Never Shall We Die

by Tresdem

After murdering his father, 13-year-old Edward Teach has nowhere to go but the life of a pirate on the open seas. Working under Captain Benjamin Hornigold is never easy. It can be bloody and brutal, but also fun and daring with adventure and freedom, wild joy and crushing despair, friends and enemies. Told through four chapters of his life at 13, 15, 17 and 19.

13. At Childhood's End

"Holy fuck that's a big ship," Ed breathes as he clings arms and legs to the uppermost spar of the Walrus, peering through the scope across the water. She's still coming and they've got an hour or so before she's in range, but she's large- larger than the Princess Anne even!- And heavy and bristling with cannon, black hulled and white sailed and proud.

"Leviathan," Ed says, letting the name roll off his tongue, excitement flickering through his chest. This can work. This can almost work. It'd be better if she were on her own because she's a big ship and while the bay is deep enough for her, she won't turn easy- built for the open waves and the wild seas, she is. He has the strange want to be on her, to trod her decks and climb her masts, but not in chains or going to a noose.

It's her sister ships that are the problem, two of them and small enough so that they're almost her daughter ships. Anna and Marie he thinks. Marie is a little on the bigger side, somewhere between the Ranger and the Walrus, but Anna is small and sleek and quick- not enough fire power, but it won't matter. The Leviathan is smart. She'll send her daughters before her into the bay if he has to guess and keep the best position out in the sea making it difficult to scuttle her.

Not enough men and fire power on the Dorter to make an effective attack he doesn't think, though most of the Navy Men are there and Siren or two and… Ed grins, a Walrus in Job Anderson. Maybe they can set him against her. Ha.

The Ranger is at least is defended by the Dorter's bulk, but it limits in what she can do. She can probably maneuver just as well as the Marie and Hornigold knows these waters, but there's no way she can move out from behind the Dorter without getting her ass shot out of the water.

Ed lowers the scope and pressest it closed against his chin, holding it there in thought. The wind is with them at least, strong and blowing seaward, it'll slow the Leviathan and her daughters down, but not slow enough to matter. And the Leviathan will probably sit crosswise not far from the headwaters of the bay to block in the Dorter and the Ranger and the wind will go from her starboard to her port. That'll make her a good target for the Walrus and the Siren to blast her open fore and aft but as soon as she's attacked, the Anna and Marie will try and scuttle the Ranger and the Dorter too if they've caught on by then.

"Seems bleak," says Griff who is on the main royal spar right at his ankle.

Ed shrugs.

"It's not that bleak." It could be bleaker. They could all be trapped in the fucking bay.

"Captain will be wanting an idea soon," says Griff with a sigh. "He's looking like he wants to pace."

"He'd better fucking not." Ed didn't practically wear his voice out for Flint to fucking worry everyone again. "And why doesn't he ever have any fucking ideas of his own?"

"A big fish doesn't have to think as much as a small one," says Griff. "I don't think he expected the situation to get this out of hand."

"The big fish is going to get fucking harpooned if he's not careful."

But ideas…

…ideas…

Ed thinks. The wind brushes over him and tugs at his hair and shredded clothes and tickling at the earring a little which still hurts a little even though Griff had doused it in alcohol last night making Ed want to claw up the walls. The wind also sweeps cool across his cheek and he almost wants to trace the cut that Dirk had left him, but there's no time to think about him. He has to come up with an idea that will save all their asses.

"We might have to go early," Ed says. "Surprise attack, take the Anna and Marie out first-"

"The who?"

Ed hands the scope down. "Bigger one Marie, smaller one Anna."

"Hm." Griff looks through the scope, then sighs. "I see where your mind is, but it's going to put us right in front of herself and she won't be happy," he says with a nod to the Leviathan.

"Yeah, well hopefully Jack can see what's going on and haul ass to help." Not that the Dorter will be able to maneuver very fast and the Ranger will have to either get out of her way, exposing herself or risk making the Dorter slower as she turns. "I wish there was a way to tell him."

If Jack is prepared at least he might have an easier time getting a head start.

"I can do that," says Griff, handing back the scope.

"Huh?"

"If you've more than one ship, communication is important." Griff grips the spar with one hand and digs in his shirt with the other until he produces a small mirror. "We have a code and Tadpoole is on the Dorter so he'll be able to read it well enough."

"Oh cool!"

"Isn't it just?" says Griff with a faint grin. "Tell him we're clearing out early and be prepared to go?"

"Yeah."

Griff hesitates and looks at the mirror, then down at the deck. "Suppose I should tell Captain first, but sod it, I'm not going up and down this bloody thing. Getting too old for being so high."

He flickers the mirror, short bursts with long pauses that could just be something shining off the mast of the ship. Very damn cool.

After a moment, the Dorter flickers back and Griff sighs.

"Dorter says no it's a stupid idea."

"Fuck him. Call him a dumbass."

Griff gives him a flat tired expression.

"Please, lad. Pack it in for a second, would you?"

Fine. Ed grumbles under his breath and presses his unbroken cheek against the masthead.

"Well ask him if he has any fucking better ideas then."
Griff flashes. A pause and then:

"All ships strike the colors if you can. White flag if you can't. Come out slow."

"Huh. Fucking good idea." And not really that hard to do even if Flint doesn't have a spare Navy Man flag lying around.

"Hold," Griff says. Another, longer moment. The wind blows. The lines creak. In the distance he can see the Leviathan and her daughters getting slowly larger as they draw near.

"Ranger: Dorter will go to meet the enemy head on. Ranger will stay."

"Yeah, okay." That makes sense. The Anna and Marie will come in and investigate -and may decide to attack the Dorter but they'd have to hit her head on, which will make her difficult to hit and if the daughters do slip on either side to broadside the Dorter, they'll be in range of the Ranger's cannons plus whatever cannon Jack can afford to man.

It's dangerous as fuck but he's not going to worry about Jack right now because it's probably the best option. He spots another twinkling then just beyond the treetops on the other side of the island and nudges Griff.

"Do you see that? Is it the Siren?"

"Oh… Aye. Give me a moment. Telling them to repeat." Griff flicks the mirror twice like a heartbeat. After a second the flashes come again:

"There are a lot of Navy men, question mark."

Ed thinks. Of course there are a fucking lot of Navy Men. But as he thinks further he realizes what that could also mean. There are a lot of fucking Navy Men right fucking among them. Two here, six on the Dorter, Five on the Siren. Not many but enough.

Damn.

Though it does give him a thought.

"Tell them to hold, then tell the Dorter what they said and tell them to hold. Let me know when you're done."

Ed wants to follow the flashes, just to see if he can learn the code, but he can't be distracted now. He thinks about what he's going to do and how he's going to do it, how they're all going to do it, it can't be just him deciding everything, because it's so big and he's starting to feel a little lost in it himself.

"Done," says Griff.

"Tell them…" Ed hesitates, then steels himself and goes on. "Tell them: Get rid of the Navy Men, question mark."

Griff looks at him: "Lad…"

"I know…" Ed shifts to stand on the spar, preparing to go down. "We need the men, but we can't trust them. We can't. Even a single one against us could fuck the whole thing up."

"I'll relay it," Griff says with a sigh. The Dorter asks for a repeat and Griff does. Another moment which seems to last for a fucking year.

"Ranger and Dorter say aye, but done quietly."

"Siren?"

"Aye. Then, belay until signal, question mark."

Ed's not sure about that. Would a signal really make a difference one way or the other? He shrugs.

"Ask the Ranger."

"Aye." A beat. "Ranger says aye. Belay until signal." And then a huff of a laugh after the Dorter flashes another set of signals "Ranger: Ask Flint first, Ed."

Ed laughs.

"I will." He has to anyway. Flint can do one fucking thing on his own fucking ship and taking care of the Navy Men shouldn't be that hard.

And then, thinking of the Navy Men and all their ships, he gets another idea.

"Tell them to hold and you won't be able to talk for a few minutes." He points at the mirror. "I need to borrow that."

"Is there any point to asking what you're up to?"

"I'll tell you later. No time now."

Griff shakes his head, smile still at the corner of his mouth and does. There's one flash from the Dorter, one from the Siren.

"Acknowledged. Here. But go softly."

"Yup."

Ed takes the mirror and slips it in his belt, then climbs down the rigging to cross to the quarterdeck where Flint looks like he wants to peel himself out of his skin. There's no time to tell him either, really, no time to explain much- or actually no time to fucking argue- but when Flint looks at him, a mark of desperation in his blue eyes, Ed hopes it's going to be less of a pain in the ass than usual.

But he's conscious of Mack Bullard watching him too, and close enough to hear if he's a keen ear for all that he's on the main deck. But having Flint leave the railing will be suspicious so Ed turns his back to it and sits on it, legs dangling over the quarterdeck side, but doesn't bother to lower his voice.

"Hornigold agrees with your idea that we should strike the colors, raise the white flag, Navy one if we have it. We'll go like friends. Right?"

"Aye… aye that- I said it was a sound idea.

"Cool." Ed looks over his shoulder and raises his head as if he's just noticed Mack Bullard lurking. "Hey, and now we can do the other part of your plan," Ed says.

"Other– other part?"

Ed ignores him and moves down the stairs.

"Hi, Mr. Bullard," Ed says. "You Navy guys signal right? Using this?" and he pulls out the mirror. Mack Bullard seems surprised to be talked to, looking between Ed and Flint before finally nodding. "What's the signal for 'all is well'?"

"Simple one. Boy like you should know it," says Mack Bullard. "Give it here."

Ed hands him the mirror and watches him turn the mirror. A full flash of the mirror, held a moment, a short flicker, another full flash, and another short flicker.

"Can you do it again?" Ed asks, just to make sure that's it. Bullard nods and does.

"Hey, thanks, mate-" Shit. "Sir."

Mack Bullard shakes his head. "No, I was a little hard on you earlier. I actually think you're a good sort. Not a bad lad at all." He hands the mirror back and ruffles Ed's hair and for once Ed doesn't mind so much- if only because the man is so very wrong and so very fucked.

"Thanks," Ed says and even means it a little. Then he turns down the deck and glances to where the broken fingered Navy Man is. He is standing with his arms folded in front of the crew's cabin along with a nervous looking Pew and Black Dog on the fo'c'sle.

Ed rolls his eyes. Dirk is such a pain.

"Hello, little man," says the broken fingered Navy Man with a leer. Pew goes sheet white and starts to edge away and Black Dog pretends to be interested in the rigging.

"Hey, dickhead," Ed says. "I'm Ed, sorry about your fingers." He isn't. "What's your name?"

