Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What say you ship out with us, lad? You and me, Hawkins and Silver, full of ourselves and no ties to anyone!"

Jim stared at Silver and his bright smile and excited expression. Part of him wanted to say yes. Part of him had a weird looming feeling of dread that couldn’t be shook off no matter how he tried to talk it down. Everything had worked out fine, no one else had died, they were away from danger, why was he feeling so anxious?

“You know, when I got on this boat, l would've taken you up on that offer in a second…” he tickled hat-Morph and the blob giggled and turned back into his regular squishy form. The smile slipped off his face. This was hard to say, and he didn’t WANT to say it, but…”But, uh, l met this old cyborg, and he taught me that l could chart my own course. That's what I'm gonna do.”

He turned to look down at the pink tinged wispy clouds of the Etherium through the hatch and waited for Silver’s response.

It came shortly after he finished speaking, along with the Cyborg’s presence at his side, “And what do you see, off that bow of yours?”

Jim’s heart skipped a little. Or it tremored. He couldn’t quite tell. A smile turned up the edges of his mouth as he turned to face Silver again, “A future.”

Those words might not mean anything to Silver, and they didn’t need to. They meant everything to Jim. So long he’d thought that there was nothing for him, no hope, no design, no need for him to exist in this wide universe, and now…he could see a future that had always been obscured like a goal held just out of his reach to taunt him.

Silver chuckled softly, a gentle smile going over his face, “Why, look at ye, glowin’ like a solar fire. Yer somethin’ special, Jim-”

The man’s voice hitched, his eyebrows pulled together, emotion seeped into his normally jovial expression. Jim swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest, tears threatening to streak down his cheeks. Silver took a sharp breath, “Yer gonna rattle the stars, ye are.”

Jim couldn’t stop the waterworks anymore. He fell into the bigger man’s open arms and hugged him as fiercely as he could. He was going to miss this old Ursid, probably more than he’d ever know.

“I’m gonna miss ye, Jimbo…gonna miss me pup somethin’ awful…”

A snotty, strangled sounding squeak escaped Jim’s throat before he could stifle it and he tried to control himself enough to whisper, “I’m gonna miss you too, dad.”

The man’s organic hand stroked over the back of Jim’s head tenderly and ended with a careful tug of his rattail, which made him laugh a little. He jumped at the feeling of something being slipped into his pocket and looked down in time to see the last few coins and jewels falling from Silver’s palm and into the pocket.

“What-” He looked up quickly. Silver grinned down at him, “Fer yer dear mother, te help rebuild tha’ inn o’ hers.”

They hugged once more, quickly this time, and Silver loaded into the longboat and whistled for Morph. The little blob nuzzled Jim’s cheek one final time before flitting to perch on Silver’s shoulder, and the longboat lowered to the hatch.

“Stay out of trouble, ya old scalawag,” Jim teased weakly. The dread in his gut was back again and he couldn’t shake it. There was still time to jump from the walkway and join Silver in the longboat-

“Why, Jimbo lad, when have I ever done otherwise?” Silver laughed heartily as the clips released and the boat entered free-fall. The sail came up, engines engaged, and he shot off into the distance.

Jim swallowed the knot of emotion in his throat. He wanted to cry still. The second father figure in his life, the one that MATTERED, was leaving. Likely forever. But…it was ok. Silver actually loved Jim, where Leland had never even bothered to care.

He waited several minutes to make sure Silver was long gone before he took a deep breath, steeled his nerves and raced up the stairs to the deck to tell Doc and Captain Amelia that the last longboat was gone.

It was laughably easy to convince them that he had noticed Silver was missing from their celebration and gone to check the longboats because he expected the man to make a run for it and that by the time he got down there Silver was already gone. His tears were mistaken for panic and guilt at not noticing him missing before, and he relaxed when both the captain and Doc started trying to calm him down and reassured him that it wasn’t his fault.

“No need to worry yourself, Mr. Hawkins, the proper authorities will be notified. With any luck, Mr. Silver won’t be getting far from here.”

That of course did the opposite and immediately made Jim worry he hadn’t given Silver enough time to run for it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. His anxiety leached into everything he did now, but both Amelia and Doc didn’t seem to recognize the root of his concern.

They had to wait for a dock near a ship repair shop to open at the port for a couple days before they could finally moor, and Jim spent every waking second pacing the perimeter of the ship to the point he was certain he’d either wear a hole in his boots or in the floor itself. Thankfully, this did two things; it distracted him, and Doc and the Captain felt obligated to tell him any updates on the Navy searching for Silver.

Each passing day with news that he hadn’t been caught brought more relief than Jim knew he could possibly feel, until he was almost completely certain that Silver was in the clear.

“Ready to see your mother again?”  Doc stood at the railing with Jim as the ship was slowly drawn to their docking section and tied off by the dock crew. He didn’t answer other than to look up into the Canid’s face with a barely restrained look of elation. There was so much to tell her. Morph and Silver and the Loot of a Thousand Worlds and-

He wanted a hug.

