Thanks for all of the reviews you guys! I really appreciate it. I'm so sorry that I'm taking so long in between updates, but I'm absolutely floored with schoolwork lately. If it takes me until summer to finish this (please, don't kill me) I'm sure the wait in between chapters will greatly decrease.

For now I invite you to do useful things like read Dalton by CP Coulter to amuse yourselves or to watch Glee (oh, February, how I love thee greatly) or to daydream lovingly about Blaine while doodling his name and yours in a heart with a bright red pen just in case the audience has forgotten your in love with him between now and your last scene.

What? I said nothing.

When Blaine woke up on the damp, unpleasant floor the next morning he discovered two things. The first being that God damn, his back hurt and the second that neither Wes, David nor Pavarotti (thank merciful heavens) was with him.

After a few minutes of groaning and stretching his back Blaine decided that he never wanted to sleep in a brig ever again.

Stupid brig.

He ran a hand aimlessly through his dark curls before heading up to the deck to join the crew in assessing the damage. Everybody was already on deck and the sun was just starting to peak over the grayish ocean. The gentle waves (now eerily calm after the previous night's storm) were the only things that penetrated the silence as the crewmen quietly assessed the damage done. The mast was broken off in large splinters at it's base. It was cracked in two and crashed through the roof of Wes' cabin and, just to make everyone even more pessimistic, the wheel on the poopdeck right above it. Wes and David were standing next to it on what remained of the cabin roof and Wes was staring moodily down at the water beneath it like he wished it would just rise up and drown him.

He moved to stand with them silently, brushing past Thad (who had the Bird of Eternal Torment sitting on his left shoulder) on his way up.

"How bad is it?" Blaine asked quietly.

David shot him an incredulous look and Wes murmured something that sounded like, "eye-ate duh whirled."

"I mean," Blaine clarified, "I'm generally aware of the fact that we can't sail like this, but how doomed are we? Is there any chance of another ship seeing us or-"

"Judging by what little navigation system we have after that nightmare of a storm we should- emphasis on should- be somewhere near Port Edward right now, which is where we need to be, so there's a chance a nearby fishing boat might see us and bring help."

"But you don't have high hopes?" Blaine guessed.

"No," said Wes. "No, I don't." He sighed, sinking to his knees and leaning against the remains of the mast (which creaked in a rather discomforting manner) and put his head in his hands. "My father is going to kill me."

"Don't say that, Wes." I dropped to the ground next to him and put a comforting arm around his shoulder. "I'm sure he wont blame you."

"You're right." Wes looked up at me through distressed brown eyes. "He wont get a chance to. He'll be to busy morning my death after your father fillets me and feeds me to his purebreds."

"Cheer up, Wes," said David. "Governor Anderson wouldn't blame a lightening storm on you." He smiled at Blaine conspirationaly. "Besides, horses don't even like eating humans. We're too salty."

Blaine snorted.

"This is not funny! Take it seriously or go back to the brig."

Blaine raised a triangular eyebrow. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Um… yes? I think. Yes. I'm the Captain." He sighed. "Which brings me back to my original point. I screwed up. My father has worked so hard to prove that I can do whatever a 'Real Englishman' can, but I can't even get you across an ocean."

Blaine winced and shared a glance with David. Wes' father James Hughes was a judge with a fondness for traveling. He'd left for Asia seventeen years ago and come back home with a wife (deemed 'exotic' by the high society ladies in the circles she now ran in) and Wes, who had attended school with Blaine back in England. Mr. Hughes was a good friend of Blaine's father and after finally getting the arrangements made for the trip to America he'd handed Wes his first ever gavel and told him to make him proud.

"Nobody can blame you for this."

"Easy for you to say, Anderson."

David frowned at Blaine and put an arm around Wes' shoulders. "I'll talk to him. You go see if you can do anything."

Blaine sighed and nodded, moving away from Wes and casting one last reassuring glance over his shoulder before moving down to the deck.

The Warbler's assessment hadn't gone well. There canons along the port side were fine, but those on the starboard side had either been knocked into the ocean or trapped under the mast, firmly dividing it's midsection in half, so they were fairly defenseless if they anyone attacked them away from the port side. The pantry had, thankfully remained unharmed, but Thad had reasoned that they had 3 weeks left of food and water at most and there was no way to get to land.

David had suggested sending people out in lifeboat to get help, but that idea had quickly been shot down when they realized they had no way of knowing the exact right direction the help would be in.