"Derrick Hof–"

"Derrick. Cool. Hey, Derrick, the navy does signals right?"

The man jerks his head back as if caught up short and then clears his throat and nods.

"Of course we do."

"All is well goes something like this, doesn't it?" And he does two flashes and a short flicker.

"Not even close." The broken fingered Navy Man snickers. "I'll tell you how it goes…for a price…"

"A price?" Ed swallows like he's afraid but determined. "Yeah… okay… Whatever you want, mate"

"Fuck…Shit…" Pew says, moving further to the side, not that there's much further to go blocked in as he is by the fo'c'sle stairs. He rams his narrow shoulders in the corner and hugs himself as if he doesn't want to be seen.

"Freak," says the broken fingered Navy Man in Pew's direction. Then to Ed. "It's flash and flicker and flash and flicker."

"What… like…like this?" And he does what Mack Bullard taught him.

"Just like that."

Damn. Oh well. Ed feels a momentary sting of regret, wishing Mack Bullard had lied to him, but brushes that aside. Even if the Leviathan isn't entirely fooled by the flags, she may be pulled up even a little short by 'all is well'.

The broken fingered Navy Man licks his cracked lips and reaches for Ed with his good hand.

"Now your turn.

"Nah." Ed slips the man's knife from his belt and stabs his hand to the door down to the hilt, listening to him scream and making everyone start. "I'm a pirate, mate. Can't trust navy men," he says loudly, even as he feels half the attention of the deck is on him. Good. Let them look. Let them listen to every fucking word.

"I told you! I told you!" Pew is squealing in the corner. Ed tucks the mirror into his belt, cuts back across the deck and to the rigging for the main mast, calling to Flint:

"Hey, Captain Flint, you were right not to trust Mack! He lied! Derrick said so." He feels kind of bad about it, especially with the look of terror crossing Mack Bullard's face. But just because the man told the truth about the mirror signal doesn't mean he wasn't lying about other things- and anyway there isn't fucking time to trust Navy Men. It's Flint's fault for bringing them aboard and the Navy Men's fault for betraying their own to become fucking pirates.

"Now listen here!" Mack Bullard says, but whatever he's intending to say next is cut off with his own harsh cry. Ed leaves the brief violent scuffle below him as he climbs back up to the main royal and Griff gives him a look.

"I assume it's time to send the signal?"

"Yep. Also this." He shows Griff the flash, flicker, flash, flicker. "May be Navy Man for 'all is well'. Can you tell them?"

"Aye. And by God's blood and bones, may it end up that way."

xxxxx

Ed skids across the water slick deck, throwing himself down, arms wrapped around the powder keg which, as a cannon ball whistles overhead, missing the mast by a hair but smashing off the starboard railing and a good chunk of deck with it. The port gunwhale is an absolute disaster, ripped straight through and they'd lost three cannons to the sea, and the only thing left is the 16 pounder on deck, which isn't going to do much of shit except maybe clear the way so they can get closer.

The Leviathan is a fucking beast in the sea, but even worse up close. She's like a living thing, black sides heaving, firing shot after shot at the Dorter to keep her from getting close.

The Marie isa mess of belching smoke and fire in the bay, foundering, and even from here in the chaos he can see men throwing themselves in the sea to be picked off by pistol fire from the Ranger's deck. The Dorter itself lost the top three fifths of the aft mast which had snapped off and crashed into the sea from the Marie's blast as the Navy ship fired on them right away, without even stopping despite all their tricks and even the 'all is well', which meant they either didn't believe the signal or it had been fucking wrong. Or maybe because this would have been the third fucking time they'd tried to trick the Navy in the same damn way

Ed should have remembered that. He should have thought of something better..

Fortunately, before the Dorter had gotten too fucked, a well placed shot from the Ranger had buried right into the Marie's starboard cannon port and had blown the whole thing apart, deck splitting open like teeth, fire blazing, thick black smoke choking the air.

The Dorter sailed gamely on, madly on, toward the Leviathan. Ed doesn't know fucking why other than that Jack's a lunatic and Ed's heart thunders with the thrill of it while also twists with him worrying about what the fuck is going to happen to Jack if one of those fucking balls hit him dead on.

Though there's hardly any time to worry about it as they are being harried by the Anna, she's so much smaller and able to swoop up to the Walrus broadside, peppering her with cannon fire, ripping up her decks and splintering into her hull.

Ed scrambles to his feet when the volley clears and charges over to Black Dog who, of all things, is a damn competent gunner. Not as good as Long Bob because who the fuck is, but even better than Aconi. And there he stands mostly unprotected by the small cannon. This is their last shot, soon they'll be up snug with the Leviathan, too close a range to be shot and at this angle they'd be lucky if the bigger ship didn't scrape the Walrus' keel off. But even though the Leviathan couldn't shoot them, her daughter could and would unless they did something about it.

Where the fuck is the Siren?!

"You've got it?" Black Dog calls as Ed races up, then: "Watch out!"

Ed catches the glint of the rifle being raised and flings himself down again, knees bruising on the deck as the shot snaps into the wall of the fo'c'sle behind him right by the corpse of the broken fingered Navy Man who is slumped against the door held up by his hand, body already riddled with shards of wood. Ed ignores it as best he can and trips up the fo'c'sle stairs, yanking the cork out of the keg as he goes.

"Volley incoming!" cries a Siren hanging off the rigging. "Look-" but whatever he's about to say is stopped by the snap of a rifle and the ball going right through him, sending him toppling into the sea. The range and accuracy of that fucking thing.

"Hurry, let's get her in!" Black Dog says, hauling the cannon muzzle upward so Ed can dump powder down its hungry throat. If he's shot now he's fucked, he thinks, cutting the laugh behind his teeth. They're all fucked. They'll go up in a blaze. But he's not shot, thank fuck, and as soon as the powder is done he slips to grab the ramrod as Pew dumps scattershot down the cannon after the powder. Mostly all the fucking cutlery on the ship and bits of broken metal and anything that'll fit in and not make the cannon itself explode. Ed rams it down with all his strength, feeling something whisper past his ear but deciding he doesn't care.

"Alright let's give it our last shot," Black Dog snarls, turning the cannon toward the Marie's bow where the Navy Man holding the impressive fucking rifle is taking aim. Pew lights the wick and Black Dog steps back, screaming: "Eat shit, fuckers!"

The cannon roars, the deck trembles, Anna men fall as the metal shreds them in their sails and some poor fucker gets a fork in the eye. The rifle man is down too but only just, his leg is now striped with red, thick with red, his face blood streaked too, but his eyes seem full of determination-

Then Pew whoops, loud and joyful and the rifle man startles, looking over his shoulder. Ed looks too and laughs. Here comes the Siren, skipping over the waves toward them, close. She'd come around the other side of the island, following their track. Ed isn't sure who made that decision but it feels clever as fuck now and he loves her, god he does, with her white sails and brown trim and Siren flag- Siren flag only, flapping from her mast. The Anna men cry and scramble, the Walrus assault temporarily forgotten because the Siren has caught the wind and the current and is coming in fast, heaving to just out of the range of the Leviathan's cannons, her starboard rising alarmingly high out of the water before settling back down to absolutely ream the Anna with a lace of cannon fire on the diagonal punching holes in her deck and cracking her foremast which starts to list toward them- fuck it's going to go right over the foc's'le.

"Move!" Ed bellows and he runs with with Pew and Black Dog. He slips again on the blood slick deck and nearly crashes head long down the stairs but Black Dog grabs his arm and they manage to charge down before the foremast slams into the ship with an echoing boom, wood splinters flying everywhere, lines snapping under the weight. The tip of it crashes through the railing of the Leviathan. Men are scattered on the Anna's deck bleeding.

Three dinghies come around from the Siren's aft, small in the deep choppy water, frothed from battle and blood, the men in them so fucking vulnerable down there. Ed holds his breath until grappling hooks appear over the Anna's side and some on the Walrus too and Ed looks down at the railing, grinning to see Feliciano and Roy Kimberly and Aconi and a couple Sirens he doesn't know.

"Apologies to be late, it was thought better to make an entrance," says Feliciano, though he doesn't quite look like he means it and Aconi has a dull annoyed expression. Roy Kimberly grunts and glowers at the two Sirens while adjusting his brass knuckles and they look just as irritated back at him. Something happened, but Ed doesn't care, he's suddenly fucking enjoying himself.

"Stop standing there like fucking ducks waiting to get shot," Aconi says and just as he speaks a ball buries itself into the deck by their feet from the Leviathan. They're not going to get much accuracy at this range, but Ed doesn't want to risk it. He pulls away with Black Dog and Pew moving even further, scrambling to get in between the mast and the guns of the Leviathan.

"Get ready to board, men!" says a Walrus named Harper from somewhere behind him. He's the quartermaster now given he'd strangled Mack Bullard with his own whip which he wears at his side. Ed hadn't seen it the attack and is glad he hadn't, but doesn't really give a fuck either. Mack is…was a Navy Man on a pirate ship. What the fuck did he think was going to happen?

Ed keeps an eye on the Leviathan and is grateful as more grappling hooks go up from the Walrus side and some guys start to climb the Anna's fallen mast to surprise her that way, cries and roars of determination and rage of the Walrus men mix with the cries and shrieks of the Anna's men being slaughtered by some of the Siren crew who are cold and methodical and splashed with blood.

The Anna would be a good ship for Jack to take, Ed thinks. Then curses and as another bullet snips the deck a few inches from him from the Leviathan and moves to stand resolutely in front of the sea side grappling hooks, back to them so that he can glower at the big black ship and spot any other fuckers aiming down at them.

If anyone wants to shoot his crew, they have to go through him. And they better hope they kill him, because he won't forgive it. It doesn't take him long to see the Navy Man with the flintlock taking careful aim from the Leviathan's deck and sucks in a breath- only to let it out again as he falls with an ax buried in his chest.

There is a tromp of boots behind him and he turns and tries not to smile as Feliciano hits the deck and Aconi and even Roy Kimberly who is cracking his knuckles. Roy nods at him briefly.

"Let's fuck 'em up," he says before scrambling up the fallen mast himself, fast as a rat.

"Take this," Aconi says, giving Ed two pistols from the four on his own belt. "Use them well." And then to both of them. "Don't die."

"And this as well," Feliciano says, handing him a long knife sheathed. "Your arm will not be used to the cutlass but it is training."

"Do you want your knife back?"