It had been years since he’d hugged her. At least a REAL hug. He needed one. After the touch-starvation he’d put himself through, and the giant, all encompassing hugs Silver had spoiled him with, he desperately NEEDED one from his mother.

Jim barely waited for the gangplank to lower before he was running down it. He’d seen her. She was wearing that new bonnet he’d helped pick out. His heart rammed against his ribs as he dodged through the crowd to get to her.

He broke into a small clear space just as she did and instantly stopped dead in his tracks.

“No…no, no, no, no, no…mom…why…why is-”

The dread that had been plaguing him for days fully swallowed him now and he started to back away. His mom looked sheepish, apologetic almost. Leland Hawkins, on the other hand, looked disgusted as his gaze roved downward and then back up to take in Jim’s appearance, “I can't believe you're still letting her dress like that. You know she's doing it to make you look like an incompetent mother, don't you?”

"That's not...that's not why...mom, please, don't listen to him..." Jim pleaded. He had never wished to go back in time more than he did right in this moment.

Silver’s voice echoed in his ears, “ What say you ship out with us, lad? You and me, Hawkins and Silver, full of ourselves and no ties to anyone! 

It felt like he’d asked that question a million years ago. 

I should have said yes…

Guilt hit him now. Someone should have stayed with his mom. Anyone should have stayed with her so she couldn’t have been suckered in by this man’s honey-sweet words laced in poison.  It had been so long since he'd been around though that no one would have expected him to come back. Why did he come back?  Jim wanted to scream. YOU KNOW BETTER! YOU KNOW WHAT HE’S LIKE! But he could only gape at his father as he stalked forward with one possessive hand on his mother’s shoulder.

He grabbed Jim’s elbow, “Can’t believe you. Disgracing us by dressing like a freak and then running off and leaving your mother all alone to worry.”

Is that what you did? You spun it all so it was my fault? Jim stared dazedly past him at his mother, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. That was enough of an indication to know that Leland had been spinning all sorts of awful lies to her while Jim was gone. His stomach dropped.

His mother started to speak, he wasn't sure if it was to him or if she was trying to convince HERSELF that everything was going to be ok, "He's changed; got a job, and has been helping me while you were gone, and has been so sweet and good. It'll be ok, Maria. He'll take care of us again-"

That name coming out of his mother's mouth felt how he would imagine getting stabbed through the heart would. He wasn't Maria anymore...how long had it been since he'd tried to kill that part of himself? Years...so many years...he thought she understood. He wasn't happy as Maria. He hated the memories of being her. It took every ounce of strength he didn't know he had in him not to start crying right there. Leland had done this so many times before. Left screaming and ranting, and then come back with sweet words that pulled Jim's mother back in and got her caught in the web of his lies. He was 'good' to them until he was tired of the mask and then he switched overnight. Jim knew. He remembered. 

His eyes were drawn to the Etherium as he was roughly escorted onto a shuttle to go back, presumably, to Montressor. The future he'd seen for himself was fading away again, slipping right through his fingers just like the majority of Flint's trove had. Snatched away before he'd even had a chance to revel in the newness and excitement of possibility. A single tear broke free as the door shut behind them. He searched for a window and gazed out it blankly.

Somewhere out there Silver was free while Jim was being dragged to Hell…

“Maria!”

Jim jerked in surprise and turned away from the window. His father glared from across the dining hall. The guests in the room seemed startled too, and looked between the two of them in confusion and dread.

The Benbow Inn had been rebuilt a couple months ago, it's return highly celebrated by their regulars that had missed them. Jim had been able to get most of the money Silver had left him to Doc, who organized the whole construction until Leland cut him and Captain Amelia completely out of their lives. He’d filed fucking restraining orders for all three of them against both Amelia and Delbert so they couldn’t come within five fucking miles of the inn.

“Stand up straight!”

At least Jim’s defiance hadn’t completely left him, though it was beginning to wane under the constant grinding his father put on him. He stared straight into his father's eyes and slouched more.

Leland stood and made his way across the room, which had fallen deadly silent, and he slapped Jim’s ass so hard that he almost fell into the window. He barely held in a howl of pain before his father caught a handful of his hair and twisted, “I told you to do something.”

Jim whimpered despite how badly he didn’t want to show this fucker how he affected him.

“Useless little bitch. Go to your room,” his hair was released and Jim practically flew up the stairs.

He slammed the door shut and reached for the lock before remembering that his father had removed the whole doorknob so he couldn’t lock him out of the room. He’d barely allowed Jim to keep the door at all, but with the other guests around - many of whom were men - he’d decided that Jim needed some level of privacy. Not that it mattered. He forced Jim to wear hideous, revealing dresses that presented his breasts to the world like trophies. The bastard had stolen every piece of clothing that wasn’t a dress or disgustingly feminine and burned them.

“Fuck you!” Jim beat his fist against the door.