So sunset had found Blaine sitting on the starboard railing of the ship and looking out at the pink-stained skyline in silence. He was fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt aimlessly and humming an old song when he spotted it.

A ship.

A ship.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Wes! Wesley! Jesus- Captain!"

Wes who had been down in the crew quarters with David stuck his head out of one of the holes in the deck floor. "What is it, Blaine?"

"I- there's- we- Ship!" Blaine was flailing his hands in a very undignified manner and attempting to scramble off the rail without falling overboard. "A ship! There's a ship! SOMEBODY SIGNAL IT!"

In seconds all the crew members were on deck and throwing themselves in around in attempt to find torches to light before the sun went down. Thad, apparently being the only one left with any sense or logic was at Blaine's side leaning against the rail in seconds with a scope and checking the colors the ship was flying.

When he went pale it was easily visible. "Bloody Hell." He backed up and pressed the scope into Blaine's hands.

"What's wrong?"

Thad looked like he'd seen a ghost. "That's The Hudmmel."

Blaine stared at him. "I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like a bad escapist novel."

But Thad was already running into the middle of the deck, leaping up onto the horizontally lying mast and screaming, "Don't light the torches! We've got pirates!"

A series of gasps and sharp whispering ran through the crew and Blaine felt his blood run cold. Hesitantly he raised the scope to his eye and scanned the well-cut triangle flapping in the wind on top of the ship. In the dying remnants of the sun he could faintly make out a skull and crossbones in stitched onto black fabric with what seemed to be tasteful silver and gold and his eyebrows shot up.

"As terrifying as this is," he muttered to nobody in particular, "is anybody else wondering why The Hudmmel's flag is glittering?

The panicking crew, of course, ignored him and in seconds David was at his side, yelling at him once again to get below deck.

Before he could protest he being pushed (for the second time in two nights) into the Captain's Quarters, this time through the large hole in the ceiling instead of the door.

"I feel like this counts as useless," muttered Blaine as David leaped down after him. "If we get boarded wont they check here anyways?"

David gave me a disbelieving look. "Blaine, no. Just stay put, okay? We're not letting them down here. You're the most important person on this ship." Before Blaine could protest he held up his hands. "Politically speaking, alright. Nobody is letting them get down here. Besides, I'm not sure what help you would be up there. You're not particularly good with swords or pistols or- actually is there a weapon you are good with?"

Blaine glared at him. "Fine, I'll stay here. At least I don't have to deal with Pavarotti this time."

"Squawk! Pavarotti!"

Blaine's banged his head against the wooden wall.

And then there was cursing and nervous yelps from up on deck. "She's turning this way!"

Blaine turned to stare at David. "There is no way they won't just jump through the hole in the ceiling."

"We could put you in the brig again?"

"I feel like I should say that I hate you, but since we're all about to die and I don't think I want my last words to be unoriginal I'm going to go with, 'Look a distraction!'"

"Really, Blaine?" Before David could even finish rolling his eyes Blaine was on the fallen mast and climbing up to the surface of the deck. "Damn it, Anderson! Get back here!"

But Blaine was already on deck begging Thad for a sword.

"I'm not sure about this, Blaine…"

"I have to be able to fight back somehow!"

Thad looked conflicted for a moment before sighing and running a hand through his dark hair. "If you die, I will absolutely kill you."

"Yes!" Blaine grinned winningly at him. "Thanks, Thad. Where-"

"In the brig. We moved all the spares down there this afternoon."

Blaine frowned and rubbed at his still aching back. "I hate the brig."

"Of course you do."

By the time The Hudmmel had reached a disturbingly close distance night had fallen. The faint moonlight cast an eerie glow across the destroyed deck of The Warbler, where the armed crew members stood, quiet and waiting, clutching their weapons. Blaine (after much debate) had ended up standing with David and Wes on either side of him, kept in the middle, because it would be easier to protect him if they could see him. Pavarotti was perched on Wes' shoulder again and even he was silently waiting for the doom he seemed to know was coming to him. All three boys had swords drawn and Wes had his father's gavel tucked firmly into his belt ("for administering justice," he had explained, "but painful, and with a lot of blood") where his compass usually went.

"Hey, Wes," David muttered quietly.

"Y-Yes?"

"I just wanted you to know that regardless of what happens today, you were a great Captain."

Wes looked like he was going to cry. Blaine realized that his lack of desire to roll his eyes was a testament to the severity of the situation.