"No. Use both, now… let us fight…" He puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the black side of the Walrus. On deck there are already shouts and yells and screams and shrieking metal and pistol fire. "And after this I shall rest for a year."

"You can stay," Ed says, remembering the way Feliciano's leg had gone, the slide of Davenport's cutlass across his throat. "You can hide here and-"

"Together, hm?" says Feliciano, touching Ed's hair briefly. "Venha."

Ed venhas, hauling himself hand over hand up the line, trying to keep a careful eye on Feliciano. But maybe it's too much attention because he doesn't notice the Leviathan man looming over him until he's nearly stabbed in the face and only dropping a few inches with the rope searing his palms keeps him from losing an eye.

"Woah, shit!"

"Edward," Feliciano snaps. "Look!"

"Sorry!"

The Leviathan man scowls and then Aconi shears his head off at the neck, sending it falling to the Walrus and letting a fountain of blood that somehow arcs over Ed's head, thank fuck.

"Hurry up," Aconi snaps, kicking the corpse out of the way. Ed swallows back and climbs back up- emerging into a new world. There are men fighting and bleeding and dying all over the deck. It's not his first raid or even his hundredth, but it's a huge fucking deck and it's clear they're fucking outnumbered, even with most of the remaining Walrus crew onboard.

It'll be a little better when the Sirens come too, Ed thinks, then has to stop thinking as a large man with a huge notched cutlass comes straight for his face. Ed yelps and dances back, pulling the first thing out of his belt he can find which happens to be the butt of a flintlock. In a panicked second he cocks the hammer and pulls the trigger. The gun roars and bucks in his hand and the man staggers back and falls to the deck, tripping over the body of his mate and before Ed can check to see if he's dead or not there's a rise of cries from the starboard side. The Navy Men are pointing and cursing and the Dorter's masts are really fucking close.

"Holy fuck he's going to ram it!" Ed says with a laugh. That fucking lunatic!

"Let's clear a path!" Aconi says.

"Clear a path for the Dorter men!" Harper echoes and Ed rushes across deck with the others, throwing his spent pistol at a Navy Man's head as he turns toward him and then drawing the long knife. It's strange and heavier than the knife he usually uses but it's not difficult to hack and slash anyone that comes near him. He cuts at fingers and hands accidentally buries the knife into the meat of a man's arm, feeling bone and then can't get it out but fortunately Roy Kimberly jumps up from out of nowhere, grabs the man's face in both hands and snaps his neck with a quick movement.

"Thanks, mate," Ed says.

"Fucking welcome."

"Brace yourselves!" someone bellows and Ed is not sure how to fucking do that except stay the fuck away from the starboard side. The crash is loud as fuck, cracking and full of flying wood, it's hard enough to knock him back on his ass as the Leviathan lurches, sending nearly everyone skidding across the deck and practically onto the Walrus. Swords and guns and weapons go sliding and Ed grabs a couple more pistols as they go by him, hoping they're primed. It's a pretty fucking fantastic wreck and the bow spirit of the Dorter has splintered right up through the deck.

More grappling hooks sling onto the railing and then Jack arrives, coming to stand on the railing, shirtless with his open coat picked up by the wind and wearing a broad brimmed hat with a feather in it.

"Yipee-kai-yai-ye, motherfuckers," Jack says, pulling two flintlocks from his belt and twirling them. "Jack Rackham has arrived." And he shoots two Navy Men, somehow missing both, but it's still the coolest fucking thing Ed has ever seen. One of the Navy Men lift their own flintlock to shoot Jack in return but Aconi blows his brains all over the deck.

"Get down from there, jackass," Aconi says and it isn't fair at all –but with that the fight continues, boiling up even more savage than before.

Ed rushes back to starboard to help clear the path for the other Dorter men who are arriving. There are some Sirens there too but not many, though the only one he cares about anyway is Toad, well, Tadpoole as he emerges and a brawny Navy Guy comes at him with a weighted club.

Ed jumps at the guy, stabbing him in the back and remembering at the last moment to avoid the spine so he won't get the fucking knife stuck again. The man howls and tries to turn and Ed stumbles along with him since he doesn't want to lose the blade he just got. Tadpoole cuts the man's throat in one swift movement and hops on the deck.

"Thank you, Teach," he says.

"Yeah no problem, Tadpoole," Ed says and a faint smile lifts the man's broad mouth but then it goes back to solemn and he pulls two flintlocks from his bandolier to shoot two men down.

Ed makes his way to Jack who has his own cutlass now which is stupidly unfair as he can't even use it. He's just flailing about like a panicked chicken against a guy clearly better and Ed stabs the man in the thigh, avoiding the downslash and turning the man's wrist and arm with both hands until it breaks and he gurgles in pain.

"I coulda done that!" Jack snaps.

"Well you didn't." Ed snaps back, and then because he doesn't want to fight. "You were pretty cool up there."

"Course I fuckin' was. Do you think I'm an amateur? I'm a motherfuckin' badass!" He puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back. "Admit I'm better than you!"

Just in time Ed spots the navy man coming at them with a long knife. He takes one of the pistols and fires it point blank just as the man is on the upswing, sending him falling back.

"Fuck you! I coulda done that too!"

"Then fucking do it!" Ed snaps.

"You're mad cuz I'm better than you! Admit it! You're just fucking jealous!"

God, what is his fucking problem? Ed throws the pistol and then draws his long knife and Feliciano's short one to cut the men down as they come toward the starboard railing as more people than Jack have to get aboard and the Navy Man are making short work of the Dorter side grapples.

One Navy Man cuts a grapple line almost all the way through and Ed shoots him away with his one remaining pistol before grabbing the rope in both hands and finding he's staring down at Job Anderson.

"Oh fuck me," He mutters wrapping the rope around his fist.

"Ha-have I ever told you how clean and presentable you look?"

"Shut up and climb, motherfucker!" There's still enough of the rope left so he's not holding all the weight, but it's fraying rapidly- The moment Job Anderson starts climbing the frayed rope gives, fibers slashing at the insides of his wrist and sending Ed staggering and tripping toward the railing Job Anderson shrieks as he drops.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Ed snarls.

Strong arms come around him and Ed has no hands left to stab but then dark hands grip the rope and he sighs in relief as Aconi's braids slip over his shoulder.

"Are we sure we want to save him?" Aconi says.

"Yes, please!" Job Anderson cries and Ed rolls his eyes, then suddenly:

"Who is watching your back?"

"Save faster!" Feliciano snaps. Then. "Jack! Stop dancing and stab! Ninguém está observando suas penas!"

Aconi huffs a breath and Ed almost kind of agrees with them as they pull Job Anderson to safety and then step back because, God, he smells like he bathed in shit. It's even stronger than the smell of gunpowder and blood and Ed has to press a hand over his nose to keep from gagging.

"Thanks, mates," Job Anderson says. "You won't regret AIIIE!" He screams as he nearly gets cut apart by a Navy Man who misses, then staggers back, hand over his nose, bellowing:

"Christ Almighty!" The Navy Man trips and sprawls as Job Anderson barrels past him, Navy Men and pirates alike springing from his wake, to where Black Dog and Pew and fucking octopus face Dirk are hemmed in by the mizzenmast.

The Navy Man they're facing struggles to get up and remove his pistol from his belt and Ed wrenches the grappling hook from the railing and chucks it at his head which hits hard and he goes down again. Hurrying over Ed grabs the man's pistols of which has three and hands two to Aconi, giving him four.

"Thanks, brother," Aconi says with a wide grin. "Let's go." Then he whirls around where Feliciano is fending off two Navy Men. With a slash, Feliciano spills the first one's guts- leaving his own neck exposed which the second Navy Man takes advantage of only to be shot in the face by Aconi.

Feliciano's leg gives then, listing him to the side and Ed hurries over to grab his arm and haul it around his shoulders, holding him so that they both can get to the railing and lean against it.

" Obrigado, demônio," Feliciano breathes. He looks even better somehow, even with sweat and blood streaking down his face. "My hero."

A strange bubbling laugh comes out of Ed's throat that makes him sound like Gilead Thorpe.

"Fuck off, I am not!"

"I'm a hero too!" Jack says. "Look!" And stabs a Navy Man in the throat. "See?" Then is fortunately fucking paying attention to face the wave of more Navy Men coming toward him- Ed leaves Feliciano to run, slipping and skidding, landing hard on his back and jarring his teeth but is able to slash him across the shin.

The man staggers, nearly on top of him and might have fallen if gorsebush hadn't popped up on the railing and smashed a club upside the man's head sending him crashing onto the deck away from him.

Jack whoops. "There's my boys! Let's get 'em!"

Ed tries to fight a grin. His boys. That's the best thing he's heard Jack say all day. Bonefinger leaps up next, swirling open his long coat to reveal about thirty knives stuffed in his bandolier and in his belt, glittering in the light. Then followed by Braidman who has seven pistols and the Executioner's blunderbuss which Ed sure as fuck hopes he didn't steal. They surround Jack, keeping him safe from the front and Ed clambers to his feet, stealing another couple pistols before coming to Braidman's side and hissing up at him:

"Put your hair up, dumbfuck!" And reaches up to tug the big stupid braid just to make his point. Braidman pouts down at him and Ed gives a harder tug and he sighs.

"Yes, little-"

Ed glares.

"Little… uh Ed…" he says which isn't great but it's better.

"Little Ed, ha! I gotta remember that," Jack says and Ed wants to punch him a little. Instead he shoots at some other fucker coming near Feliciano and throws the spent pistol at the first Navy Man he sees.

There are so fucking many of them and more it seems that come boiling up onto the deck. Where the fuck are the Siren? No, where the fuck is the Siren?!

His heart drops in his stomach as he races to haul himself up the rigging to get a better look, a wider look and he sees her sailing away, and not on a course that will make it easy to loop back either.

"Son of a bitch!"

There are men on the deck of the Walrus too, not many but enough to weigh anchor and let the current carry them out to sea, which is what they're doing and the Leviathan is probably too distracted to bury her with lead balls.

Siren gone, Walrus fucking going.

They're fucked. Fucked fucked fucked!

No. He grits his teeth so hard his head aches.

No, fuck that. They are not fucked.

He fucking refuses to be fucked.

If he can scuttle the Princess he can scuttle the fucking Leviathan. He feels the rigging tremble and sees some man heading up it for him, a knife in his teeth. Ed grabs a pistol from his belt and pulls the trigger hearing nothing but a click. Fucking thing is empty. The Navy Man snickers and then gags as the flintlock hits him right in the fucking mouth, blood spurting between his lips.

