The morning air is cold against your face, stinging your cheeks as you try to wake up. Wee John's doll is an arms length away on the floor, her little body in a heap of patchwork cloth and buttons. Sometime during the night, Frenchie had rolled onto his other side, his arm draped loosely around your waist and pinning your arms to your chest. His nose is cold against your neck, and you can feel the soft huff of his breathing as he continues to sleep. Slowly, your fingertips find the edge of his jaw and trace downwards until you reach the slope of shoulder and pull his jacket back up to his ears. He shifts a little, making a small whimper, but does not wake up fully. His forehead is soft against your lips as you kiss him gently, pulling away when he moves once more.
"What time is it?" His voice is gravelly from sleep, pressing his face deeper into your neck to escape the dim morning light that fills the room.
"It's still early."
"Your heart's racing," You feel his eyelashes tickling your neck as his eyes open, moving his head so he can look up at you, "Did something happen?"
"Bad dreams."
"D'you wanna talk about them?" His gaze is soft as he studies your face.
"It's okay. We have enough nightmares on this ship as it is."
"Today's a new day, it could prove you wrong-" His smile fades at the sound of glass breaking and a loud thud of wood crashing against wood, "Or there's always tomorrow."
"You're first mate now, I think dealing with whatever mess he's making up there is now part of your job description."
'Don't let him drag anyone else into this nightmare.'
"Yeah..." Frenchie sighs, his jacket dragging into his lap as he sits up.
"Hey," Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gently grab his chin to make him look down at you, "Be careful. I mean it."
"What do you mean? I'm the King of Careful." His sheepish smile betrays him. At least he's self aware.
"I mean it. No goading him or riling him up."
"I would never goad him."
"Frenchie."
"I won't goad him... Or rile him in any way, shape, or form."
"Frenchie, I mean it."
"I'll be careful, love," He taps the bottom of your chin with his finger before getting to his feet, "It should be about time for you to relieve Jim and Archie, right? I wonder how Iz is holdin' up."
"I guess I'll find out..." You murmur, trying to ignore the icy dread running through your veins as you pull on your boots, "I think he'll be able to pull through long enough until we head for land again."
"R-Right... Heading for land. That is- Heh- That is still the plan," Frenchie stammers, a sick look on his face as he struggles to respond, "I'll try to keep Ed occupied. He was... in a bit of a mood last night and said some things that I think might have been misplaced pain instead."
"When do you think we'll be able to meet up again today?"
"Don't know. Not sure. We'll see. Depends on how Ed's doin', but I wouldn't get your hopes up, mate," He scrambles to his feet, shoving his hands through the sleeves of his coat as he strides to the door, "Tell Izzy I said hi, okay?"
"O-" The door slams behind him, "-Kay..."
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
You can hear Izzy's pained cries from the galley, and it only gets louder as you near the secret hatch down to Roach's Nook. His wails hit you first and make your ears ring as you open the door, but it is the smell that hits you harder. It's similar to the sickening stench of rotting flesh that Lucius' finger had given off before he had cut it off, but much, much stronger given the size of the room that the air has been trapped in. Jim and Archie flinch at the sound of you coming down the steps, looking back at you with wild eyes.
"We need to come up with a secret knock, or something," Archie remarks, patting your shoulder as you come down into the small room, "We thought you were Blackbeard for a second!"
"He might not be too far off with all this screaming. Has he gotten any rest at all?"
"Not-" Jim starts, flinching at Izzy shouting.
"The only rest I'll get is death!!" His voice is hoarse from screaming.
"-Since you left." They give you a tired look. Dark circles line their eyes, evident that they didn't get any sleep either.
"Okay..." You massage your temples, not having been awake long enough to handle being thrown into this level of chaos, "Okay, okay, okay... Jim and Archie, you two should probably head up on deck and make an appearance. It'll start to look suspicious if you're gone for too long. If you think you can get away with sneaking down some clean water and rags, that'd be ideal."
"Quick question before we go," Archie raises her hand to get your attention, "The smell isn't coming from us, right?"
"Mm-mm," You glance over at Izzy's leg, your stomach tying up in knots at the sight of his weakened state, "I think the bullet is still in the bone and the lead is going directly into the marrow. He's being poisoned."
"That doesn't sound good." Archie grimaces, as you all turn to look down at Izzy who is in too much pain to notice. Sweat soaks through his shirt, making the fabric cling to his body as he writhes in pain.
"And you're sure you got it covered?" Jim rests their hands on Archie's shoulders, guiding her towards the door.
"Yep, I'm all good. Piece of cake."
"Oh god, don't even mention cake," Jim mimes gagging, "My stomach still hurts from all that buttercream."
"I didn't mind the buttercream, but the sponge was definitely a bit dry for my tastes." Archie hums, lost in thought as Jim all but drags her up the stairs.
"We'll be back in about an hour," They give you a firm nod, crouching down to open the hatch door, "Take good care of him for us."
"I will," You tell the closing door, "I got this..."
"Fuck-" Izzy groans, and you turn around to see him try to sit up.
