, loosening the grip on David now that the star has settled. Although David pulls his wrist free, he leans into the hand on his shoulder. Jack fights back a flutter in his stomach and brushes his thumb over the star's collarbone reassuringly.
Davey takes several slow breaths and then nods. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says, and there's only the slightest waver in his voice. "Just a dream."
Jack looks from the rucked up fabric over the star's chest to the lingering panic in his eyes, and he puts the pieces together. "Yeah, that sword trick was wild," he says sympathetically.
"Wasn't the sword," Davey says quietly. He looks down, busying his hands with smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. Jack frowns and then lets out a breath of realization. David smiles self-deprecatingly. "Not like I've had a shortage of near-stabbings lately."
The memories flicker through Jack's head in a stream of flashes, images of Davey pinned to a wall and white with panic as a massive, black knife drives toward his chest. He doesn't realize he's tightened his grip until David shrugs, and Jack clears his throat as he lets his hand fall. "You oughta stop being so charming, then, get less folks tryna steal ya heart," he jokes to lessen the tension.
Davey's laugh is weak and airy, but at least some of the tension eases out of his face. He sighs and draws his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" he asks, seeming to realize it's still dark.
"Me? Nah, I was up," Jack says. Davey glances pointedly at Jack's sleep-tousled hair and Jack shrugs, unrepentant. "You hungry?" he asks and scoots over to the sack that was deposited by the door before they fell asleep. He tugs the bag into his lap and opens it, dividing out the food between them.
As Jack eagerly bites into the apple, savoring the sweet juice, he observes Davey. The star hasn't uncurled from his spot, picking distractedly at the hard biscuit without actually eating it. His gaze is in some sort of middle-distance, unfocused on the shadowy wall of crates behind Jack.
"So youse seen a lot, right?" Jack says, casting around for something to distract the star. Davey blinks in surprise and turns to him, brow furrowed questioningly. "Like bein' a star, you said you could watch stuff from up there. So youse probably seen a lotta int'resting things, yeah?"
Davey doesn't smile, but the corners of his eyes soften in a way Jack is starting to recognize. "I mean, I guess that depends on what you find interesting," he says, "but yeah, I've seen a lot. Why?"
Jack grins and leans forward on his elbows. "So all the places ya seen, what's ya favorite? Say you could go anywhere, where'd ya pick?"
The star gnaws at his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Egypt," he says decisively. "I'd love to see the pyramids from up close, see how big they really are. And the Sphinx."
"Tell me 'bout it," Jack says. David's eyes light up and then he launches into stories, describing towering obelisks covered in pictographs spearing up from the endless sand and the enormous fan of the Nile River Delta pouring into the ocean. Somewhere during a story about an Egyptian pharaoh, Davey actually starts eating the biscuit he's been systematically dismantling. All trace of fear has faded by the time he starts explaining what the Sphinx is.
The concept is so fascinating to Jack that he reaches over for his bag - which Spot had retrieved from the net - and digs out his sketchbook. He flips the page quickly before Davey can see the first sketch, and then pulls out one of his pencils. Scooting closer to the lantern, Jack starts tracing an outline of the human-lion creature David described. "Keep goin'," Jack says when he notices Davey's stopped talking. "What was that you was sayin' about the gold coffin things?"
David starts up with his stories again and as he talks, Jack sketches out the things he's describing. They're fragmented half-drawings, just clusters of doodles overlapping each other on the page as the muse takes him without any sort of consistency. He looks up briefly when he feels a body press against his own to see that David has slid over to sit on his other side, leaning into Jack to peer at the sketches over his shoulder.
"That's incredible," Davey breathes.
"It ain't nothin' special," Jack says and shrugs. It isn't even up to his usual standard, the bulk of the bandage on his hand hampering his ability slightly. He squints at the page in the half-light and then sets about fixing the Sphinx's body now that he's not rushing. "Ain't even a proper pit'cha. I got betta ones. Well, not no more, most got left at the home 'cept what I had at Medda's."
"Is that what's in there?"