Ed slides back down, taking a moment to kick the man in the head and send him tumbling to the sea, then steps on the railing and tries to think.

The Ranger can get close enough to fire but not worth the risk, and if Hornigold hasn't done it by now, he's not going to. But they do have the Dorter still and the Leviathan herself. The Anna is too far away to get to with the Walrus gone but they can probably escape on her.

He hops back to the deck, plunging the long knife between some Navy Guy's ribs before yanking it out and heading toward Feliciano who is looking out with wide eyed horror at the empty sea, the cutlass loose in his grip.

"Hey," Ed nudges him. "Look." And when Feliciano looks at him Ed grins. "I'm here, remember?"

And Feliciano laughs softly.

"It is so."

"Keep the railing clear, okay?"

Feliciano salutes.

"Aye, captain."

And Ed feels like he can fly.

But there's no time to be happy. He scoops up another flintlock or two and makes his way to where Jack is, stopping to shoot some guy who had knifed Tadpoole in the shoulder.

"Okay?" he asks Tadpoole who nods, face pale and grimy.

"They left," he croaks. "Did you-"

"Yeah, I fucking know. We don't need 'em. Cover me."

Tadpoole nods and pulls two more guns from his bandoleer, clearing the way as Ed scurries over bodies to where Jack is. Harper has fallen already- at least Ed is pretty sure it's Harper as there's not much left of his head, and Jack has taken up the whip and is looking down its handle, rubbing a thumb over the handle.

"Hey!" Ed says. "I'm gonna scuttle the Leviathan. Can you get the Dorter?"

"What?" Jack snaps. "No fucking way! I'm gonna scuttle the Leviathan! You're not gonna get credit for this, you little shit! It's mine. Mine."

Even the new kids look uncomfortable at this so Ed doesn't punch Jack in the ribs, takes a breath and nods.

"It's yours. You've got this. I'm counting on you. But take your boys and make sure you hit both magazines, any magazine you can fuckin' find."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Jack snaps and jerks his head. "Come on, boys."

"Aye, captain!" they say in ragged chorus and wet appears in Jack's eyes so that he sniffs and wipes at them with his sleeve.

"I'll get the Dorter," says Tadpoole. "You don't want to trust her deck right now.

"Okay," Ed says. "Thanks. But don't go alone, we're going to need it fucking quick." Maybe even quicker than the Leviathan and the Dorter has two powder magazines too.

"I'll take them." Tadpoole nods to where Black Dog, Pew and the others are- Job Anderson is there too having gotten a sword and being surprisingly kick ass at it.

"Tell Aconi too. He can help get you there." Since they have to move from the fore port to nearer the aft starboard which is a journey in this mess. Tadpoole nods and jogs away. Ed hears a strange crack which makes him start and his heart drop too but then Jack whoops.

"Holy mother! I have got to get me one of these!" And Ed laughs when he sees the whip flash even if the boys have to scramble out of the way of it.

Nearby Feliciano is dancing, keeping the railing clean but straining and Ed winces as the man he's fighting knocks his sword aside and nearly out of his grip. Ed charges up and shoots the man right in the ribs with his last flintlock before the knife can come and slash Feliciano's face open. The Navy Man grunts and falls.

"Tesouro," Feliciano says and Ed laughs again, face red.

"Fuckin' stop it, man! Woah shit!" Because a swordsman has come at him and he stumbles back to get out of the way of the blade. Feliciano moves to help but is stopped by another Navy Man.

It's fine. Ed's got this.

Then the blade flashes close and Ed wonders if he really fucking does have this. Somehow he manages to get out the long knife in time and block it, but he can't brace the fucking thing because of the edge and the Navy Man whips the knife out of his hand to send it spinning through the air.

Fuck.

Ed trips back to avoid getting his eyes taken out and lands on a corpse that has a cutlass right beside it. Ed sweeps up the cutlass and gets to his feet- and right away the man is coming at him, and fuck the cutlass is heavy and the man is strong. Ed has to grip the hilt with both hands and can only just keep away the bastard's sword, even as his own feels like it's going to vibrate right out of his hands. The shrieks of metal ring in his ears and he feels like he can't breathe, can barely think.

He gets lucky when an outflung arm, detached from anyone, makes the Navy Man stumble and Ed takes a few steps back, breathing hard, arms and legs trembling. Around the Navy Man's bulk he can see that Tadpoole has almost reached the Dorter side railing with the others.

Almost.

They're almost done.

They're almost free.

Feliciano cuts down a man in Tadpoole's way and then meets Ed's eyes across the deck and nods.

Ed suddenly feels ten feet tall.

With a blunted growl the Navy Man comes after Ed again cutlass slashing down from the left. In a flash Ed knows what to do. He slaps the man's cutlass with the flat of his blade as hard as he can, knocking it away, then pivots on the ball of his foot to whirl around the man and bury his own cutlass in the notches of the man's spine. A harsh yell rips from the Navy Man's throat and he falls forward.

Ed grins, chest heaving, looking to Feliciano who is standing, sword ready, guarding as Pew slips down the grapple line toward the Dorter. Feliciano is grinning too, wild and open.

"Bravo!" Feliciano calls, punching the air, and laughs. "As expected you are natur-" and then he grunts, breath puffing out, looking down as if surprised. Ed looks too and sees something glinting at Feliciano's chest, the brown leather around it flushing red with dark liquid. Ed laughs a little, nerveless.

What?

Then Feliciano staggers forward, going to one knee, gripping the railing and Dirk looks up from behind him, smirking and holding up his own knife slicked with red.

What?

What?!

Fucking what?!

With a scream, Ed charges Dirk, heart pounding in his ears as he raises the cutlass over his head, ready to cut him apart. The knife drops from Dirk's hands and he launches himself over the railing, but not before three fingers are left behind when Ed's cutlass shears through them then digs sharp into the wood. Ed tries to wrench the sword free, still screaming, wanting to go after Dirk and plunge it in his fucking neck, his back, his side, anywhere he can fucking reach.

"Ed…" says Feliciano softly and it stirs the anger from him, makes it flood away, leaving him cold as he goes to Feliciano's side, helping him sit against the railing.

"It's okay," Ed says, pressing up a hand to cover the wound on Feliciano's chest, feeling the hot blood on his palm and between his fingers. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." There's so much blood and it won't stop.

Why won't it stop.

Feliciano's fingers touch the side of his head, slip cool through his hair.

"Look," Feliciano whispers and his hand slides to Ed's shoulder, resting there lightly, thumb brushing warm against his neck. Ed looks.

Feliciano is smiling faintly, from his lowered eyes and the corners of his mouth where blood is slipping bright red down his chin.

"What?" Ed says. "Wh…what am I looking at?"

Feliciano says nothing.

"Feliciano!" Ed grabs him by the shoulders, hand slipping a little blood against the leather as he shakes him. "Hey, come on, mate! What am I looking at?"

Feliciano's head tilts to the side as if in a question, but he doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't breathe.

And everything is still.

"Feliciano! " he screams. "Feliciano!"

A hand touches his shoulder and he nearly buries his knife into Aconi's leg. The man looks down at him, dark as a cloud, somber as death.

"We need to get ready to go."

"Fuck you!"

"Ed-"

"Fuck you! " He screams, shoving the man aside. Who the fuck cares?! They can go! He's not going! He takes the cutlass and Aconi's pistol and charges into the first group of Navy Men he sees, shooting blindly before slashing into them, feeling the rip of cloth and skin. It's not enough. It will never be enough. The edge in him is hard and razor sharp like a hunger that he can't fill.

Men cry around him, scream, gurgle in their throats as the blade sinks across or into their skin, their bodies. He feels himself get hit in the side and the cool itch of blood but it doesn't hurt and he doesn't care. It doesn't matter. All that matters is this. His feet on the deck, his heart in his ears, his heart screaming in his chest.

At some point the cutlass is flipped from his hands and goes sliding across the deck. Ed pulls out Feliciano's knife… and looks at it. The worn handle, the tired light on the blade.

He can never return this now.

He's vaguely aware of the Navy Man ready to cut him open but it doesn't matter. Let it happen. If it does the darkness will spill out instead of being inside him and he will be free.

Not with anyone in paradise, maybe, but free.

Something cracks through the air and the Navy Man staggers to the side screaming as a line of blood flashes across his temple and over his eyes. Another crack and another man drops and a third. Ed watches dully as he runs his fingers along the flat of the knife, soaking blood along it, not his own.

"Ed! What the fuck are you doin', you dumbass! Move!"

Jack's voice seems weirdly far away or muffled. There are a few more cracks in the air around him.

"What the fuck are you standin'-" And then Jack is in front of him, glaring down at him through the shadow of his hat. Then his expression changes and Ed wonders if he has blood on his face again. It would be fresh blood because it's warm and wet and tastes of salt and won't stop.

"Ah fuck-" Jack says. Then grips Ed's shoulder in one hand. His hand is big. Bigger than Ed's. He can see the rise of Jack's knuckles and the set of his shoulders and neck and the line of his jaw. A man. Tall and strong.

But not soft. Not in the same way. No sunlight in his hair.

"I know you're goin' through shit, but we gotta go. The Dorter's bout to go up any second and the Leviathan ain't long for this world- fuck." He uncurls the whip from his arm and flashes it over Ed's head where there are more yelps and screams.

"Come on, shithead!" Jack snaps. "It ain't gonna be nothin' but fire in a minute! Do you wanna die here?"

Ed shrugs. Why not?

"You-" Jack starts. And then the Dorter goes in an ear shattering crash of breaking and snapping wood, even louder than the last time. The Leviathan rocks hard and Ed falls again, losing grip on the knife and scrambling til he has it again. He sees for a moment the rigging and the masts and the blue sky and the flecks of wood sailing through the air and then Jack is over him, hauling him close, the chest hot against Ed's cheek and Ed can hear the frantic beating of his heart.

There is the sound of falling wood all over them and Jack grunts once or twice but his heart doesn't stop, his breath doesn't still.

Something begins to grow deep in Ed's throat which feels like a scream but he knows it's not and if he lets it out, it will be all over. Jack pulls away then and sets the whip handle down to take his shoulders in both hands and look at him.

"Look."

Ed winces.

"Look," Jack says again harsher, giving him a shake. "I know it hurts but we gotta get out of here. I may hate your stupid guts sometimes, but we're still mates and I ain't leavin' without you. Okay?"

He doesn't want to. But then he thinks of Jack's heartbeat and the warmth of his hands and his steady gaze- He remembers how they fought in the galley waking Cook, how Jack had looked curled up, young and stupid, by the mast of the Rosa . They'd laughed and gotten drunk and bitched at each other and slept curled together in their cabin.