"Hey, hey, hey. Lie back down," You jog over to gently push him back down, planting your hand firmly on the centre of his chest. His skin is burning hot to the touch, the fever having gotten worse in the night, "We're gonna figure this all out and get you better again, but you have to listen to me. Your brain isn't with you right now and if you try to get up you're only gonna make matters worse."
"This is worse than fuckin' hell, just kill me and get it over with!" His hand snaps around your wrist, his feeble grasp barely squeezing you.
"Not happenin', but if you keep squirming like this you might just end up killing yourself anyway. Please, Izzy, I need you to be still for me." You stare down at him, not backing down at the defiant look in his eyes. It takes a long moment for him to settle down again, his hand flopping back down to his side as he glares at the wall opposite you.
"We're not heading to land anytime soon, sparrow." Izzy sighs, his face pinching together as he tries to breathe through the pain.
You watch helplessly as his chest heaves with effort, his teeth gritted as he rides out the waves of pain that course through his body. His fists grab at the blanket beneath him, his hand trembling from the exertion. Fresh tears fall down his cheeks, his eyes are pressed shut, a choked sob wrenching from his throat before finally breathing out a ragged exhale. Slowly, the tension releases from his body while he catches his breath.
"Shh, shh... You're okay," You soothe your hand over his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that threaten to drip down into his eyes, "Frenchie would have told me if the plan had changed."
"Is that fuckin' right?" He peers up at you through bleary eyes, the colour that had returned to his cheeks from panting is starting to fade again.
"He would have told me-"
"I know Eddie better than he'd ever admit. He has no intention of stopping anytime soon... He's going to keep fighting through this madness until he takes everyone down with him," His eyes find their focus on your face, studying you quietly as he stops to catch his breath. He manages to lift his hand up, looping his fingers under the chain around your neck and pulling outwards slightly so the ring slides down into hand and rolls it between his fingers, "I've been talkin' too much... S'your turn now. Tell me more about this."
"Izzy-"
"Indulge me on this one." His eyes lift to meet your gaze once more, the haziness behind them having grown worse since last night.
"Alright..." You take your place on the floor beside the bed where you had been last night, tucking your legs underneath you so you can rest your head on the side of the bed easier, "Uhm... It was one of the few family heirlooms my mother had from her side, which made it seem really special to me and my sister when we were younger. She had always promised it to the first one of us who found love, but that kind of changed when she gave it to my little sister on her sixteenth birthday. Underneath it was a note that read 'To my Pride and Joy'."
"Why didn't she give it to you first?"
"I asked her that very question later that night. Big mistake. She went off at me for having to explain why I'm unlovable and a monster. You know, typical mom stuff..."
"Was she always such a fuckin' bitch, or was that a special occassion?"
"No, no, that was just how she was. Or maybe still is? I don't know... I'm not really sure if she's still alive. I don't think I even care about whether or not she is or isn't anymore."
"Your family sounds like it was fuckin' hell growing up."
"Growing up was hell, but not my family. My family is the crew... And someday, if we're all still alive after this, I'm gonna tell them just that."
"Your family is... the crew?" Izzy's eyes widen slightly at the words, letting your ring slip from his fingers and fall down to the cot. His hand drops by your arm, his knuckles pressed against your forearm, before closing his eyes once more.
"Hey, let me at least change your bandages before you go to sleep again."
"Don't see the point, but knock yourself out."
"Okay, sunshine," Forcing a smile on your lips, you steal a glance down in hopes your teasing efforts did anything to ease the man's suffering. He looks up at you with a tired expression, though there is a warmth in his eyes that was not there before, "It's gonna hurt, okay?"
"It already fuckin' hurts."
"Here," You fish blindly around the floor of the cot until your fingers feel the familiar smoothness of glass, and roll the bottle towards you. The cork is easier to pull out this time, once again prop his head up so he won't choke, "It'll help a little."
He takes several deep swallows, his hand coming to hover around your wrist so that you won't take it away before he's done. You give him a moment to mentally prepare, gritting his teeth and nodding when he's ready for you to get to work. The ribbons of Frenchie's shirt have a crust of dried blood on the outer layers, but as you unwrap more the blood grows more viscous and stickier from having mixed with the pus that seeps from the bullet wound. When you finally unstick the cotton wrap from his leg, you can see exactly why he has been screaming out in pain.
The edge of the hole is red and ragged, red streaks running from the swollen site like spider webs. Despite trying not to touch it as much as possible, you can feel how hot it's getting when you brush your fingers against the side of his calf. In the pocket of your coat you find the extra bandages Frenchie had cut from his shirt, and begin to tightly wrap them around the man's leg. A guttural cry is wrenched from Izzy's throat, his teeth sinking into the joint of his thumb as he tries to keep quiet. Working as quickly as you can you tuck the loose end underneath one of the layers, and prop his leg up with your wadded up coat.
"All done," Holding your hands up to show you had finished, "You did so, so good for me. It really doesn't look as bad as I thought it would, either," Liar "You can rest now, okay?"
"Fuckin' bastard." He hisses from gritted teeth, his hazel eyes pressed shut as he gains control of his breathing once more.