A loud uncertain voice broke through the night. "If anyone is alive on that ship we're invading now, so don't put up a fight and your lives will be spared and- stuff!"

"Oh, honestly, Finn! It's time like this where I'm glad I have no real relation to you." The second voice was higher-pitched and irritated. "We should have just let Rachel do the introduction this time!"

Wes raised his eyebrows and Thad looked back at him and mouthed, 'Don't surrender.' He nodded weakly.

"Boys, stop talking!" A new louder voice cut through and Blaine shared and uneasy glance with Wes. "This is Captain Burt Hummel, and you will surrender now or I will run everyone of you through with my sword."

A shiver ran through the crew of The Warbler. Wes looked like he was trying to gather the courage to respond and then, "Dad, that was really tasteless. Nobody is going to give in to it. Whatever. Let's go!" and suddenly The Hudmmel had drawn up right along the starboard side of the Warbler and of course it had, because the functional canons were on the other side and why on Earth would anything be convenient for Blaine?

"Let's go! Squawk!"

"Wes, I'm going to die and I still hate your bird."

The Hudmmel in all its unthreateningly named glory was actually rather ununthreateningly built. Its hull came up a good ten feet higher that The Warblers and it's faintly green tinged wood was carved with details of skeletons, sea monsters and what looked like Poseidon. The tall black sails stretched imposingly towards the sky and- Okay, wow. Who was that guy?

Standing perched on the railing with a rope was a delicate looking, lithe boy a wearing clean white shirt, tight brown trousers and a laced up pair of boots. He had an intricately carved sword in one hand and the other was holding tightly to a rope. His hair was brown and soft looking and- Christ, where was all of this coming from? Blaine was about to die here.

It took him a few seconds to realize that there were about eight other people lined up with him on the rail holding ropes of their own, but by then the boy was screaming (and wow, that must have been his annoyed voice earlier, because just wow), "Charge!" and the pirates were swinging down onto the deck and Blaine had barely enough time to swing up his sword and block before an Asian girl had landed in front of him and brought her blade down sharply.

Blaine screeched in an undignified manner and shot backwards, spinning his sword around his head and bringing it back down to face her.

She raised her eyebrows at him like, 'Seriously?' and walked away turning her sword on Thad, who had just knocked back a dark-skinned girl with a pistol in one hand and a blade in the other.

Blaine blinked. "Fine," he huffed, before wheeling around and finding himself face to face with the boy from earlier. "Oh my God!"

"Hi." The boy grinned at him and waved his sword tauntingly. His eyes were a bright blue color. "I'm new here. Could you tell me where the real fighters are?"

Blaine yelped and jumped backwards, swinging his sword down sloppily, but the boy knocked it away easily and rolled his eyes.

"You're kind of terrible at this." He swung his sword sharply and Blaine dropped to the ground just in time to avoid being sliced in half. "If I wasn't about to kill you I would probably give you dance lessons, because this is pathetic."

Before Blaine had time to mull that one over in his mind (because there was seriously a lot of What? going on here) the boy had him pinned to the ground with a hand securing his neck and the sword pointed at his face. His knee was on Blaine's chest holding him down so that his struggling did nothing.

"Damn it!"

"You'd be surprised how often I hear that."

"HEY!" Wes' voice sliced through the air and the noises of the battle surrounding them. "Stop! Get off him! We surrender!" Blaine's eyes flew to where he stood at the top of the mast. He was holding back a bizarrely tall dark-haired boy with his sword, but his gaze was locked firmly on Blaine who could feel dread sinking into his chest. "Please! We'll back down just- just don't kill him."

Out of the corner of his eye Blaine saw Thad hang his head as he sighed. The member of The Warbler all dropped their weapons and raised their hands in defeat. Nick was supporting Jeff who was bleeding heavily from his left side, but was thankfully still alive.

The boy above him raised a curious eyebrow, but got off Blaine regardless and pulled him roughly to his feet, studying him curiously. "I assume you're somebody special then?"

"Squawk!" Pavarotti landed on the boys shoulder and nudged his head with his beak. "You're somebody special!"

The boy looked surprised, but stroked the bird's feathers with one hand, still holding Blaine in place.

"Traitor," muttered Blaine irritably.

The boy grinned at him. "You know, I think I like you."

Blaine blinked at him. "You were going to kill me."

"So imagine how well this would be going if I hated you."

Blaine gulped as the boy lead him down onto the main deck stepping gracefully over the gaps in it.

The Warbler was, if possible, even more doomed than it had been this morning.