And he thinks of Jack's boys who will miss him if he's gone.

Ed nods. The deck vibrates from deep below.

"Fuck. On my back! Now!" Jack says. Ed makes himself drop the knife so he won't cut Jack accidentally and scrambles up onto his back, clinging to his shoulders.

"Fuck, you're heavy," Jack grunts. The rumble gets louder and Jack bolts to his feet, taking up the whip.

"Hang on tight!" He shouts as he charges aft toward the fo'c'sle where a lucky shot had the aft mast listing. Jack clambers up the stairs, swinging the whip so that it strikes and wraps around the lowest spar and then they are swinging out over the deck which flies past their feet and over the railing just as the Leviathan goes up behind them in a blast of searing heat.

They're pushed out and over and somehow apart, Jack falling into the sea below and Ed flies, the wind in his face, the fire at his back until he, too, hits the water hard as a slap and sinks down down down into the deep deep blue.

xxxxx

xxxxx

xxxxx

Vance is lost, and Roy Kimberly, the Executioner had taken a wood splinter thick as two fingers through the throat. Tadpoole and the four with him had disappeared.

Jack's boys are all alive, and Aconi and Fadel and Greg and Gilead Thorpe. Hornigold is alive too though he'd gotten speared through by the same spray of wood that had got the Executioner and is recovering and sweating out the pain in his cabin.

Long Bob is alive too…but so, so quiet and never leaves the deck, preferring to take shelter by the stairwell when it rains- but it hasn't rained much, only once and even then it had been a fine mist that was gone too soon even if it should be pouring unceasing and drowning them all.

They are running the ship on a ragged crew with some Sirens who seemed hollow eyed and disoriented since being left behind and one Walrus who hadn't been a dick. Edward's days are full and he works until he can't move, eating only when Greg won't stop watching him with sad, sad eyes.

Edward doesn't feel sad. He doesn't feel much of anything. After he'd been fished from the water, he had just felt hollow.

The next day out they had weighed anchor in the open sea without even a smudge of land on the horizon. Hornigold hadn't been strong enough to stand so the rabbit had said words that had rang empty in Edward's ears.

They had set the Executioner into the sea, sewn in shroud with his book as he'd wished and a bottle of gin. Roy Kimberly and Vance had been represented by the things they'd left behind because there had been nothing else of them.

No one had wanted to sew Feliciano up into a canvas shroud. They had all just stared at him, lying there with his hands clasped together, fingers threaded as if in prayer, purple flowers in his hair that Long Bob had picked from Blind Man's Cove.

Finally the rabbit had agreed to sacrifice a tender and they had set him in it and gently lowered him in the current. Fadel must have treated it with something because it lit in sweet smelling fire when Long Bob had set the match against it- fire that grew slowly as the tender drifted away until it was a speck of roaring light in the distance.

The only thing kept of him was his earring which Long Bob wore on a gold chain that Ross had given him.

Edward's hands are empty, but then so is the rest of him and there is nothing he wants to cling to.

For now the day is done and he is tired and the night has fallen with dark all around him. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chin, leaning against the stairwell, watching Jack and his boys who are sitting in a circle by the main mast, a lantern in the middle, and talking and trying not to laugh too hard on the still ship.

Jack is different now. Something definitely has changed, though Edward isn't sure how it happened or even really who he is- except- kind of- more Jack. It's like he's finding out who he is now, or maybe finally comfortable and Edward likes the way his shoulders roll back and his head tips up as he laughs, even as he quickly tries to cover it.

It somehow feels like Jack's already gone away, as he will, but strangely, Edward doesn't mind. It's a good thing. A relief. Like the smell in the air after the storm has gone and there is nothing but a rain washed deck and a tired blue sky.

Aconi and Fadel pass Jack and his boys as they come from the galley. Jack nods to them all cool like and they nod back, moving from light back into shadow. Aconi is big and dark and Fadel is slim and dark and they settle beside Edward on either side, Aconi on the deck, Fadel on the stairwell.

"Eat or Greg will cry at you again," says Fadel, handing him a plate through the bars of the stairwell. Edward feels a tiny candle flame of amusement before it's snuffed out and he takes the tray. He eats without tasting, or he does, but it all tastes the same like sand and gravel and salt. Aconi drinks deeply from a bottle and hands it to Edward after a moment.

"Drink," he says softly. "Or Fadel will cry."

"You're going to cry of a broken head if you keep that up," Fadel says as light as an evening breeze.

Edward drinks. It is some kind of booze, probably rum, but it tastes like water.

Quiet.

He can hear their breathing. The rustle of clothing as they shift. The gentle lapping of the sea against the hull. Smalls snickers too loud behind his hand and Frank nudges him until he stops.

"We'll be at Paradise soon," Fadel says and Edward flinches, sets the bottle aside and curls his knees closer, resting his head against them and breathing in so he doesn't puke.

"I'm not going with you," Edward says because that's why Fadel brought it up and he knows it. He is angry about it too but it's a dull anger throbbing at the base of his throat and his voice is soft and rough.

"You won't find anything here." Fadel's voice is a blade.

"Fadel," Aconi says and Fadel huffs but says no more.

It doesn't matter if he finds anything here. It doesn't matter if he finds anything anywhere. There is nothing out there but the cold empty sea. Aconi sighs and takes a breath as if to speak but the cabin door opens from above and he lets it out again. There is the hopping thump of the rabbit on the deck and then:

"Captain wants to see them."

Fadel hisses a broken off noise between his teeth and says:

"Now?"

Aconi rises.

"Bring some rum up to Gilead, Fadel." There is a moment of quiet but Edward can almost feel the unspoken words hanging between the two men. In the end he can hear Fadel pacing angrily back toward the galley. Edward knows he should move, doesn't want to, can't uncurl himself yet because he's sure he'll tear something.

"I'll get Jack," says Aconi. "Stop looming."

This maybe to the rabbit who makes an annoyed noise of his own but hop thumps his way back across the deck and closes the door behind him.

Edward breathes slowly in the stillness, hearing the beating of his own heart. He takes a deep breath and then another and somehow uncurls. Somehow stands. Aconi is a shadow, talking to Jack who is also standing. What he's saying, Edward doesn't know and it doesn't matter, but Jack's boys are looking up at him serious all of a sudden.

They shouldn't be serious. They needed to go back to laughing and trying not to. Jack gestures at them that he'll be right back and starts across the deck. He doesn't have the coat or hat anymore and is wearing a shirt again but he still looks more adult than Edward can ever feel.

Not that Edward feels like a kid anymore. He doesn't feel like much of anything really. It's a feeling he's starting to prefer. He meets Jack at the stairwell and they go up together, shoulder to shoulder, pausing only a moment at the door. After some fussing with his shirt, Jack opens it and Ed follows him inside. Only a single lantern is lit and Hornigold looks up when they enter, setting the ledger aside and his spectacles on them.

He looks like an old man, Edward thinks. He's shirtless his collarbones are stark, the bandages wrapping around his middle and over one shoulder. His sweat soaked hair is glinting with silver and limp against his forehead. His gray eyes are still glazed in fever and there are lines around them that Edward hasn't seen before and smudged dark circles under them. He stands beside Jack in front of Hornigold's bed, mimicking Jack's posture with his hands behind his back.

"By some manner of fate, we survived all that," says Hornigold, his voice rough. "With little thanks to you two."

Which isn't true and isn't fair and Edward somehow can't even care about it. Jack lowers his head and says:

"Yes, boss." Though since his shoulders are relaxed and he isn't arguing about it, Edward doesn't think Jack much cares either. Hornigold doesn't seem to notice, though Edward wonders why not. It feels like it should be obvious in every line of their bodies.

"I can't make you a captain, Jack," says Hornigold. "You have to prove yourself as quartermaster first."

As if Jack hadn't proved himself leading his boys to blow up the Leviathan. Or, hell, even leading the Dorter to smash into her in the first place.

"Quartermaster, boss?" Jack says and Hornigold nods.

"Someone who knows this crew needs to mind it and you've been here long enough to take some responsibility. And it will be a heavy duty. I won't go easy on you just because you have a taste of power."

"No… I get it, Captain." Jack takes a deep breath and raises his head. "Thanks for the opportunity. I won't let you down."

Hornigold gives Jack a long assessing look and Edward thinks that surely Hornigold must understand now- but if he does or doesn't, he only says:

"See that you don't." And then: "You have until when we leave Paradise to laze around with your friends."

Edward flinches at the word. Doesn't Hornigold want it to be the fucking Republic of Pirates? Can't they start calling it that now? Hornigold glances at him briefly, then back to Jack.

"Afterwards you're their boss and you're to make sure they understand the consequences if they let me down. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Jack says and this he cares about. Edward can see his jaw working as if chewing on words he knows better than to say.

"Edward."

Edward can't even say yes, can't even bring himself to speak. He tilts his head at Hornigold instead and then feels a sick shiver crawl up the back of his neck and tries not to swallow. His muscles are cold now, though. The room is cold. The air feels cold despite everything stifling in here.

"Edward, acknowledge me. Don't make me say your name a third time. I could always change my mind and make Mr. Rackham a swabbie again."

"Aw, boss, he doesn't have to-" Jack starts.

"Quiet," says Hornigold and Jack closes his mouth but his shoulders are tense now.

"Yes," Edward manages, it's soft still but maybe enough.

"You are to listen to Jack and support him. I want you to be his shadow, the one who stands behind. It's not enough for people to respect him, they have to fear him and that's your job. Do you understand?"

He kind of did. Like Hornigold didn't even trust Jack to be a quartermaster. And it's strange, really, that Hornigold wants the men afraid like this. None of the men had ever really been afraid before, not even of Mad Eddie- or the Executioner. Cautious, maybe, but no one flinched when even the Executioner went by.

No one gave the Executioner sideways glances or whispered to their mates like the Siren crew still did with Edward sometimes. It's like Hornigold can see the darkness inside of him- even it's not twisting or writhing to get out. Maybe because it's wholly part of him now, spread over his guts and up his ribs and over his heart, turning them all to black shadow like itself. Like himself. Bringing him back into the dark.

It wouldn't be bad to be a shadow. He'd be good as a shadow. Like the Executioner but scarier.

He'd never be Jack's shadow though.. The noon sun doesn't really cast a shadow and Jack would never allow it. He'd just get pissed off. But Edward knows Jack won't stay long enough to care so when Hornigold asks again if he understands, Edward nods.