"I'm sorry, I tried to be as gentle as I could."
"Not you," He squints his eyes open just enough to look up at you as you wipe his blood on the front of your shirt, "Not you. Fuckin' Stede Bonnet."
"Ah," You kneel down by the cot again, resting your head on your elbow to look up at him, "That makes more sense. Although technically it was Blackbeard who shot you."
"I'm so tired... I wish the pain would just fuckin' go away." Izzy sobs, his arm covering his eyes. Blood has dried in his beard and down his neck, though whether it's his or someone from the raid you're not sure.
"D'you think you could try and sleep for me?"
"How 'bout I shoot you in the fuckin' leg and see if you feel like sleepin'?" He growls, turning his head away from you, "I'll try... It's not so bad when it's just you. The other two are too goddamn loud."
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
About fifteen minutes after Izzy fell back asleep, you heard a rhythmic knock at the hatch door. A few moments afterwards, it opens up to reveal Jim and Archie poking their heads through the cracked open door. Slowly getting to your feet, you tilt your head down and press your index finger to your lips so they know to be quiet.
"How'd you like the secret knock?" Archie whispers, waggling her eyebrows at you.
"It's a good idea," You give her a weary smile, glancing over at Jim who gives you an ill look, "Have you seen Frenchie at all yet?"
"No, but more importantly," They take a step backwards so Izzy was less likely to hear you three muttering, "The smell. It's gotten worse."
"His leg is infected. I raised it so it would be above his heart, but it's an uphill battle on a rainy day."
"I'd say it's more cloudy outside than anything else. No rain yet." Archie hums, clasping her hands behind her back.
"No shit it's infected," Jim scowls at the smell, glancing over their shoulder at the sleeping man, "I don't think we can keep him alive much longer if his leg stays attached."
"That's what I was afraid of..."
"How'd you get him to go to sleep?" Archie takes a slow, creeping step towards Izzy and crouches down to get a closer look at his sleeping face.
"Yeah, he would not settle down long enough to even catch his breath with us," Jim adds, watching as Archie wiggles her fingers in front of the man's closed eyes to be sure he was really asleep, "That's the second time you've gotten him to rest."
"Eheh... Secret of the trade. Works like a charm on fussy babies and dying men."
"You'll have to tell me sometime, I've got this cousin who just cries and cries and cries like nobody's business-"
"Archie." Jim raises their eyebrow at the woman, earning a sheepish grin in return.
"Right. Quiet. I can be quiet."
You join Jim and Archie to look at Izzy, though all three of you snap your heads back to look at the hatch as the sound of hurried footsteps comes from the floorboards above. Jim's hand comes out, fingers splayed in front of Archie, their other hand reaching for one of the many daggers they now kept strapped to their body. Instinctively you reach for your own, gripping the handles and sinking down into a ready stance as the door creaks open. Frenchie scurries down the steps, pausing on the last one as he lays his eyes on all three of you poised for the attack.
"Howdy!"
"No, no, no you'll wake-"
"Fuckin' kill me!"
"-Izzy..." Your shoulders sag, shoving your daggers back in their sheathes. Jim and Archie are quick to shush him, crouching by the cot and clapping their hands over his mouth as he tries to cry out in pain.
"Lord above, he smells somethin' terrible!"
"Yeah it's his- His leg's rotting off, man!" Archie says matter-of-factly, pushing the hair from her eyes as she straightens up.
"It needs to be cut off," Jim grumbles, glaring over their shoulder at Frenchie, "Y/n had finally gotten him to sleep, and now you come in and you're freakin' him out!"
"Okay, just- Listen- Listen, listen, listen," Frenchie eyes the ceiling with anxious eyes, "Just start with his leg and see how it goes. I gotta get back up there, but I just wanted to check in and see what's what. You guys got it covered."
"And what do we cut his leg off with, our teeth? There's nothing down here to perform surgery with," You grab the sleeve of his jacket, making him pause in his step, "At the very least, a first aid kit would be worlds of help."
"It's Roach's old room. I can guarantee you there's a butcher knife or saw lyin' around somewhere, now I'm serious I really have to get goin'. I'll catch up with you later, mate." He flashes you a weak smile before closing the door behind him, the sound of his footsteps growing quieter by the second.
"I found something!" Jim holds a saw and an axe up in their hands, "They were stuck to the bottom of the cot."
"Good ol' Roach." You murmur, starting to feel sick to your stomach as it dawns on you exactly what the knives were for. Put it all in the box.
"I've never done this before. Which one?"
"Oh definitely the fucked up one, I think that one's alright for now." Archie takes a look down at Izzy's legs, her hands resting on her hips.
"I'm not a fucking idiot," Jim hisses through gritted teeth, holding up the knives higher, "Which one?"
"Oh! Oh, pfft," She chuckles, giving both blades a quick comparison, "Eh, I'd say dealer's choice."
"Alright... Alright, uhm... Here, get him something to bite on while I make a tourniquet." Jim nods their head up at you.