Jack follows Davey's gesture and sees the cylinder sticking out of his bag. "Oh, yeah. Them's my betta ones. Didn' wanna leave 'em at the home, 'fraid some the otha boys'd mess 'em up."
"Can I-?" Jack shrugs and passes the cylinder over before going back to the Sphinx. David pulls off the lid and slides the rolled up papers out carefully. He moves around in front of Jack where he's got more light and then smooths the sketches out in his lap.
Jack tries not to pay too much attention as Davey looks through the sketches. It's mostly just imaginary landscapes, from rolling fields divided by a winding river to sandy beaches below white-capped waves to jagged mountains speckled with trees. There are random spots from the city; buildings zig-zagged by fire escapes and hung with clotheslines, a cluster of ladies chatting outside a boutique shop, a spot in Central Park where the trees make a small alcove beside a duck pond.
Then there are more personal ones, glimpses of the dormitories at the boys' home and the other orphans. Backstage at Medda's, vaudeville dancers and the stage crew setting up for a show. The kind old man from the general store who always slipped Jack a hard candy whenever he helped with deliveries. The twin girls from the Catholic school who'd go 'round the block to walk passed his newspaper sellin' spot for a chat.
"Who's this?" Davey asks. Jack leans in to see the page covered in a collage of drawings of the same person, moments and expressions frozen in time.
"Oh, that's Miss Medda," Jack says with a smile, letting his gaze skim over the familiar features. "She, uh, she kinda raised me. She's the one got me outta here, took me to New York with her. 'Bout the closest thing I got to family."
"She looks nice," Davey says.
"Proper firecracker, more like," Jack says, laughing. "Make her mad, she'll give ya a good soakin'. Learned right quick to keep on her good side. She's a gem, though, takes care of her folks. Not just me, but her dancers and crew and them." He pauses, doodling idly in the corner of the paper he's been sketching on. "And she's tough as nails. She don't talk 'bout it, but I know there's folks give her trouble. Don't think it's right a colored lady doin' so good for herself. But she don't let it bother her none, just keeps on and protects who she can and don't make no apologies for who she is."
Jack swallows past the lump in his throat, surprised by the surge of what he can only imagine is homesickness in his chest. It's not like he's been gone long enough to miss her; there were plenty of times he'd get caught up in a job and go a week or more without a chance to swing by the theatre. At the same time, there's something so much more final about this time, having said his goodbyes and thinking he was going to Santa Fe where he'd likely never see her again.
Davey's hand touches his knee gently and Jack startles, blinking out of his thoughts. The star gives him a sympathetic smile and Jack realizes his eyes are watery. He clears his throat and rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist. "She sounds incredible," Davey says and Jack glances up. "I wish I could meet her."
"You could," Jack realizes, stomach leaping. "I mean, if you wanna. When we get to New York, 'fore you go home, we could drop by the theatre. I think Medda'd like ya, and it'd be good to see her again 'fore I head to Santa Fe."
"Sounds like a plan," David says, grinning. This time, Jack's pretty sure the warm flush in his stomach has nothing to do with the excitement of seeing Medda again. He hastily turns his attention back to his sketchbook before the heat can spread up into his cheeks.
Davey flicks through a few more sketches at a casual pace before pausing, a soft noise escaping him. Jack looks over and feels an irrational flash of panic; he'd forgotten that one was in there. It's old and smudged, giving an indistinct blur to the features like looking through fogged glass. He usually never used paint except for the backdrops he did for Medda - far too expensive - but there'd been no other way to accurately capture the faded figure in his head. Miss Medda, the saint she is, didn't remark when the leftover paints from a backdrop went missing.
"Who-?" Davey hesitates, frowning. His fingertips ghost over the page without actually touching and his expression mirrors the pain and emptiness that Jack poured into the painting.
"I dunno," Jack admits, drawing David's focus up. Jack taps his pencil against his paper in a frenetic rhythm, trying to find a way to phrase it. "Was a dream I use'ta have sometimes. Not a bad one, really, just – I'd wake up feelin' funny. Like somethin's missing but I dunno what."