“ What say you ship out with us, lad? You and me, Hawkins and Silver, full of ourselves and no ties to anyone! ”

“Stop…stop it…” He sank to his knees with his forehead pressed to the door. That moment taunted him constantly. Reminded him more times than he could count that he'd fucked up again, that he'd made another damn mistake. 

Every waking moment was a nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare. He’d happily fight Scroop over and over for the rest of his life rather than live through this Hell. It took a long moment to collect himself before he could climb back to his feet. It took even longer to drag himself over to the desk and chair. The desk was bare of anything. Nothing in the room indicated that anyone lived here other than the rumpled sheets and closet full of beautiful dresses. All his sketches, all his notebooks of solar surfer designs, all his books and anything that showed his personality, who he really was...it was all gone. Lost to the fire that had consumed the original inn. He'd never been allowed the opportunity to rebuild any of it. He lived in a lifeless room, feeling as if he too were only a husk with a trapped soul screaming to be set free.

Jim leaned heavily on the desk. He couldn't get a full breath no matter what he did, but he couldn't reach the laces at the back of the dress well enough to loosen them. He wheezed for a moment until he calmed down again and raised his head.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Deja vu hit him like a freight ship.

A pale, too thin, broken looking girl stared back at him. A girl he’d never wanted to see again.

Maria had his eyes and that was the extent of the similarities between them. Her hair was long, nearly to her shoulders now, and her face dolled up to the image of a perfect porcelain doll. Shoulders and chest bare as far as Leland could get away with dressing her without her actually going naked. Corset-backed dress done up so tightly that her waist could almost be circled by her own hands, which only accentuated her breasts.

She was so pretty, so perfect, just the image of a good daughter. 

Jim choked on a sob. That wasn’t him. It wasn’t him! 

“This isn’t me!” He punched the mirror. The glass cracked under the pressure and he felt a piece slice his knuckles.

The feeling sent white hot lava through his veins, immediately followed by straight antifreeze. It had been a long time since he’d felt the bite of a blade on his skin. Somehow it was comforting. He sucked in a shuddering breath and pulled his hand away from the mirror. Shards of glass rained onto the desk, but he was too preoccupied by the blood sliding over his skin. It ran into the roadmap crevices and dripped between his fingers, hot and thick and beautifully red.

His fingers wrapped around a large shard. He drew it up and to his wrist, hesitating with the edge against his skin. He’d never cut his wrists before. His thighs were a disaster of hundreds of scars and new cuts, but it was easy to hide the marks underneath all the layers of each dress he was forced to wear. His wrists were bared to the universe for everyone to see. His father was already so careful with anything sharp around him that it had been nearly impossible to find even a letter opener. He'd snatched it as fast as he could and tucked it into the most hidden part of his room and used it on himself daily. It was so relieving having control of one thing. Just one thing...

“Maria!”

Jim moved sluggishly, head turning toward the door. His mother’s voice called again from far away, downstairs maybe?

“Maria, you have a visitor.”

Who would be visiting me?

His heart stopped beating. Breath caught in his lungs. It couldn’t be…could it? The piece of glass fell from his shaking hand. He scrambled with the knobless door to get it thrown back open. Nearly fell down the stairs when he tripped on the hem of the dress. Tears were in his eyes. How many times had he dreamt of Silver rescuing him? Too many to count. It was so frequent now that Jim was sure he could almost conjure the man with the force of his desire to see him.

Jim stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the wild hope and joy he’d felt draining from him so fast it left him feeling cold.

Leland stood with an older gentleman who was definitely NOT Silver. They both looked over at him expectantly. Hungrily. His heart broke. How many times had it broken since Silver had left? It was in so many pieces by now there was no way anyone would be able to put it back together. His tears of joy were now those of anguish and he swallowed them down as best as he could.

Of course it’s not Silver…why would it be? He doesn’t know what’s happening…he wouldn’t come here anyway, it’s too dangerous…too close to where the Navy could find him…

“Come here, beautiful,” the older man beckoned to him.

Jim shuddered. He wanted nothing more than to turn right back around and go up the stairs again, but the look in his father’s eyes told him that he would make it so much worse for him if he did that. So he moved forward, bowing his head and trying to curl into himself to hide any of his exposed skin. Leland quickly clasped a hand on his shoulder and the older man moved far too close for comfort to inspect Jim. His hands traced the shape of Jim's hips, clasped around his waist, skated up along his body to his face so he was forced to look up into the man's face. 

He was human and older, either in his late fifties or early sixties, with graying hair and a salt and pepper beard. His skin had that soft, squishy look to it that old people get, but there was a strength to him still, and he was much bigger than Jim - who wasn't? - and he towered over him.

"How old is she?"

Leland's hand squeezed and Jim flinched. His tone sounded too pleased when he answered, "She'll be seventeen in three months."

How has it already been more than a year since Silver left?

"So young, so lovely. The image of perfection," the man released Jim's chin and he turned away as quickly as he could. He met his mother's gaze and held it, silently begging for her to do something to make this stranger stop touching him and looking at him as if he were a slice of meat. Her face was lined with sadness and she averted her gaze quickly, hand flying to her locket to grasp it tightly as if it gave her some small comfort.

