"And, and?"

Franky groaned, putting her elbows on the deck of the pirate ship, nestling her face in her hands. Dean leaned against the side, tapping his foot on the wooden planks in a hyper rhythm. "And I kicked him off. It's our ship."

"How though? You're the worst at confrontation."

"Am not."

"Are too."

Franky untucked one arm and swiped at Dean's leg. He laughed and easily dodged, slamming his leg down where her hand was and pinning it to the deck floor. "Ow," Franky complained, but it didn't really hurt or anything and Dean knew it so he just laughed at her again.

"Got him off, didn't I, don't matter how I did it," Franky whined, trying to balance her cheek on the hand she still had access too.

"Did you push him off into the treacherous waters like the scallywag he was?" Dean growled, hooking his finger and bouncing it along in the air.

"He was, like, 6. I didn't do it like that."

"Such a softie," Dean mused, shaking his head.

"Just cuz we're bigger don't mean we can be bullies like all the others."

For the first time since jumping on deck, Dean bristled, the implication that he was a bully making him angry. He stood, releasing Franky, and reached down to help her to her feet. Franky took his offered hand and stood with him. Dean threw out his hands, eyes wide and wild. "Look at our sea!"

Franky looked out past the walls of their tiny boat, to the see of playground sand beyond, the swings and slides a distance off, their little ship off to the side and often ignored by other children. Dean's eyes turned back, looking feverish, and his grin widened. "You don't really think we're bullies for keeping what's ours."

Franky shrugged. The playground wasn't theirs alone, the ship wasn't theirs, not really. As foster kids, nothing was theirs, and it was something she'd come to accept. Dean's smile faded slightly and he grabbed her arm, pulling Franky along with him to the other side of the boat. "See?" The letters F and D were scratched into the wood, product of a pen knife and Franky's rather impressive whittling skills.

"It's ours because we're the only ones who appreciate it, the ones who come here every day. Fuck the other kids!"

Franky's nose wrinkled at the swear but she smiled a little. Dean was right. They were almost always the only kids on the ship, the little lone dingy ignored for the more modern playground structures. It's why they liked it. It was neglected, abandoned, like them, so they'd taken it.

"So don't feel bad for pushing some kid off our boat. It's ours."