"O-Okay," You take a floundering look around the room before hastily undoing the buckle of your belt and fold it in half to make sure he couldn't somehow bite through. Before he sinks his teeth into it, you give him one last drink of the rum, downing the last of what remained in the bottle, "This is gonna hurt like a bitch, okay?"
"Jhust geh it fuhckin' ouher wifth!" He growls through the belt, his hand grabbing yours and gripping painfully hard.
"Okay, okay, okay," Jim and Archie exchange looks, braced his leg with their free hands as they take a readying breath, "Uno... Dos..."
"Tres." Archie finishes the countdown, her voice getting lost in the animalistic howl that is ripped from Izzy's throat.
Despite having your back turned from the operation, you can still hear the crunching of his shin just below his knee getting sawed into bloody fractals of bone and pulp. You can feel the blunt edge of his nails sinking into the top of your hand, a deep tremble in his grip as he forces himself to hold still against everything in his body screaming at him to escape the agony.
"Oh god-" You hear Jim's tense voice first, followed by a wet splatter noise.
"Oh, he's a gusher! He's a gusher," Archie remarks, as Izzy wails from behind your belt, "Oh, that is a lot of blood. Spewin' all over the place, d'you reckon it'll splatter against the ceiling?"
"How much longer?" You press your eyes shut, the scraping sound of metal against raw bone making your stomach churn.
"We're just about done with the bone itself, afterwards there's just the-" Jim pauses, the feeling of hot blood spewing against the side of your face and neck making you jolt, "-Flesh."
"...Got it." You hold your breath, trying not to dry heave.
"Aye, aye, aye, such a big fuss over such a tiny bullet!" Archie croons, far more unphased by the gruesome act than you or Jim. The cracking noise grows quieter, replaced by a wet squelching of muscle and skin being ripped to shreds, "Aaaaand, all done!"
"We still need to bandage him up, but the hard part's over." Jim sounds queasy as they set to work using the last of the extra bandages to wrap up the amputated stump.
"Here," Archie nudges your arm and holds out two small wadded up pieces of fabric and points to your nose, "For the smell."
"Thanks." You give a weak nod as you jam them into your nose, the stench of rotten flesh having filled the small room even more than before.
As gently as you can, you take the belt from Izzy's mouth, a thin red line in both corners of his mouth from where the leather had dug into his skin. His eyes have rolled back so that all you can see is the white with just a flash of dark hazel. He doesn't seem to register anything that's going on around him, a faint whimper coming from his throat with each breath. Sweat drips down his face and neck, making his hair cling to the sides of his face. His hand is still barely grasping yours, four little crescent moon cuts from where he had buried his nails into your skin. You're careful not to let go of his hand as you slowly slide down to your spot on the floor, the pounding of your heart starting to calm down.
Jim tosses an old rag over the removed leg before very hurriedly moving it over to the top of one of the barrels in the corner, wiping their hands on their trousers afterwards. With an exasperated sigh, they sag down on the floor at the foot of the bed and try to scrub off the blood that had splattered on their face with their sleeve. Archie plops down beside them, resting her bloodied arms on her bent knees as she lets her head fall to the cushion behind her.
"That is one stank-ass leg done and dusted," She pants, flicking off a piece of severed flesh from her fingers, "Definitely one of the more successful amputations I've done."
"We did it! And he'll live?"
"Uh..." Archie peaks from behind her shoulder at Izzy, grimacing a little at the state he's in, "Eh, fifty-fifty, I reckon. Yeah, he's very, uhm. He's very still right now. It's a little hard to tell, just yet, but he seems to be a fighter."
"His odds of living are better than they were, at least." You tilt your head to study his face, the muscles having relaxed as he drifts off into something akin to sleep. Jim makes a noise in agreement, though maintains their focus on wiping away the blood from their hands.
"What's your interest in this guy anyway? He seems like a bit of a dick."
"Eh, he is..." Jim trails off, their shoulders sagging a little, "But he's our dick..."
Your eyes widen slightly at their words, having never heard someone speak about him like he was part of your group. Something in your heart softens at the sentiment, wishing he had been conscious to hear that he was now being included. Your thumb smoothes over fading teeth marks he had inflicted onto himself from biting into his thumb joint. Something above crashes as the ship rocks with the stirring waves, the clatter of glass bottles hitting up against each other.
"There was a time where life meant something on this ship... When we lived for each other..." Jim breathes, a rare softness to their voice.
Bittersweet memories float to the surface of your mind, of the happy times you had tried to force yourself to forget. Wee John's hand on top of your head, the bracelet you had made him that he hadn't taken off since, nightly story time, the gentle strumming of Frenchie playing his lute before Blackbeard had forced him to smash it into pieces. Your hand combs through your tangled mess of hair. It has gotten far more shaggy than you're used to wearing it, the promise Stede had made you to give it a trim having never come to fruition.
"Not just to survive... I guess you never know when you're in the middle of the good old days." Jim's voice is tired, the effort of reliving a time you know you can never return to having worn them out even more.