Leland beat her. Jim knew it. He could hear when the bastard did it, but he couldn't do anything when he was locked out of the room it was happening in. There must be other horrible things he did too that Jim didn't know about, but he could guess at. How else could Leland keep a strong woman like Sarah Hawkins in line? The man never left any marks, at least none that were easily found, and he kept the only communicator that the inn had on him at all times, so even if Jim had wanted to - which he most definitely did - he couldn't call the police for help.

“Oh, my poor dear, your hand. You must be careful with skin as lovely as yours. Wouldn’t want to scar it now,” the man took Jim’s bloody hand in his. He shuddered again as the man stroked up his arm and dragged his fingertips along every bit of skin he could. He was silent for a while as he turned Jim this way and that way to look him over fully. When he spoke again, it was decisive, confident, "I like this one. She will do."

Jim's father hummed pleasantly as if he'd just sealed a particularly beneficial deal. He leaned in and spoke right in Jim's ear, “Maria, my sweet, this is Mr. Maury. He’s your fiance.”

Chapter Text

“Maria, my sweet, this is Mr. Maury. He’s your fiance.”

Jim didn’t remember much of the rest of the night. He remembered passing out - well, he remembered waking up after passing out. And he remembered begging his mother not to let the wedding happen, begging his father, begging to the universe in general. 

At one point he was sure he’d tried to make a run for it to the docks down the hill, but with the stupid dress laced as tightly as it was he hadn’t gotten far before passing out from lack of oxygen again. Everything after that was a blur of tears and new bloody cuts on his thighs and screaming until his voice was hoarse.

The most vivid thing he remembered was waking up the morning after on the floor in his room with the knife still in his hand.

His mother had found him and stood in the doorway of his room, sobbing, while Leland confiscated the knife and anything else that could be used to harm himself with. The mirror and all its broken pieces were cleaned up, but the mirror never replaced. Any belts or laces were locked in a drawer. 

Jim didn’t even have access into the kitchen because there were knives in there aplenty. He barely was allowed into the dining room. Most days he was lucky if he was allowed to leave his room. The doorknob was installed again, but with the lock on the outside of the door. The window was barred so he couldn’t climb out, and perpetually locked from the outside so he couldn’t pry it open to scream for help.

He took to either staring out the window at the ships that came and went or sitting numbly at his desk while he waited for anything to happen. Hunger was a distant memory, so far beyond the point of starvation that he didn’t even feel it anymore until he was presented with the rare plate of food. He knew that the food had to be the blandest tasting thing in the universe from the sickly look of it, but it tasted like the most delicious thing he’d ever put in his mouth from how infrequently he was fed.

The sound of the lock turning grabbed his attention, but he didn’t move.

“Come Maria, it’s time for the dress fitting.”

Jim looked up from the grains in the wood he’d been memorizing on the desk. His mind had traced constellations, entire galaxies, mapped out hundreds of places that Silver could be. Places they could have been together.

Why do I keep doing this to myself?

He knew the reason. There was no other escape besides the deepest recesses of his mind. Even when he was married off and out of his father’s grasp he wouldn’t be free. He’d be Mr. Maury’s to abuse. A piece of his property, legally bound to him and put on display with a glittering ring encircling his finger.

Leland beckoned impatiently for Jim to come with him and it finally drew him out of his seat.

Jim stared out the carriage window all the way into town, let himself get led by his father into the bridal shop, stood numbly as the ladies cooed and pulled the dress that had been chosen for him to be wed in from the back room.

The dress chosen for him that morning was simple. Easy to remove. He didn’t even have to help the women undress him. They offered their hands as support so he could step into the cream colored wedding gown. It was shimmied up, the laces drawn through the loops and tied, his hair tucked behind his ears, the veil placed on his head.

“There you are, beautiful. What do you think?”

He felt hands guiding him to turn and look in the floor length mirror. He saw his father’s reflection first, a smug look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Jim. And then he saw himself.

No.

He saw Maria.

She was lovely. Truly the picture of beauty. Small and thin and pale with bright blue eyes and rose painted lips. Wrapped in cream fabric that pillowed out at the skirt like a princess’s dress. Topped with a veil that cascaded down her back and trailed behind the impressive train of the dress. Every little girl’s dream for how they would look on their wedding day.

Jim felt something slide down his cheek before he looked back up and met Maria’s gaze. Tears slid down her face as well.

He was losing himself.

Everything that was uniquely him was getting buried under what everyone else expected him to be. It had been so long since he’d touched anything mechanical he was afraid he wouldn’t remember how to tune an engine anymore. It had been so long that if he were presented with a solar surfer he wouldn’t know how to start it, wouldn’t know how to ride it. The confidence and self-worth that Silver had instilled in him…where was it? He didn’t know how to be Jim anymore. Jim was dying and Maria was taking over again. She was strangling him with the laces of her wedding dress and there was nothing that could be done to save him.