He takes a deep breath and skims his gaze over the vague impression of a small child with a soft face, expression slack with sleep. The image changed in his dreams all the time - the kid would be awake, or crying, or smiling a blinding smile - but it had been too hard to capture those moments from the faint shadows of his dreams lingering in the early morning light. He had a whole collection of attempts, never making it further than sketched outlines. In the end, the sleeping boy huddled beneath a thin coat with one hand fisted around a sleeve, was the only one he'd had any success with, watered down as it was.
A week ago, he never would've even been able to guess who it might be, but now, after everything – "I think it's my brotha."
David's eyes soften, sad despite the furrow of confusion that forms between his brows. "I thought you didn't remember your brother?"
"I don't, not really," Jack says, shrugging. "It's just – I's been havin' that dream since I was a kid. Neva knew who it was, and I ain't ever remember anythin' from the dreams 'cept that face. Then Medda says I had a brotha, and it just makes sense, ya know? Like, them dreams is memories, kinda." Jack huffs and drags a hand through his hair, slumping back against the crate behind him. "I dunno, maybe that's stupid."
Davey sets aside the sketches carefully and scoots around to sit next to Jack. They are pressed together from knee to shoulder and Jack soaks up the comfort of contact, the reassuring coolness of the star's body anchoring him.
David fidgets with his fingers for a second and then takes a breath. "I miss my family," he says, speaking to his knees. "It's not that we were close or anything, I don't have any siblings I'm really attached to. I mean, there are billions of us and we're all spread out so far from each other. The thing is, stars, we have this sort of – awareness of each other. We can feel each other in the back of our minds at all times. I never really noticed it much, it was always just this constant hum of sound and light in the background. Sometimes, I just wanted it to go away, give me a moment of peace and quiet. Have my thoughts be just my own for a minute, you know?
"Then I fell down here, and that's gone and now it's just so quiet. I mean, it's not that things are really quiet, there's always something," Davey rambles, gesturing around them distractedly. "And sometimes I don't even think it's my family I miss, just that feeling. Somehow, not having that presence in the back of my head, I feel sort of hollow. Like there's a piece of me missing that I never even thought about before it was gone." He stops and finally looks up, meeting Jack's gaze. "All of that to say, there's nothing wrong with missing something you didn't know you had."
The open honesty in Davey's eyes is overwhelming and Jack takes a shuddery breath, instinctively scrambling to draw back from so much emotion. He knows his smile is forced as he knocks his shoulder against David's, and his voice catches as he teases, "Ya know, when you gets goin', you talk a lot." Davey chuffs, bumping his shoulder back playfully, and they both relax.
Even though his muscles have loosened and he's slumping lazily into Jack's side, there's no missing the lingering trace of sadness hanging around the star. Jack doesn't know what it's like to miss home and family in that way; something like the feeling he got when thinking about never seeing Medda again, but a million times worse probably. So Jack takes a breath, resolve settling in his chest, and leans his own weight back against the star's side. "We's gonna get ya home, Davey, promise."
David glances at him in his periphery. "How? We don't have the candle anymore, and you heard what Lady Katherine said."
"I dunno," Jack admits. "But we's gonna. I ain't goin' back over that Wall 'til we got a way to get you home." He grins and drops his head onto Davey's shoulder. "Deal's a deal, afta all. If youse still comin' to New York with me, I'm gettin' you a ride home."
The star doesn't respond except to tilt his head against the top of Jack's, but in the corner of his eyes, Jack can see that Davey's skin has taken on that glimmer that brightens the room slightly, the one he's starting to notice only comes when the star is happy.
It is early evening when Davey finally wakes up again, feeling sluggish and uncertain. After his nightmare, it had taken until nearly noon before he could finally settle enough to sleep. He and Jack had spent the entire day stuck in the storage closet, exchanging stories in the gaps when they're both awake. Now, as David rolls over on the floor and stretches out his sore muscles, he thinks it'll take a small miracle to get his sleeping schedule back in order when this is all over.
A glance at the other bedroll tells him Jack is still up and about, and he can hear the quiet murmur of voices coming from the main cabin. David straightens out his clothes and then cracks the door to the storeroom open, checking to make sure there's not someone unfamiliar on the other side.