A soft wet noise punctuates Jim's words. You lift your eyes, seeing Archie kissing Jim, her hand cradling the back of their neck gently as she presses her lips to theirs. That's not fair, you muse to yourself, trying to ignore the twisting feeling of jealousy of becoming a third wheel, Jim has two partners and I don't even have one. Averting your eyes, you glance back down at your hand intertwined with Izzy's, unsure that if he was awake he would want to be holding yours in the first place. With the pad of your thumb, you brush over a small tattoo placed in the soft spot between where the joint of his thumb meets his palm. It's a tiny black spade, no bigger than your fingernail, though over time and sun damage the ink has faded and spread slightly.
"What was that for?" Jim mumbles, the kiss seemingly having ended.
"You have hope. It's cute," Archie beams, a gentleness in her voice as she gazes over at them. Good for Jim, the seed of jealousy you had tried to shrug off before melts away into soft happiness for them for having found happiness in such misery, "Oh, plus, I- I really liked that story you told about the wooden demon boy that thirsted for life. Or was it blood? No, no, I was cleaning up blood when-"
Aaand they're kissing again, your face feels warm as you look away. You hug your free arm around your knees, hugging them to your chest, as you once again wait it out. The Revenge lurches over another wave, though this time it's not just a few glass bottles clattering together. The hatch door swings open, sharp bright light streaming through and stinging your eyes as your head snaps upwards. A dark silhouette saunters down the steps, his hands on his hips, another figure trailing after him.
"Well, well, well... What do we have here, hm?"
"H-Hey, no one told me this room existed-"
"Shh," Blackbeard interrupts Frenchie, stepping into the dim lantern light and gazing down at you all, "Leave me. All of you."
You give Izzy's hand a small squeeze, gentle enough not to wake him, and scramble to your feet with Jim and Archie. Your heart pounds in your chest with panic, the calmness of Blackbeard's demeanour far more unsettling than when he had been volatile. Frenchie crouches down at the door, his eyes glued to the floor at his feet and avoids eye contact as Archie clambors up the steps. Jim trails after her, with you at the back of the line, feeling Blackbeard's burning gaze on you as you pass by him.
"Take the fuckin' leg." He sounds more annoyed than anything else, as if it was so obvious to him that he couldn't believe you hadn't thought to take it with you on the way out. Jim sighs, scooting past you to grab it, before pausing in front of Blackbeard. He slowly lifts his eyes to look at them, studying their face as they glare up at him.
"He was your friend. Does that mean nothing to you?" Jim hisses through gritted teeth, their face screwed up in bottled up anger that had been simmering deep inside of them with no outlet for nearly three months now. Blackbeard says nothing, watching silently as you all climb up the steps.
"Door open or closed?" Archie calls down, huffing softly as Jim nudges her with their elbow.
"Not the time, mi perla." Jim mutters under their breath, dragging her away by her arm.
"I-" Frenchie begins to say, rubbing the back of his neck as you take the plugs from your nose.
"Don't." You push past him, trying to follow Jim and Archie to the recreation room but feel Frenchie's hand around your arm.
"Y/n, I'm s-"
"What did I just say?"
"D-Don't..." He drops his hand and takes a step back. He gives you a sorrowful look as you go after the others, but does not try to stop you, "Catch up with you later, then..."
"We'll see." You call over your shoulder, the disappointment of having been let down by him again burning a hole in your stomach.
About halfway up the stairs you hear a gunshot below deck, making you stop in your tracks. Ice runs through your veins, a knot tightening in your throat as you force yourself not to turn around. Emptiness drowns your mind, seeping into every corner of hope you had hidden away until all that's left is a quiet stillness. A black pool sitting completely still, no clear beginning or end as you float down deeper and deeper into its fathomless abyss. Izzy is dead.
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
Though the sun is clear and bright above deck, dark storm clouds loom on the horizon. There is a muddied stain on the deck from where Izzy's blood had soaked into the grain of the wood, despite having been scrubbed off, and you're careful not to step on it as you make your way across the deck. Fang perks up when he sees you, smiling feebly as you come to sit beside him. He seems too distraught to see through the cracks of the mask you force on your face. There is no warmth you can feign in your smile that would reach the blank emptiness in your eyes. In his hands is a tangled mess of what used to be a fishing net, having sustained too much damage to be anything useful anymore. There was an attempt at crochet, but he seemed to be making more knots than anything else.
"John showed me how to do it once, but I think I've forgotten how," Fang stares glumly at the project in his hands, "If anything I'm doing more harm than good."
"I don't think it would make a very good net anymore, but I think with a little tweaking you could make a pretty sick sash with it." You try your best to not make your voice come off flat.
"I should just throw it away... Put it out of its misery."
"Mmh..." You have little energy left to play therapist, but the tearful sincerity in Fang's words wrenches at your heart just enough to find a string of words that would provide a small amount of comfort to the man, "Just because it no longer fits its old purpose doesn't mean it is useless."
"E-Even if it feels like no matter how hard you try to do a good job, despite not fitting that old purpose, all you end up doing is failing and losing everyone and winding up all alone and better off dead...?"
"Fang..." You rest your hand on his shoulder, watching the tears fall down his cheeks and into his lap. Tell him before it's too late, the sneaking voice of dread whispers to you, prodding you with the regrets of your past to not make the same mistakes in the future, "You hold value to me."