How could no one else see it? How could they overlook the sadness? The scars? The broken gaze? Was it invisible or was it just not worth their time to wonder?

“Oh honey, save the tears for the wedding day!” The ladies all around Maria tittered.

They helped her down from the stool. Helped her out of the wedding dress. Helped her back into her normal dress. Asked excitedly when the wedding was as they all walked back to the front of the shop.

“Next week,” Father spoke proudly. He hugged around Maria’s shoulders, “Can’t believe my little girl is grown up enough to get married!”

The wedding really was every little girl’s dream come true.

A huge church with huge stained-glass windows from floor to ceiling. Sunlight filtering through the colored glass painted everything in rich warmth. Bulbous white flowers bunched into crystal clear glass vases. Silver and mahogany furniture polished to a shine so bright it was blinding. 

Maria gazed down the walkway between the pews as she was led to a side room to change.

If it weren’t for all the people rushing around doing last minute touches everywhere it might have been peaceful. She made a note to ask to come back here so she could admire the building’s infrastructure without the bustle of people everywhere.

Her mother closed the door and joined her, grasping one of her hands in her own.

They worked together to get the wedding dress on. Maria waited patiently as her hair was let out of the uncomfortable overnight curlers and gently brushed out so it hung in loose waves. She watched as the veil was pinned carefully in place.

Part of her screamed inside. Begged. Sobbed.

“You look beautiful.”

Her mother sounded broken, tired, lost. Maria met her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. That little part of her became more insistent. Louder.

“I need to finish getting ready,” her mother turned abruptly and started toward the door.

“Mom-”

The older woman stopped, her hand on the doorknob. She hesitantly looked over her shoulder and met Maria’s gaze in the mirror again. A knot formed in Maria’s throat, and she whispered, “Say my name?”

Jim was still there. He was faint, but he was there in her chest, thrumming like a weak heartbeat. He was alive. But he was so close to flickering out like a dying candle.

Sarah paused. Her other hand went to the locket hung from the chain around her neck. Agony flashed through her ocean blue eyes. She took a deep breath, steadied her expression, smiled gently, “Maria Rose Hawkins. Soon to be Maria Rose Maury.”

Jim screamed as if he’d been run through with a sword, but no sound came out of her mouth. She could feel him dying alone and unloved in the prison of her heart.

Her mother slipped from the room. Maria gazed at her reflection as she waited.

It hadn’t been that long ago now that they’d been engaged, her and Mr. Maury. A little over a month. She hadn’t even turned seventeen and he was eager to seal their vows. He paid for everything. The dress. The venue. The flowers and food. The fancy cream colored carriage she saw pull up in front of the church out of the corner of her eye.

He’d courted her briefly after their engagement, which was silly of him since they were already engaged. He spent only a week trying to gain her favor. He had money to spare. Money to spend on a young, gorgeous trophy wife. He promised her all the things a pretty young woman should want. A stable home. The luxuries she’d never had the privilege of when she’d been growing up. Beautiful dresses and parties and daily flowers.

Children.

Jim howled again from deep in her chest. Neither of them wanted this. None of this glittering beauty all around them. They didn’t want the riches, the dresses, the flowers.

A memory, bittersweet and not-so-distant but what felt like a lifetime ago, flitted before her eyes. Their eyes. 

Silver gazed down at them, smiling brightly, gently, looking at them with such warmth and love and understanding that it drew tears to their eyes. He reached out and ruffled their hair before catching their rattail and giving a teasing tug. He loved to do that. And they loved it when he did it too.

Just a blip. A tiny glimmer into another life. And then it slipped away again and Maria yearned for it to come back. She met her gaze in the mirror. She and Jim had the same eyes and that was the extent of their similarities.

“I wish I had your bravery. Your defiance. Lend me your strength?”

He didn’t answer her.

Maria wasn’t left unattended for long. Soon she was surrounded by women who were ushering her out of the room as well and toward the main hall of the church. Her father waited in front of the closed doors, adjusting his impeccable suit and brushing out the non-existent wrinkles.

He held his arm out for her. 

She took it obediently.

The doors opened. Music played. Faces turned to watch as she was walked solemnly down the aisle. With every step closer to her fiance she felt Jim fading more and more, his sobs quieter, his fighting weaker, his pulse fainter.

Everything moved in slow motion, but it was still a blur. She didn’t hear the words the minister spoke, the words Mr. Maury spoke, not even the ones she spoke. Only snippets slipped through the cracks in her consciousness.

“Patrick Maury, do you take Maria Hawkins to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

Until death do you part.

“I do.”

She must have agreed as well, but she couldn’t remember it. Her hand was raised, Mr. Maury’s fingers wrapped around it, splayed her fingers apart. He slipped a cold band with a glittering gem onto her ring finger.

“You may kiss the bride.”