"Say it, boy," Hornigold says.

"I understand."

"That you'll be?"

"Jack's shadow."

"Good. And remember that." Hornigold shifts to sit straighter, maybe even to stand, and then the color floods from his face leaving him bone white.

"Captain, relax," the rabbit says in the tone that means his patience is wearing thin. "Or you'll kill yourself."

"Quiet," Hornigold snaps, but he leans back against the pillows, sweat beading on his temple and neck. He wouldn't be hard to kill, Edward thinks, looking at the rise and fall of his chest, especially like this. No wonder he didn't want Edward to have a knife, because Edward could, if he wanted, press it down into Hornigold's heart and pin him to the bed with the blade, watching him thrash, the blood beading and spilling that nothing could stop.

He would die there soaked in red.

No sun on his hair, no faint smile.

Nothing.

It would be so very easy.

"Don't give me that look," Hornigold says, voice a low warning. "I mean this. I am close to something important and I won't have you children ruin it."

No, the children are still out on the deck, Edward wants to say, sitting around a lantern and waiting for the return of their captain. But he turns his eyes away anyway, keeping them on the floor.

"You'll be responsible for each other most of all," says Hornigold. "If either of you cause any further disasters or fuck ups, both of you will suffer, regardless of who did what. Understand?"

Oh… that is clever, Edward thinks. Does he know Jack is leaving? Does he want to try to manipulate Jack into staying? Or is it just the same old shit?

"Captain, come on!" Jack snaps. He's pissed off now, even the vein at his neck standing out as if his whole body is under strain, as if he's holding himself back from pummeling Hornigold bloody with his fists.

"I mean it," says Hornigold. "I won't have division on my ship. I will have respect and you two have obligation to me. I took you in, I made you who you are, if it weren't for me you would be left rotting stupid children where I left you. So you will do this for me. You owe me. And–" He glares at them, his eyes cold. "If I can't use you, I don't need you." The threat is hanging thick in the air and there's no mistaking what he means. "Understand?"

Jack's fists are clenched so hard his hands are shaking.

"Understand?" Hornigold says and behind them the rabbit shifts, taking in a soft breath. Edward thinks he can hear the faint click of metal and he bites his lower lip to hide a smile.

Is the rabbit armed? Is Hornigold actually going to threaten to shoot them?

Edward hopes not because that will be even harder to pretend to be afraid of. If either one of them gets shot and the mutiny would tear the Ranger apart. The Sirens are terrified as it is and Jack's boys are loyal. That's not even mentioning Aconi and Fadel. It would be chaos.

"Yes, sir," Jack mutters through his teeth, settling back on his heels.

"Yes, sir," Edward says because it's easy. Hornigold smiles then, a thin pale smile to match his face.

"Good. You may go."

They turn, Jack nearly barreling out the door into the night. Edward goes a little slower so he can peer around the table and into the rabbit's lap where he is holding the flintlock. He is sweating too and his lank hair is plastered to his forehead. As soon as he sees that Edward notices, he looks nervous- but Edward shrugs and goes back out into the night.

Jack is waiting for him by the wall.

"Up for a smoke?" he says, voice still tight as if he's ready to scream. Edward nods and heads for the aft mast since Gilead Thorpe is still curled up in the crow's nest on the main mast and probably won't be coming down any time soon. It's nice to climb. His shoulder and side ache from it but pain is nothing.

They go to the top spar and sit on either side of it. They are still in the open sea, four days out from…from Nassau, the moon rising out of the water, pure and white. Jack cups his hand around the match to protect it from the wind and after a few tries manages to light the cigar. He takes a deep draw before blowing the smoke out into the cool night air and handing it over.

"Fucking Hornigold," Jack growls. "Fucking bastard. I fucking- I can't believe I wanted him to- God, how was I stupid?"

"You're good at it," Edward says feeling a faint sort of smile. Jack hits him lightly on the shoulder.

"Smoke the goddamn thing already and hand it back," he snaps. Then after a moment: "Come with me."

"No." Edward takes a long draw from the cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth even as he hands it back. It's sweet and deep and when he blows it into the air he feels a little like a dragon.

"What do you mean no? Come on, damnit. If I go, what do you think is going to happen to you?"

Edward shrugs. "Nothing."

"Horseshit. He's going to beat the fuck out of you."

Edward thinks of Hornigold bearing down at him, his face an angry boil, fist raised, you could protect your face but you couldn't protect all of you and when the punches landed wherever they landed it hurt. But Hornigold wouldn't come apologizing the next day, offering flowers to Mother, offering peace, saying the boy just drove him crazy, you know how it is.

Edward swings his legs idly and when Jack hands the cigar back he takes it between his fingers and watches the smoke curl for a moment until Jack says plaintively:

"You're wastin' it."

So Edward takes a pull.

"I'm serious though," Jack continues as Edward returns the cigar. "He's gonna hurt you."

"The only thing he can do is hit me." Maybe a little more or a little less but. "He needs me to be able to work." And then because he really doesn't want Jack to be trapped here, adds: "He needs me more than you."

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Jack mutters. He takes a draw and tips his head back. "But another fuckin' truth is, I don't need him. Did you see me out there? I was kickin' ass! I didn't have you or Davenport telling me what was good or not. I was just doin' it. Followin' my gut. And I blew the fuckin' Leviathan sky high!"

Davenport, huh? Edward feels a faint twinge at that, a tiny kind of loneliness, a small drop of pain. He doesn't know who made the Siren leave and neither do her crew. They blame Silver, they blame Hawke, they blame Davenport. Edward doesn't know which one of them did it. Maybe it was all three of them even. It doesn't really matter. It's done and long ago.

"You were great," Edward says and means it, because Jack was.

"Damn right I was," Jack replies. Then, clears his throat and says almost shyly. "Couldn't've done it without you."

It's cute in a way but it's not true either.

"You did most of it on your own." He taps Jack' s shoulder. "You're good, mate."

Jack mutters something like: 'shucks' or maybe it's a small sneeze, it's hard to tell. He smokes a little while longer and hands the cigar back but Edward shakes his head. He doesn't want to smoke. It's so cold up here he almost wants to sleep like Gilead Thorpe and lash himself to the mast- or maybe he won't, maybe he'll just let the wind take him where it will.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Jack says. "Ain't nobody going to be here. Maybe Thorpe and Greg but…" he waves a hand. "I don't think Aconi or Saladin'll be here and… and Bob… I don't think Bob is gonna stick around."

Edward closes his eyes and leans against the masthead. If he turns he'll be able to see Long Bob sitting a lonely watch at the prow, staring at the empty endless sea. Not that there's anything to watch for. Nothing to see.

"I'll be fine…" He might get beaten bloody, but if he doesn't have anyone he cares about then Hornigold can't use it. It's actually a lot better this way.

"Yeah, guess so." Jack says. "Nothin' can kill you, I guess and plenty have tried."

Fuckers couldn't even succeed in that.

"But you can still go on your own-"

"No."

"Well you ain't gonna get shit here."

"I don't care if I don't get shit," Edward snaps, feeling the heat growing in the center of his chest- and then even getting even hotter because he's annoyed at feeling it. He doesn't want to feel angry! He doesn't want to feel anything!

"Look." Fuck. "Feliciano wouldn't want-"

"I don't care what he would fucking want!" Edward is shouting, standing on the spar now but he doesn't give a shit about that either. "It's all bullshit anyway! He should have looked if he cared so fucking much!"

Only he doesn't mean that, only he does mean it. He means both things. He hates himself for thinking it and hates him a little for- for - for not, for just- For nothing. It's Edward's fault. He should have killed Dirk or danced better or- or not somehow tricked Feliciano into thinking that Edward had something worth value. He doesn't. There's nothing in him. No light. No treasure. The only thing thing sitting in the center of his chest is rotting and black, sludge better found in the bilge.

But now it's too late to tell him. Too late to explain. It's all over. Everything is all over and he wants to scream or stab something or- or anything that would let out the tight clawing feeling inside of him, but maybe he deserves that feeling too. Jack laughs weakly.

"You're not gonna fuckin' cry or anything are you?"

Edward sucks in a breath, pulling it all back in, pressing down until it closes. He is cold again, his head is still again, he still wants to cut his way out of his own skin but he can live with that.

"No." It's too sharp a word and he can feel Jack stare at him before sighing.

"Come with me," he says again.

"Fuck off."

"Fine," Jack snaps. "Whatever. I don't care. I ain't stayin'. You want to fuck yourself over that's your affair." Jack slips down to the rigging as if to go.

"But killin' yourself ain't gonna bring back anyone from the dead. Buryin' your fuckin' head in the sand because you're too chicken shit to look at the future won't either. But he spent so much time bustin' his ass just keeping you alive, so the least you can do is figure out what the fuck you want to do with your life before handing it over on a silver fuckin' platter to a man like Ben Hornigold." Jack spits over the side. "It's time to grow the fuck up, Ed Teach."

xxxxx

Four days became a week become a week and a half and nearly slipping into two. They caught two storms, one that blew them off course adding a day and a half to their time which they wouldn't fucking have if Griff had been at the helm, but he'd left them with the Walrus so who gave a fuck?

And Jack's boys are idiots who could sail on calm seas but the first hint of rain sent them into a crises mode which freaked out the already edgy Sirens and even Long Bob had looked annoyed at them. He'd even punched one of them who had let a line loose too early and nearly tore the fucking sail.

And more than that, worse than all of fucking that, Edward's skin feels like it's going to boil off. He can't shake Jack's words from his head and they slick like white hot heat through his veins so that he hates the fuck out of everyone and hates that he does.

He'd even told Aconi to fuck off once and made Greg cry for something other than his fucking food and he knows he's a danger. A menace. He'd nearly gotten himself killed when he'd snapped at Hornigold, still feverish and sallow but his eyes had blades and he was sure the rabbit would have shot Edward in the fucking head if the rabbit had been in the room.

And he's crying now, too, goddamnit. Without wanting to. Without meaning to. Though at least he can keep it til he gets to the cabin where he stays all alone now because everyone is already fucking gone even if they're here.

He'd tried to fight it, he had, but then he'd found a patched leather waistcoat that had slid under the bed that Feliciano had been looking for a month and had fucking sobbed over it for hours, hunched over, until his stomach twisted and his eyes were raw and he'd almost thrown the fucking thing out the porthole but had stuffed it in the sea trunk instead which was also full of his shit.