"But I can't even fix a fishing net let alone save I-Ivan or Izzy..." He trails off, the words choked up in his throat as he quietly weeps.
"Hey, shh, shh..." You pull him close to you, wrapping your arm around his shoulders in a half hug, "You're so forgiving and caring of everyone around you. It's time you turn all that love inwards and show yourself some compassion for a change."
"O-Oh," Fang sniffles, turning his body so he can fully embrace you. He crushes you to his body, shaking with every sobbing gasp for air, "I-I wish I had met you e-earlier. Before Blackbeard became C-Captain. When w-we were all just m-mates."
"Oh, yeah?" You wheeze, finding it difficult to fully fill your lungs with air from the force Fang hugs you with.
"Y-You woulda fit r-right in."
"That sounds nice, Fang," The thought of a more rambunctious Blackbeard - back when his beard was actually black - getting into trouble while a much younger Izzy begrudgingly cleaning up after the man's messes. Your lip twitches upwards as you picture it, holding onto the made up memory as if it would rewrite your current reality into something better, "Tell me more."
"Oh god, we were such scamps," Fang wipes his face with his sleeve, letting you go enough to catch your breath, "Blackbeard was always coming up with these wild plans and Ivan and I just went along with 'em, because they always seemed to work out and it was a good laugh. Ohh, fuckin' Izzy, you woulda gotten a kick outta him. We used to tease him so bad his ears would turn red! He grew his hair out long so he could hide it, but that didn't stop us. He always acted like he hated us for it, but I think he must've liked the attention since he never told us to stop."
"His ears would go red?" You try to act as if talking about him in the past tense was normal.
"Like you wouldn't believe! He's always been a bit of a prick, but for a while the four of us had a lot of fun, we did," Fang cracks a smile, wiping away the last few tears that linger on his cheeks, "I think sometimes it got to him that the other crew would call him Blackbeard's dog. They teased him somethin' awful about it, but he seemed to take a sort of pride about always bein' by Blackbeard's side. He was always followin' him around, trailing just behind him like a rescued pup. I wouldn't put it past Izzy to growl or bite at someone, either."
"He'd probably give someone rabies if he bit them."
"Heh, yeah. He would've... Thanks for letting me yammer on about all this stuff, I know it's probably a bit boring to you. Sometimes talking about the things we're mourning makes it easier to say goodbye."
"It's not boring, Fang... Not at all." Leaning your head against his shoulder, you feel the numbness creep back down over you like a thick fog.
The Great Cabin door slams open as Blackbeard strides out, the calm look on his face not matching the unstable energy that exudes off him. He nods his head and smiles before hopping up the stairs to the helm, skipping every other one with ease. Frenchie pokes his head out a moment later, keeping his eyes glued to the floor as he slowly follows after his Captain. He pauses at the head of the stairs, hands behind his back and fidgeting with one of the loose threads of his sleeves as he murmurs something to Blackbeard. Frenchie's eyes keep darting from his feet to Blackbeard's patient face as he speaks, twitchy with nerves as he is spoken to. Blackbeard crosses over to the wheel, draping himself over it like a cat in a ray of sunlight.
Whatever he had to say, Frenchie smiles in return, a wave of relief washing over his face as he turns to make his way back down the stairs before the Revenge lurches at a sickeningly fast rate. Fang hugs his arm around you as you both slide where you sit, the other unsuspecting crew on deck grabbing frantically at whatever is closest as they try to regain their balance. The ship creaks as it lurches once more, far too strong to be just from a rogue wave or current. You look out at the horizon, the dark clouds getting closer as Blackbeard steers the ship directly in the path of the storm.
"I-I think we should head below deck," Fang mumbles, brows knit in concern as he watches the storm clouds you had been skirting past draw closer and closer, "Whatever Ed's doin', I don't think we should be up here with him."
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
"So... Do we think he's better?" Fang whispers as you and the rest of the crew huddle together in the hallway between the Main Deck and the Great Cabin.
"What?" Jim looks scandalized by the question, flecks of Izzy's blood still on their face, "Fuck no."
"W-Well, I don't know about that, he seemed pretty calm to me." Frenchie mutters, avoiding eye contact with you.
"Oh, did he now?" You grumble under your breath.
"He said he just wanted to spend some more time-" The ship lurches a horrible creak as it rises sideways on a wave. The floor comes out from beneath your feet, your body slamming against the corridor wall with enough force to make you dizzy. Frenchie falls face first into the wall beside you and splits his cheekbone open. He winces, fingers coming up to feel the blood beading from the cut as he finishes his thought, "W-With nature."
"And now he's dragging us all down with him." You groan, the ship rocking far more aggressively than it was made for.
An inhuman shriek penetrates the corridor walls, sending a chill down your spine as everyone turns their heads towards the door to the Main Deck. Waves crash up against the other side of the wall, the wood creaking from the pressure. As Frenchie paws away the blood that slowly dribbles down his cheek, Jim pushes him to the front of the throng.