The veil was raised. Her chin caught and her head tipped back. Her lips claimed just as her life had been by this man more than triple her age. Faint cheering from the audience watching her imprisonment becoming legal echoed in the hollow space in her chest as James Pleiades Hawkins died.

Maria went through the motions of celebrating. It was supposed to be a happy day. She was married! 

She let herself get fed a bite of the cake that was far too sweet, far too pretty, far too decadent. Let herself get led to the dancefloor and swept around by her father and then by the man that had wed her. She sat at a table surrounded by gifts and people she didn’t know.

And finally she let herself get led to that lovely carriage. The one meant for the bride and groom.

Hours had passed. It was night now. How did that happen? Only a short while ago it was morning and she had been waking up.

A tremor started up in her hands. It spread up her arms. Raced through her entire body. Mr. Maury leaned over toward her, grasped one of her hands in his much larger one, brushed his lips against her cheek, “You’re so lovely. I can’t wait to get you in my bed.”

The air in her lungs froze.

His other hand trailed along her jaw, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He whispered to her all the things he wanted to do. All the things he wanted her to do for him. How he couldn’t wait to see her belly swollen with his child.

“Such a slim waist,” her husband traced her side and then over her stomach.

“We have a few days before our ship leaves for the honeymoon, plenty of time to get to know each other,” his hands became more insistent as they circled her waist and drew her closer. He nipped her earlobe. Started to kiss down her neck.

Maria gasped. Her hands shook, but she pushed at his shoulders, a terrified whisper coming out, “N-no!”

Mr. Maury sat back in his seat. He took a moment to straighten his suit, “You’re right, my dear wife. Here is not the place. I will be patient for a while longer.”

Too soon their carriage pulled up in front of a mansion to rival that of Dr. Doppler’s. Too soon she was whisked out of it and up the grand staircase. Too soon she was pulled inside and down a magnificent hallway. She couldn’t catch her breath. It was happening too fast. She wasn’t ready. She…she didn’t want this.

Maria was thrust into a room. Even in her terror she found herself admiring the decor. A huge four-poster bed with rich sheets rested against the far wall. An open closet door revealed more clothing than one person should rightfully own. To her right was a great oak desk standing set out from the wall, letters and an assortment of other items strewn on it. A letter opener caught her attention. The glint of the lantern light danced on the sharpened blade. Beyond the desk was another room, a bathroom, and she could see a white marble counter and a pristine mirror. Her eyes returned to that blade.

The door shut, the click of the latch engaging filling her ears, and quickly after came the thunk of the lock being turned.

Something in her chest flickered back to life. 

Jim took a small breath. He’d laid cold and dead in her for hours, but something had restarted his heart.

“You want me?” Maria heard him in her voice. Jim slowly picked himself up from the floor. He wiped a hand over his mouth, brushed his bangs out of his face, reached a hand out to Maria. All she had to do was grab it…

Mr. Maury moved behind her. She could hear him getting closer. She started to walk toward the desk, eyes ever on that knife. Jim needed it.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.”

Take it. Jim whispered to her, right in her ear. She was almost to the desk. Her hand twitched at her side. Eyes darted up to see how close Mr. Maury was in the reflection of the mirror. He was right behind her. Jim whispered again, more urgently, take it!

Maria felt a hand stroke down her spine and she lunged. Her hand grasped the handle of the blade. She spun and faced Mr. Maury. Faced her husband. Bared the weapon and pulled on the deepest scowl she could. 

The surprise on his face was enough of an indicator that her father hadn’t warned him about Jim.

She could feel him coming back to life. Could feel him growing from the tiny flame in her chest and fitting into her body just under her skin. They’d had it all wrong before. They weren’t different people fighting for space in one body. They were one person being forced to be separate.

“Maria- put the knife down, my love,” Mr. Maury had recovered from his shock and started to move tentatively toward her.

“My name is James Pleiades Hawkins,” Jim hissed between his teeth as he backed up toward the bathroom. He felt determination flash through his chest, “I’m not your ‘love’, not your plaything, not your perfect little wife.”

He dove for the bathroom and slammed the door shut. His fingers fumbled with the lock, just able to get it latched into place before the handle was jostled from the other side.

Mr. Maury banged on the door, fought with the handle, screamed at him to come out. 

“How dare you treat me like this!”

“I am your husband, you cannot lock me out!”

“Come here this instant!”

Jim tuned him out as best he could and set about stripping the damn wedding dress off. It was impossible to unlace it so he took to cutting it open in the front enough that he could yank it off. He was just in his underwear, but that was better than the stupid dress. He tossed the ugly thing into the freestanding claw-footed tub so he wouldn’t have to look at it any longer.

Next was to look for any means of escape.

There were no windows, no vents big enough to climb through. The only way out was the way he’d come in. No matter. He’d wait until Mr. Maury left to find a way to get him out. He peeked under the door through the crack. He could just barely see a sliver of the room on the other side.

“Ok, you got this Jim, just have some patience,” he sat cross legged on the counter to start his vigil. He turned to stare into his own eyes. When he looked in the mirror now, he saw himself again, fighting for his survival just as desperately as he fought to hold onto his innocence. 