The bastard is everywhere. In everything. And Edward can't seem to get the fuck over it. So he'd had to take drastic measures. A stolen hammer and he'd hammered a blanket to the wall above the bed, then tucked the edges of it under the mattress and crawled inside the darkness of it with a single candle.

It's nice. It's quiet. He can eat in here and drink and scream his tears into the pillow and stab the wall until his arm gets tired but only exhaustion makes him feel better because then at least he sleeps.

Except when he dreams. And they are always awful.

But at least he's fucking figured out what to do with his life, he thinks, as he lays there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, tears slipping down his burning cheeks, his throat wrenched. He's going to do whatever the fuck Hornigold tells him to. He knows what he is. He's found his place. He has his cabin and he has his ship and crew and if Hornigold doesn't fucking die he'll just take orders and sit and do whatever.

It's a decision and Jack can get fucked.

It's what he's decided.

And what he's following even now.

Nassau is right outside the window and has been for a few days. Jack has already gone with his boys, though not before slamming his fist against the door a few times and telling Edward not to be a fuckstick. Edward had screamed back at him not to be a dick and had felt a little better, then felt a little worse realizing that Jack would be gone now too.

That the Jack that had slept in the cabin with him, that had wrestled with him and laughed with him and got drunk with him is a man now and off on his own adventures to be a captain and when Hornigold is ready to set out to sea, Jack- just won't be here.

The Sirens are gone too, having stolen a tender in the middle of the night when they were anchored not far from the bay and had rowed away- which made the Walrus even more hurt and all he did now was mope about the deck and whittle birds, not that Edward saw him much. Behaving as he was.

Hornigold had told him around the thin form of the doctor, who had been bleeding him and cleaning stinking pus from his wound, that Edward wasn't allowed off the ship until he'd learned his lesson. Whatever the fuck that was. So he'd remained behind. Nothing fucking was in Nassau anyway. Nothing that he wants to do. No one that he wants to see. He is a red waistcoat now through and through and Kupe and Polly would probably forget about him anyway.

And they should.

He turns over onto his side, facing the wall, and runs his fingers over the knife holes there. He's going to have to sit up soon to do more since he's running out of space though Greg is getting a little mad that Edward keeps blunting all his good knives. Edward guesses he shouldn't, it's not what a red waistcoat would do, but Hornigold hadn't told him not to so fuck it.

He sighs, closing his eyes, letting the dark wrap around him, wanting it to wrap him up in it forever. There's a knock on the door before he can drift off and he glares at the wall, daring them to knock again, and they do. It's a soft knock but not hesitant and Edward can't imagine who the fuck that could be. The door opens with a creak and Edward grips the blanket and wonders if he can just pretend he's not here.

"Ed?" Long Bob's voice, quiet and hoarse, spears right through him. Edward doesn't want to answer, doesn't want to see him, his heart is too big right now, his throat is too full, his nose is clogging and his eyes are blurring.

"Ed, are you here?" he sounds lonely too.

"Behind the blanket," Edward replies in an annoyingly wavering voice.

"Can I come in?"

Edward is about to say yes since they hadn't done this in a long time, but he has a sudden flash of the dingy on the beach, of waking up to a warm shoulder, of foreheads pressed together and a gentle hand on the back of his neck- fingers sliding through his hair… His eyes drip without him and he says:

"I'll come out!"

But he doesn't want Long Bob to see him leaking so when he does slip over the edge of the bed, he holds the blanket around his head like a hood, looking at Long Bob's feet standing among the pile of dirty dishes and utensils and bottles of rum that he hadn't brought back to the galley and hadn't let Greg come in and get. He was starting to get as fucking bad as Bill Bones.

"Sorry. It's a mess." Because it is.

"We are too," says Long Bob. Because they are.

Edward sniffs and smiles a little without meaning to but even that hurts a little.

"Can I come sit?" Long Bob asks. Edward nods and scoots over and Long Bob sits beside him, the bed dipping with his weight. He seems smaller now too, like they're the same height. He starts to fiddle with the gold chain and Edward looks down at their feet again and the dirty floor.

"I'm going away," Long Bob says.

"I know."

"Will you stay here?"

Edward nods, not wanting to have this conversation again but not wanting to tell him to fuck off either.

"Why?" asked as if he was just curious which makes it easier. He'd probably throw himself out the porthole if Long Bob thought he was an idiot. Edward shrugs. Fuck if he knows. Fuck if he can even put it into words. Long Bob sighs a little as if he understands and pats his back.

Quiet then, but it's a nice kind of quiet, just sitting beside Long Bob like nothing has changed but everything has. Edward fiddles with blanket and sniffs.

"I guess- I guess that…that he would fucking want me to be…somewhere else, but..." Where Feliciano thought he could even be, Edward has no idea and where can even go alone? Long Bob is silent for a long moment as if thinking.

"I think…that he just wanted you to be happy…"

That makes him wince, remembering the the feeling of teeth behind skin and Feliciano's surprised breath and his laugh after. The surprised breath last time had been different and there was no laughter then. There will never be laughter again. He curls his knees up to his chin and hugs them.

"Fuckin' can't." He doesn't know how. Doesn't know what it means. And most importantly: "Don't deserve it."

"Well what the fuck does that even mean?" it comes out as a squeak and his eyes are overflowing goddamnit so he presses the blanket to them so they'll stop.

"He thought so," says Long Bob quietly and Edward's eyes fill again, spill over, damp his knees and he hates it. Maybe he'll still jump out of the porthole and just drown this time, finish what he should have started.

"Fuck him," Edward says, his voice a squeak. It feels fucking horrible to say so he keeps saying it over and over in his head, feeling the same as plunging a knife into a wall.

"It's okay," says Long Bob patting his back and Edward wrenches away so hard he falls off the bed, cracking a plate with his elbow.

"It's not okay! He's fucking dead! What the fuck is okay about that?"

Long Bob winces then and Ed feels worse. God, what is he doing? He shouldn't be doing this. The darkness is seeping out. He can't let it out. He has to keep it locked in. Far in. Far down. This is why he has to stay on the Ranger. Why he deserves to. Monsters should be locked up.

"It's not okay," Long Bob says, looking down at the floor. Tears drip down his nose and Edward gets up shakily to stand over him and, not sure what else to do, pats his warm bare head. Long Bob thumps his head against Edward's shoulder.

"It's not…" Ed sniffs and then because the thought of Long Bob going out there by himself, no mates or crew or anything and a ragged hole in the middle of him- it's just too much. "I …I think… he'd want you to be happy too."

"He…was the only one who ever said I was handsome," Long Bob says, voice broken.

"Guess everyone else figures you know it already," Ed says. Long Bob makes a tiny broken sound and looks up trying to keep everything pushed away. He won't cry. He won't. Not again. Not in front of Long Bob.

Somehow he manages not to.

Somehow he manages to keep it in.

After what seems like forever, Long Bob's tears stop, and then another forever after that he says in a hoarse voice.

"Will you come with me to Paradise?"

Edward winces.

"Nassau."

"To Nassau," Long Bob says. "It's lonely rowing alone and…you can bring the dinghy back."

"Yeah…" Hornigold doesn't want him to, but fuck it. He'll go and come back. Hornigold is so out of it he probably won't even notice.

Edward sniffs again and looks at his smudged feet and the messy room and can feel the knots in his hair that he hasn't brushed in fucking ages. And even though his nose is clogged up he knows one thing for sure.

"Can I get cleaned up a little first?" And then seeing if he can make Long Bob laugh, adds: "I smell like Job Anderson."

"Job Anderson?" Long Bob looks up at him.

"Yeah." Edward smiles a little though it's really hard because he'd kind of forgotten how. "Me and Jack locked him in a trunk on the Dorter and forgot about him for three days.

"HA!" Long Bob's single laugh is loud and explosive and seems to buzz the windows.

And suddenly Edward is laughing too and then Long Bob is laughing more. And tears of laughter are okay, Edward thinks, even if they won't stop.

xxxxx

Edward climbs from the dingy to the docks of Nassau- Paradise, he thinks- and soon to be the Republic of Pirates. It's noon almost and Paradise- Nassau, whatever, spreads out before him too big and too small and Edward stares at it feeling as if he's never been here before.

He feels hollow, still, but also strange, listed a little to the side. He'd washed down and even got new clothes and shoes from Fadel who had threatened to remake the shoes with Edward's skin if he lost them. Then Fadel had told him to do something about his face and when Edward had looked into the small, cracked, mirror- had seen again a near stranger looking back. He saw his cheekbones and the sharp curve of his jaw and far more whiskers than before, dark and threatening, on his upper lip, on his chin, sweeping patchily along his jaw.

It had almost freaked the hell out of him and he'd had to shave because he didn't want to show up with Long Bob looking like this but staring at it in the mirror as he'd moved the razor– even if the hairs were swept away, he can't help but feel they are still there, still part of him, still part of all of– this whatever the fuck this is.

It needs to stop. He needs to go back the way he was before. It's all too fucking fast. He's not ready for any of it.

Long Bob pays the fare for where they've tied up the dinghy, since apparently fucking Para– Nassa– fucking Paradise.

Paradise.

Paradise.

Paradise.

He slams the word knife sharp into his brain until it hurts so much it doesn't.

Apparently Paradise does that now, takes money for dock space, and he can see them building out into the water though right now the builders are arguing with one another and someone who looks like their boss swaggers up to them to tell them to knock it the fuck off and he gets shot in the face, bouncing off the dock and falling into the water and if Edward pukes because of that he's going to stab them all.

He takes a deep sharp breath feeling the festering pit that is the quay and turns back to focus on Long Bob who looks smaller and hunched, even his beard seems wilted. Edward tries not to think of the reason why. He'll be fine here, though, Edward thinks. Long Bob can take care of himself and he has enough dubloons to tide him over for a while thanks to Fadel taking Roy Kimberly, Vance and a few Sirens to the Dorter the night the party to offload the loot for the merchant ship. Half went to the Ranger, half to the Siren and Edward hopes someone tells Flint just how much shit he lost by being an asshole.

Long Bob nods to him and they fall into step, side by side as they walk to the town proper. Ed tries not to be annoyed at the people who swarm everywhere, laughing and shouting and cursing and sleeping. As if they don't know. As if they don't care. He also tries to ignore the way that Long Bob's sea bag bumps against his chest, full of his things and Feliciano's, or the way the gold earring peaks from its chain through Long Bob's open collar, glinting dully in the tired sunlight.

That also makes him want to puke.

Or scream.

Or stab something.

Not that it will fucking help.