"You're first mate, aren't you? Act like it!" They shout over the roar of the sea. He looks over his shoulder at you, lips parted as if he wants to say something, but one of the newer crewmates shoves him forward towards the door as the rest of the crew push their way up front.
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
The once clear skies had been replaced with inky black clouds. Rain pours down making the deck slick, as lightning rips through the sky in brilliant white flashes. Thunder roars over the rush of rain, drowning out the creaking of the boat but is not quite loud enough to cover up the panicked shouts of the crew as you walk out to see Blackbeard wrestling with one of the cannons. He clings on, trying to find his footing beneath him as the Revenge tilts to the side with another massive wave.
"H-Hey!" Frenchie runs across the deck as the ship finds the trough of the wave, "D'you want help, Captain?"
"No, I'm good!"
"We're sailing into the middle of a storm, Boss!" Fang shouts over the downpour, using the gunwale to scoot his way across the deck without slipping. Another strange shriek tears itself from Blackbeard's throat as he grapples with the cannon.
"Whoa!" He grins up, as though he wasn't quite sure why he screamed, "Certainly looks that way doesn't it, brother? Oh, it's a bad one, too!"
You huddle closely beside Jim and Archie as Blackbeard cackles at the predicament. His hair is clinging to his face, his charcoal makeup running from his eyes and down his cheeks like black tears. He stumbles back to his feet, the torch burning behind him despite the torrential rain casting an eerie glow against the side of his face, burning bright against the whites of his widened eyes.
"And- And to make matters worse!" He laughs, gesturing up to the helm, "Is some maniac's gotten rid of the wheel! What are the odds of that?!"
All that is left of the steering wheel is the axle on which it used to spin, splintering spokes pointing outwards too sharp to use to steer with. It spins freely as the ship careens up another large wave. Your stomach drops as your feet slip underneath you, frantically clawing at the air for something to grab onto. Jim seizes your hand and pulls you to your feet beside them as Blackbeard howls out into the raging tempest that threatens to swallow the ship whole.
"Well, that's the Caribbean for ya! Sunshine one minute, cataracts the next!" He hangs onto the bannister to the fo'c'sle, his body swaying to and fro with each rock of the ship.
"You'll fuckin' kill us you fuckin' psycho!" Archie shrieks, grabbing your arm for balance.
"Maybe, maybe not! The odds of surviving this storm are pretty low, and if I fire one into the mast the chances'll go right down to zero!"
"What do you want, pila de mierda?!" Jim widens their stance, arms outstretched.
"What do I want?" Blackbeard grasps at the torch, waving it wildly in his hands at Archie as it comes free from its sconce, "I want you to fight her... To the death!"
"Why?!" Jim cries out, looking past you at Archie.
"That's a bit misogynistic, man. Maybe have a think about that, why don't ya. Seems like you've got some shit to work through.."
"Yeah, probably-" Blackbeard shouts over the thunder. A large spray of water splashes over the deck as the Revenge tilts sideways, making you fall to your knees and sliding backwards against the gunwale, "All love dies! I'm just hastening the process!"
"Leave it, man! Just because you asked isn't a good enough reason to fight someone to the death." Jim holds their arms out, shaking their head as Blackbeard waves his torch in the air at them.
His teeth are bared in a horrible grin, his gaze shifting from Jim to Archie. You look up just fast enough to see Archie's hand ball up in a fist before punching Jim square in the jaw. They take a few steps backwards, clutching their face as they try to regain their balance.
"That's more fuckin' like it!" Blackbeard laughs, taking a step closer to the action. Jim snaps their head back to look at Archie with an accusatory glare, who merely shrugs her shoulders.
"In my experience, that's just kind of how stuff goes, ya know? You were a wonderful last kiss."
Archie smiles weakly, genuine pain behind her eyes as she looks at Jim. Their face screws up in anger, fueled by the rejection, and charge forward. Their hands grab Archie's shoulders, trying to muscle their way into dominance as the woman does the same. The rocking of the ship gives her an advantage, forcing Jim to stumble backwards to stay upright, allowing her to shove them backwards into the capstan. Her grip softens slightly as Jim cries out in pain, regret flashing across her face as blood spills from where they had banged their head against the wood. Something changes in Jim's face, the light going out behind their eyes as they hook their foot behind Archie's ankle and shove her backwards, her back slamming against the deck with a sharp thud.
"Come on!" Blackbeard roars over the rain, the smile having warped into an infuriated scowl, "End her! Or I end us all!"
"It's okay," Archie nods her head at Blackbeard's words, her teeth bloody as she grins up at Jim, "It's okay, it's just life."
"Not on my life." Jim pants, reaching their hand down to Archie, helping her back up to her feet. She presses her forehead to theirs, a soft smile on her lips at the act of kindness as the ship gives a tell-tale creak of another large wave about to come hammering down.
"Aww... That's too bad!"
"You were gonna do it anyway!" Jim shouts from over their shoulder as Blackbeard cackles.
"I was! I was..."