"Davey, that you? It's safe, ya can come out," Jack says and the star pushes the door the rest of the way open. The lanterns are lit in the cabin to fend off the growing darkness outside the back window. Jack is sitting on the floor in a circle with Katherine and the two pirates from the day before, the boys embroiled in some sort of card game.
"Mornin' there, sleepin' beauty," drawls the pirate with the cigar, grinning cheekily. "Lookin' pretty good for a dead fella."
"Shaddup," the second pirate says, smacking his friend around the back of the head. Then to Davey, he says, "Name's Specs. The charmer's Race."
"Charmer?" Race echoes. "Awh, Specsy, I knew you was sweet on me." In response, Specs shoves him hard enough to knock him over onto his back. Race sighs dramatically from the floor. "Whateva happened ta' romance?"
Jack rolls his eyes at them both and waves Davey over, snagging him by the sleeve and tugging him down into the spot between him and Specs. "You sleep betta?" Jack asks in an undertone as the two pirates continue to bicker. David nods and Jack grins, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good. So, ya wanna play?"
"I don't know how," David admits.
"S'okay, neitha does Kath, but it ain't too hard to figure. Just watch a few rounds, you'll pick it up fast," Jack says. He frowns at the cards in his hand, shifting two of them around, as the others watch. Jack finally sighs in defeat, tossing them into the middle. "Though maybe youse betta off stayin' outta it. Pretty sure that one's cheatin'."
"I would neva!" Race gasps theatrically. Sticking his unlit cigar back between his teeth, he grins. "Maybe youse just bum at cards."
Jack scoffs. "Shaddup and deal, wouldja?"
The three of them tease and joke through several rounds of cards while Davey watches, struggling to keep up with the rules and parsing out which cards are actually good. It doesn't take him long to figure out that the game actually has less to do with the cards and more to do with who's a better liar. He also doesn't need to understand the rules to know who is clearly winning; the other two snag a few hands each, but Race takes most of them with a boastful grin.
They've been playing for well over an hour when the door to the cabin opens. Davey and Jack both instinctively duck their heads, just in case, but it's only Les. "Spot's lookin' for ya, Race."
"I'mma'comin'," Race says with a put-upon sigh, tossing down his cards.
"You playin' cards again?" Les asks, squinting at them in confusion. "Thought you not s'pose to no more."
"Why?" both Jack and Davey ask.
"His Knack," Les says at the same time that Race groans, "Aw, c'mon, kid! Don't ruin it." Les sticks out his tongue and Race lunges to his feet, chasing after the kid when Les turns tail and runs.
When the door swings shut behind them, Specs chuckles. "Race likes findin' guys who'll play with him," he says conversationally, shuffling the cards. "None us on the ship will no more, 'specially not when money's involved. See, Racer's got a thing for knowin' who's gonna win and such, gets feelin's about bets and games. It's his Knack."
"Sonuva-" Jack mutters, and then he shakes his head, laughing.
"Yeah, he gets that a lot," Specs says. "So, wanna go anotha now it's more fair? Davey? Lady Katherine?"
"Deal me in," Katherine says with a decisive nod, grinning.
The star glances up to find the others watching him and he hesitates, biting his lower lip, until Jack nudges him with an elbow. "Yeah, alright, I'm in." Jack laughs enthusiastically and ruffles Davey's hair as Specs deals out the cards again.
Davey has never been the sort of outgoing person that Jack clearly is, not even before earth. He is used to being left to his own devices and his thoughts. So it surprises him just how much he likes being a part of a group, even one as small as this. Jack is practically buoyant, riding the waves of the conversation with his charm turned up all the way. Katherine turns out to be fascinating, parrying Jack's cheeky jabs with a rapier wit of her own, all class and elegance on the surface with something wilder beneath. And Specs, while relatively quiet compared to the other two, is unexpectedly thoughtful and clever behind a veneer of dry sarcasm.