He feels like he's going to explode one way or the other if anyone so much as bumps into him. Fortunately he doesn't have a knife anymore or a pistol or anything but his fists but that might be enough to-

A man in a long coat bumps his shoulder as he passes through the narrow street and Ed whips around ready to smash his face into the wall but Long Bob takes his shoulder, not hard but enough to bring the anger down to a boiling burble in his gut.

"It's okay," Long Bob says, though it isn't, but Long Bob's allowed to say it. Ed turns back toward him and Long Bob blinks tired eyes at him- pats his shoulder, pats his cheek, then steps back and says:

"I'm going now."

"Okay," Edward manages, knowing anything more is dangerous to his already thick throat. Long Bob gives him a sad look which makes things even fucking worse, then yanks him into a one armed hug that Edward impulsively returns.

"Don't stay with Hornigold forever, Ed," Long Bob says and Edward sighs because he is fucking tired of hearing that.

"I deserve it," he mutters into Long Bob's shoulder. Long Bob gives his back two brief warm pats.

"He doesn't deserve you."

"Yeah…" Edward murmurs. Long Bob pulls back then and smiles a little with his eyes, touching Edward's jaw with his fingertips in a way that reminds him of– in a way he's not going to even fucking think about, then turns and walks away.

Edward leans against the wall and watches him go and get further and further, feeling like the last small part of him is leaving, the last thread of something being spooled out and would soon snap or- maybe just disappear leaving him with nothing.

Hornigold doesn't deserve him. Hah… Well…

Well-

Well wait just a goddamned minute, Hornigold doesn't deserve him!

Ed stares at his palms as if he's never seen them before, creased and scabbed again with rope burn, but that's nothing compared to the rope burn in his mind.

Hornigold doesn't fucking deserve him! Everyone did shit for Hornigold, worked hard for Hornigold, and he doesn't give a flying fuck about any of it– and why does Ed think that is? Because Hornigold is a fucking dick!

But… but he can't just leave, can he?

No.

No he can't.

Even if he knew where to go it feels like too much. Like being in a storm in an already surging ocean.

But then where the fuck-!

What the fuck is he supposed to do?!

"Oi, little fucker," a man says. "Move."

Ed looks up to see the man and three of his mates standing by the entrance to the street. He should move? He should move? They can't go in single file?

No, of course they can't-

and why does he think that is?

"Youfucking move," Ed snarls, stalking toward them, hands curled into blistering fists at his side. They will move or he will make them move or go down punching their fucking faces in because they don't deserve him either. The men curse and scatter like pigeons out of his way and it doesn't make him feel better it only makes him feel worse-

The anger is surging in him now, hot and searing through his veins and he stalks, strides, doesn't fucking run because he doesn't trust himself not to jump on someone and beat them bloody. He doesn't trust himself to even go back to the ship because he'll beat Hornigold bloody.

So he walks, walks and walks- anger boiling and boiling and by the time he sees the sea again on the other side of town he's nearly boiling over. But the Lusca is to his left and so he storms up to it, slamming open the door and glaring at the fucking bartender he doesn't fucking know and had better not mean anything fucking weird happened here. The bartender pales as Edward comes up to him, clutching the tankard to his chest as if that'll protect him.

"Where's Kupe?" he snarls.

"Uh…kitchen…?"

And then because it's important: "Do you know who I am?"

"N-no."

"Well don't tell random angry people where Kupe is, you fuckstick! Do you want to get him killed?!"

The man flinches and Ed realizes how close he's gotten and has the sudden urge to backhand the dumbass just to hear the crack of it and to see him fall and know- fucking know-

Fucking know what?

Ed turns away and stomps into the kitchen where Kupe is stirring something that smells fucking delicious.

"Kia ora, teina," Kupe says without turning around. "Don't mind Brian. He's new."

"I don't give a fuck about Brian." Ed grabs the pipe from the lintel of the fireplace and drops it three times before Kupe says:

"Use mine."

"Fuck you." Ed picks up the pipe a fourth time, stuffs it full of tobacco and lights it with a shaking hand, though he can't breathe right to get it going so he just stares at the crackling leaves. Wasting it.

Wasn't the only thing that was a fucking waste, he thinks and his stomach heaves but he doesn't puke.

"The fuck is Francis?" Ed snarls, glaring into the fire. "And fucking Colin?"

"Colin is out on errands and Francis is seeing his mother," Kupe says mildly and Ed winces. He didn't even know Francis had a mother and is kind of surprised she's even still alive given how old Francis is. She must be like fifty or something.

"Do you want to stir?" Kupe asks after moment.

"Fuck you." He doesn't want to do anything. He wants to stand here and simmer.

"Do you want to come say hello properly?" says Kupe, lightly teasing and Ed doesn't want to do that either but he turns and finds Kupe facing him, looking faintly amused but older than he had been before. He'll probably be dead soon too Ed thinks and his stomach knots.

"Kia Ora," Ed mutters, moving the short distance and pressing his forehead against Kupe's. He smells of pipe smoke and wood smoke and whatever the fuck he's cooking that makes Ed's stomach gurgle but he doesn't want to wants to fucking suffer.

"Look," Kupe says which slices through Ed like a razor. Ed opens his eyes, still not sure what he's looking at and Kupe takes a small step back, passing his hand from the top of his own head to Ed's.

"No difference. How did you grow so much?"

What? What ? How the fuck did he get as tall as Kupe?

What the fuck is going on?

Fuck you, he wants to say. He doesn't want to get taller. He doesn't want to change. He doesn't want to be… anything. Nothing. He doesn't know. He doesn't get it.

"What's hooked in your skin today, Edward?" Kupe says. Ed opens his mouth, shuts it again. Can't speak. His eyes burn and he turns away, sucks on the pipe but it's gone out so he lights it again and takes some time to start it until the sweet smoke curls. It doesn't make him feel better. Nothing will make him feel better. He wants to claw his skin off.

"Did something happen?" says Kupe.

"Fuck you."

A pause and a soft chuckle before he says, sounding too fucking kind:

"Do you want to mark it?"

"And why the fuck would I want to do that?" No his voice is hoarse again damnit! And wet! And his nose is filling! And wet is going down the pipe stem. He's done this for two weeks now and why can't he fucking stop.

"To remember," says Kupe and the now he's a fucking mess and he pulls up his shirt to rub at his face so Kupe can't see it. He doesn't answer. Can't answer. Can't breathe. The door opens and a soft voice says:

"I'm back. Did you– Oh…"

Fucking Colin.

"Later," says Kupe. "Unless there's an emergency, I'm here right now."

"Yes, boss," Colin says and the door creaks closed again. Fucking Colin.

"Sit down before you fall," says Kupe and Ed sits. There's nothing after that, just the sound of Kupe moving about the kitchen. At some point he hums a soft tune under his breath, though not one that Ed recognizes thank fuck.

Gradually he's able to breathe again. Gradually he's able to lift his head and lean it against the wall. There's a bowl on the table, covered with a small plate to keep the heat in and Ed is glad because he's not hungry right now though his stomach will have other plans soon.

After a while he feels dull and heavy and fucking tired and no closer to anything than when he started. He watches Kupe instead who is leaning with his arm against the mantle, smoking and idly looking out the window. The sun is shining in when it shouldn't be sun. It should be rain or dark or anything else. But Ed can't do anything about it so he just sighs and closes his eyes.

"Hornigold doesn't deserve me," he says.

"Ben Hornigold doesn't deserve a pot to piss in," says Kupe and damn him for making Ed almost laugh. "Rumor is that he and Flint sunk the Leviathan."

"Fuck off, Flint didn't do jack shit." Ed mutters, feeling a tiny spark of heat. "He just ran like a dick. He couldn't even sink the Anna, fucking Siren did that but I hate them too."

"So who should be responsible?"

An interesting question. Ed wants to say Jack, which is only fair, but whoever sunk her would have the attention of the Navy and Jack is not ready for that. But he doesn't want fucking Flint to have it either.

"Hornigold. The dick." Ed huffs and rubs his stomach, looking away. "He really doesn't fucking deserve me."

He expects Kupe to ask why he's staying but Kupe just breathes a laugh and shrugs. Ed watches him make a perfect smoke ring.

"But I'm stuck with him," Ed says, because it's also true. And then sarcastically. "Why do you think that is?"

Kupe's laugh is a low grumble like warm summer thunder.

"Because the world is shit, boy-o. The world is shit and all we can do is live in it. But you won't always be stuck."

"No?" How the fuck can he not be? Kupe shakes his head and taps out the pipe before setting it aside.

"Not unless you want it. You get to make that choice."

Choice... Does he have a choice? Ed wonders if he just might if he lets himself think about it- not that he can think about shit right now.

"He says I owe him," Ed says because he's suddenly remembered that too.

"Do you?" says Kupe, sitting at the table on the other side.

"Fuck no." Owe him for what? "He fucking owes me ." He'd signed up after all and worked his ass off and had all the ideas and listened and let Hornigold call him a good boy like he was a fucking dog.

"So take what you're due," says Kupe. "And when you're ready to go, leave. You'll always have somewhere to stay."

And that…that is another complicated emotion latching onto his throat he doesn't want to feel right now. Still he finds himself dipping his hand in the folds of his belt to feel the silk and is a little reassured by it and a little sad too.

"But not for good," Ed says, because he doesn't want Kupe thinking Ed's coming to work for him either.

"Any man who thinks he can hold the sea is a fool," says Kupe which is a third emotion but a powerful one rushing through his chest like a tide and he doesn't know what to do with it. It's too much already and he feels like his skin is going to burst.

"Now," Kupe slaps Ed's forearm lightly then squeezes it with his rough dark hand. "Do you want to mark a memory?"

No…but… yes… He nods and watches Kupe get out his needles.

"Where?" Kupe asks and Edward looks at his arms, thinking, then turns his forearm, wrist up. Kupe nods.

"And what will it be?"

"A knife," Ed says, quietly, without thinking, because that's what it has to be.

"I like it," says Kupe with a grin. "Now close your eyes and relax, ey? You're in good hands, even if I've only got the one. But it's really good." And when he chuckles and smacks Ed lightly, Ed can't help but breathe a laugh himself.

Kupe settles and Ed closes his eyes but can only relax when the first pricks of small pain begin to lance along his skin. It hurts but it feels good in a way, the darkness being drawn out but not lost, just pinned in place- caught in the knife.

Because it is more than just a memory, it's a reminder. He is a knife. He is a blade in the dark or in the sunlight. He is a murderer and a monster. But the only one who gets to decide where the blade goes is himself. He is the knife and the knife is his and no one is going to fucking wield him ever again.