The ship lurches as it climbs up towards the crest of the wave, tilting more and more parallel to the horizon as it gets higher. You lose your grasp of the gunwale, your body getting thrown backwards like a ragdoll. Fang desperately clings on to the side as one of the newer recruits gets thrown overboard beside him, his arm stretched out but barely missing the man's leg. As a rush of water floods the deck, Archie gets swept off her feet falling onto her stomach as she slides down towards the swell of the wave below. You can hear Jim scream, but they are lost in the chaos.
The blunt edge of the capstan meets the side of your head, slamming against your temple. You feel your body go limp as the ringing in your ears drowns out the sound of your crewmates screams and the roar of thunder above. Black consumes your vision, your body feeling like it is slipping into an ice bath as all the warmth drains from you. Am I dying? You struggle to find the words in your mind as the darkness that has taken your sight swallows up your thoughts, the world fading into nothingness as your body falls motionless to the deck.
⬩ ⬩ ⬩
Frenchie struggled to hold onto the capstan as the Revenge careened headlong against the wave. His teeth were gritted as he clung to the slippery wooden apparatus, trying to find purchase in the divots used to tie off rope. This wasn't supposed to happen like this, the voice in his head that he had been trying so desperately to force down in that box with everything else that hurt him screaming at him as he tried to make his peace with his imminent death. He heard the tell-tale screams of his crewmates falling overboard into the furious sea below, and prayed to every deity he could name that none of them were-
"Y/n!" He shouted, letting go of the capstan with one hand just barely long enough to grab ahold of your wrist. His stomach twisted in knots as he saw the blood running down your face, your body limp as he tried to drag you up into his arms.
The bright flame of the torch flashed in the corner of Frenchie's eyes as he tumbled to the floor, the worst of the wave having evened out. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist holding you to him, and he tore his eyes away from the end of the torch nearly the loaded cannon and down at you, rain pelting down on you both as the ship creaked. With his sleeve, he wiped away the blood that dripped down the angles of your face before pulling you up into his arms and squeezing his eyes shut. This is all coming to an end and I haven't even told you I...
Bang.
Having heard what he thought had been the cannon going off, albeit very quietly, he peaked his eyes open to see why the mast hadn't crushed you both yet. Blackbeard huddled against the cannon, the torch blown from his hands and was fighting to stay alight as rain showered from above. Blood poured from his upper arm, a hole in his leather jacket from where the bullet had gone clean through. Confused, Frenchie turned his head to look opposite where Blackbeard had been and saw Izzy holding himself up by the rigging, smoking pistol in his hand.
"You indestructible little fucker!" Blackbeard swayed as he got to his feet, his dark eyes wide as he stumbled forward, blood dripping down his hand and onto the deck.
Frenchie held onto you tighter as Fang bashed his fists against Blackbeard's temple. Even after he had fallen to the ground, Fang straddled the man who had once been Captain, slamming his fists again and again against his face and cried out a name at each impact. Jim touched his shoulder and muttered something too softly to hear over the rain and helped Fang get back up to his feet.
"A-A little help, mate," Frenchie waved Fang down, running over and crouching down beside you both, "My hands are shakin' too much. I-I don't want to accidentally dr-drop..."
"Hey, hey, hey, I got it..." Fang smiled, patting Frenchie's knee as he trailed off.
Draping your arm around his shoulder, Fang hoisted you up, his arm around his waist as he half-carried-half-dragged you to stand in the circle around Blackbeard who was too addled to be a threat to anyone. After his legs were free once more, Frenchie jogged over to Izzy who had gotten himself as far as he could without the aid of a crutch, and was holding himself up by the tangled mess of rigging.
"We should do this together. As a family." Frenchie smiled a little awkwardly, holding his arm out for Izzy to grab ahold of.
"You're not gonna fuckin' drop me, are you?"
"Eh, not on purpose, no."
Slowly, Frenchie and Izzy made their way to the rest of the group who had formed a circle around Blackbeard. Fang opened his free arm out to Izzy as they reached the group, who leaned gratefully into the embrace. Izzy's cheek pressed against your hand that rested around Fang's shoulder, your head lolling to the side with each sway of the ship. His hand that had been holding onto Frenchie's shoulder dropped down to hold his hand, ignoring the shocked look from the man beside him who gently took it. With a grunt, Jim hefted the cannonball Blackbeard had been planning on blasting through the mast over their head, their teeth gritted as the last few seconds to change their mind race by.
"Finally..." Blackbeard looked up, a dazed smile passing over his face as his eyes focused on the looming iron ball above his head.
A guttural scream tore from Jim's throat as they slammed the cannonball down. Their eyes locked onto Blackbeard's as he laughed, so close to finally being free of the suffocating agony that had been festering in him since Stede had left him. Jim faltered. Hesitating just enough in their strike to narrowly miss Blackbeard's face, the cannonball grazed the man's skull before colliding with the deck. Their scream turned to a broken sob, curling in on themselves as Archie knelt down beside them. At the sound of the cannonball hitting the deck, Frenchie's hand squeezed tighter against Izzy's, his head turned away and his eyes pressed shut. For once, Fang wasn't crying, gazing down stoically at the man he had once held deep respect for. The light behind Blackbeard's eyes faded as his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing slowed down until it was the faintest puff of air in... out... in...