But three days of constant vigilance at the door was more than he could handle and he slipped into the tub finally after checking the door a dozen times to make sure it was locked tight. The one good thing about the dress was the skirt; so big and poofy that he could wrap himself in it like a blanket for warmth. Jim didn't know how long he slept, but it didn't feel like nearly long enough before he was startled awake by a pair of hands grasping around his waist .

Chapter Text

Jim was alone when he opened his eyes again. He honestly hadn’t expected much after what Mr. Maury had done to him, but he definitely wouldn’t have guessed he’d be left to his own devices for even a moment.

He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to the bed, but he really didn’t care.

It took a lot of effort to lift his head from the pillow and look around the room. It took even more to drag his arms from his sides and force himself to sit up. His lower half was on fucking fire. Sitting was agony. He had to shift so he wasn’t centered to relieve any of the pain, but even then it didn’t go away.

He dared move the sheets to see the state of himself.

Dried blood painted the inside of his thighs. He sat in a puddle. The throbbing in his lower stomach renewed and he doubled over. Jim struggled for breath, each one drawn in as a wheeze and let out as a sob or something close to a scream.

Ages passed before he found enough energy to drag his body to the edge of the bed. He dropped his legs over and braced himself. If he fell he’d never get the strength to get back to his feet again. Using the wall and any piece of furniture he could, Jim started his trek toward the closet.

He sobbed with each shaking step. Twice his injured ankle buckled and he nearly tumbled over, but both times he managed to catch himself.

His fingers grasped around the first shirt he could reach. He snatched it off the hanger. Leaned against the wall with his knees and forehead, his back bent awkwardly as he struggled to pull the piece of clothing on. His fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons. He got most of them done up before he gave up and let his hands fall and his arms hang dead at his sides.

“Bathroom,” he ordered himself, his throat raw and aching even as he whispered the word.

Jim practically climbed across the wall, his body dragging heavily against it, one hand out in front of himself to pull him along toward his new goal. He needed water. He didn’t know what he’d do after he got the drink his body was screaming for. Probably crawl back to the bed and hopefully die of blood loss. He could feel more of the stuff dripping down his inner thighs, hot and thick.

He finally fell into the bathroom and he caught himself on the spotless counter. A whine forced out of him when his stomach collided with the lip of the cold stone surface and sent more pain through him. His vision blurred for a moment, head swam, heat crept up the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead was against the counter. The cold was soothing.

“No…don’ pass ou’...” he heard himself speaking, words slurred as if he were drunk. Jim groped around blindly for the faucet. He found it after a moment and wrenched it open. Heaved himself to the sink and dipped his entire head into the running water. He drank greedily, nearly forgetting to pause for breath, eyes still closed and hair soaking through the longer he kept his head in the basin.

When he’d filled his stomach to the point it ached he pulled his head out and weakly turned the water off. His throat still begged for water. He was as parched as if he’d walked through a desert.

Jim stood up as straight as he could. He had to cling to the counter or risk falling. He finally opened his eyes again and gazed at his wretched appearance in the mirror.

His hair hung in wet strands, dripping and clinging to his skin wherever it touched, face pale as a sheet, eyes wide and terrified and full of pain. The shirt was far too big and was starting to look a little transparent where the water dripped onto it. Of course I grabbed a white shirt. The buttons were askew and only two thirds of them, at the very best, were done up.

The knife on the counter grabbed Jim’s attention and he stared at it numbly.

Why hope that I bleed out when I can make sure I do?

Shaking fingers be damned. Jim reached for the knife. Gripped it in his hand. He wasn’t afraid. Death would be the best thing that had happened to him in the past year.

The metal was cold against his skin and razor sharp. He’d barely put any pressure to the soft spot under his jaw and already a droplet of blood bubbled to the surface and streaked down the line of his throat. His eyes tracked it until it fell onto the shirt and stained one perfect spot crimson. He met his gaze again in the mirror and he could have sworn his reflection mouthed ‘do it’ at him.

Jim let out a groaning breath and pressed the knife into his neck harder.

Silver hadn’t been lying when he told Jim he’d miss him something awful. If anything, he’d been underselling how much he’d miss that boy. Not a damn day went by when he didn’t think of him at least a dozen times.

It’s what finally drove him, more than a year after separating, to take his little ship and sail it to Montressor.

He could hardly call the thing a ship. It barely passed the minimum length that a boat would be considered a ship by a single foot, but it wasn’t nearly long enough to be considered a sloop even though it was designed after one. The only thing that actually, honest to God, determined that it was indeed a ship was that it had a longboat bay with a single longboat at the rearmost part of the hull right underneath the single thruster.

It wasn’t much, but he was proud to say he owned it outright, and he knew Jim would be excited beyond belief to see it too. He was especially keen to tell the boy what he’d named it; The Pleiades. The name made him feel a little silly, since he was basically admitting how much he absolutely adored that kid with every bit of himself by calling it that, but after a very short amount of deliberation he decided that he didn’t care.