Time blurs by as they breeze through hand after hand, and without Race in the game, the whole thing is much more evenly matched. Specs and Jack have the obvious benefit of knowing how to play the game, but David picks up on the patterns the longer he plays and he manages to hold his own. The first time he bluffs his way into a win, Jack beams at him proudly and Davey has to look down at his lap to hide the leap in his stomach.
Ugh, that not-good thing again.
It's late in the evening, the sky outside the cabin windows dyed a deep indigo, when the cabin door opens again. Spot walks through, looking tired and harried, but he huffs when he sees the cards on the floor. "Shoulda played for skins."
Specs snorts loudly. "If we did, the Lady'd be laughin' while we all shiva," he says. Spot pauses on his way across the room, raising an eyebrow. "Girl can bluff like nothin'," Specs says and shrugs. "Bet she'd give even Race a run for it, way she can spin. Might be good 'nough to throw off his Knack."
Spot clicks his tongue and gives the girl an appraising look. "Hmm, now that I'd like ta' see. Where's a princess go gettin' a skill like that?" he asks.
Katherine remains neutral on the outside, but there's something playful and dangerous to the curve of her lips when she answers, "Politics."
After considering it for a second, Spot nods. "Makes sense. Well fun's over, fellas. I gots to get some sleep. Specs, youse on watch with Boots for first shift. Comin' up on port, so keep an eye out."
"Yes'sir," Specs says, tucking the deck of cards into his pocket. He nods politely to Katherine and grins at the boys before letting himself out of the cabin.
Spot drops inelegantly onto the sofa, leaning in to tug off his boots. "Gonna make port in Solara firs' thing," he says. "Should be good to getcha whereva you wanna go." He pauses and frowns at the laces of one boot. "Where youse two headed 'gain?"
"Wall," Jack answers.
"Well, we ain't goin' that far south," Spot says, "but we can getcha s'far as Jerna, if ya wanna stay on."
"That's only about two days walk from Wall," Katherine supplies helpfully when Jack frowns at the unfamiliar names. She bites her lip, considering her words carefully for a moment, and adds, "It would definitely lower your risk of running into trouble."
Davey immediately picks up on her meaning and the way Jack's head lifts slightly says he does too. Less time on land means less chance of crossing paths with another warlock. He has to imagine that it's difficult to track someone in the air. Still, David has to ask, "Your crew won't recognize us?"
"Ain't nobody really seen ya, 'cept Race and Specs," Spot points out. "Rest didn't 'xactly get a good look at ya durin' the storm." The captain smirks. "I know what I'm doin', kid, ain't my first time."
"In that case," Jack says, "I ain't gonna say no to a lift."
Spot nods. "Ain't gonna be a free ride. We'll bring ya back onboard like new recruits. Youse gonna hafta pull ya weight just like anyone."
"Course, Cap'n," Jack replies and tosses in a flippant salute for good measure. Davey rolls his eyes and elbows him, giving the captain a grateful smile.
"Same offa goes fa' you, princess," Spot adds, prompting an annoyed glare from Katherine.
"Thank you, captain, but I need to return to my search," she says. "But thank you for your hospitality."
Spot shrugs. "Suit ya'self. Good luck wi'cha takin' over the kingdom thing." He drops his sword belt on top of his boots and shrugs off his suspenders. "Right, now that's settled, shove off. I gotta sleep."
Exchanging amused glances, Katherine bids them a good night before slipping into the captain's bedroom. Jack slings an arm over Davey's shoulders - the star is learning that Jack is an incredibly tactile person - and steers him back into their little storeroom. As Davey sits down on his bedroll, Jack leans over and lights the lantern before shutting the door so they're not completely in the dark.
Neither of them speaks until they're both stretched out on their bedrolls. Jack rolls over onto his side, propped up on one elbow to see better. "So, I guess we's pirates now."
Davey snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Apparently."
And then a broad, mischievous grin breaks out across Jack's face. "Nifty." He flops onto his back, chuckling to himself, and Davey rolls over to face the wall so Jack can't see his mirroring smile. There are so many dangers out there and this surely won't be any less so, but somehow, the star can't help but look forward to the next day.
After all, he's spent so long dreaming about having adventures, and tomorrow he's beginning another.