His gut told him the entire time he moored the ship in a secluded canyon that this was a bad idea. Captain Amelia would be out for blood if she so much as heard a whisper of him in the area. But his heart couldn’t stand the distance. It could barely handle the two days he’d forced himself to wait as he scouted out the Benbow Inn for signs of danger. He was so damn close to Jim and yet still so fucking far away.

He’d timed everything as carefully as he could. It was summer. Jim wouldn’t be at the Interstellar Academy right now. And from keeping tabs on the movement of ships in the area he was able to glean that Captain Amelia was on a distant journey as well. It was almost too perfect.

“Yer somethin’ special, Jim. Yer gonna rattle the stars, ye are.”

He meant every goddamn word. And he desperately wanted to be there to see the light in that boy’s sails.

Morph chattered excitedly as Silver made his way to the longboat bay. He scratched the creature affectionately, “Ye ‘cited te see Jimbo, Morphy?”

At the mention of the boy the blob squealed and danced around him. Silver laughed heartily. The longboat launched without a hitch. He steered it out of the canyon and toward the new Benbow Inn. Tied the boat off at the dock. Now that he stood facing the Inn his heart thundered in his chest in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.

He hesitated. And then he scoffed at himself. Who was he? Surely not Long John Silver if he was this nervous about reuniting with a tiny wisp of a human.

Will he be happy to see me?

What sort of question was that? Silver scoffed again. He strode confidently toward the door. The image of Jim’s earnest expression, terrified and yet so hopeful a the same time, filled his vision.

“Can I call you dad?”

He was so ready to pull his pup into the biggest hug he could give it hurt.

The scene when he opened the door to the inn was along the lines of what he expected. A bustling dining room was directly beyond it, to the right was a staircase leading upstairs to what he guessed were the rooms, to the left was a door to - presumably - the kitchen.

Silver stepped to the side and peered around the room. A good number of pictures lined the walls and his eyes went to them. They were all of a young, smiling girl. Bright eyed and close enough in face shape to Jim that he knew they had to be related. A younger sister? Why hadn’t he mentioned her when they were on The Legacy?

“Good evening! Did you need a room or were you hoping for dinner?” A man’s voice cut through his thoughts and Silver turned toward the source.

The human was on the tall side, probably a couple inches over six foot, and he had a wider build. His eyes were gray, face similar enough to Jim’s as well that he guessed they too had to be related. His first instinct was that this man was his father, but Jim’s words echoed in his head and made him second guess himself.

“More the taking off and never coming back sort.”

This couldn’t be Jim's father. An uncle then? A frown threatened to tug at his mouth. Obviously this man was close enough to help at the inn, where the fuck had he been when Jim’s father had taken off and left him and his mother? He pushed the bubbling anger down. The man deserved a fair chance.

“Dinner, if ye’ve got a free table.”

He wanted to surprise Jim. He hadn’t seen him at all during the past few days of keeping watch for that doctor guy or Captain Amelia. He’d been surprised that he hadn’t seen any of the other two, considering Jim had told him how his mother and Delbert were very close friends. He could understand Amelia not showing up, since she was a good month of spacing from here, but he was certain he’d at least see Delbert. Or Jim. He could smell the boy, so he was definitely here, but it was odd he hadn’t seen him yet.

The man beckoned pleasantly and led him to a table near the bottom of the stairs. Jim’s scent was stronger up there and it made him grin. Perfect. The boy would see him when he decided to come downstairs.

“Here’s a menu. Sarah will be over shortly to take your order,” the man smiled at him stiffly. He walked away and Silver tracked him with his eyes. He didn’t like him and he was having a damn hard time giving him that fair chance.

Morph tittered softly from his pocket.

A woman started toward him from the kitchen and his breath caught in his chest. If she weren’t the image of Jim aged up several years he didn’t know what was. A sadness hung on her shoulders.

“Good evening, sir. Can I get you started on any drinks? We have a lovely purp ale,” She asked tiredly.

Morph made another soft noise and came out now, rushing toward her and nuzzling her cheek. She gasped and froze. Her eyes flew open as wide as they’d go, and the startled expression only made her look more like an older version of Jim. This had to be his mother. 

“Morphy, c’mon now, leave the poor woman alone,” Silver smiled. His eyes darted back toward the stairs, “Sorry ‘bout that ma’am. Morphy here jest got excited is all. Ye look an awful lot like a friend o’ ours. Ye…wouldn’t happen te know a James Hawkins would ye?”

He jumped in response to a shatter of glass behind him. Whipped around and looked back at the man that had seated him. His gray eyes were wide, full of anger. Silver looked back at Sarah. Her face had gone unbelievably pale, her hand clutched at the locket hung from around her neck. Tears welled in her eyes.

The reaction from both of them had Silver’s heart pounding all over again. His gut twisted around anxiously. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

“No one by that name lives here,” The man finally responded stiffly. He glared at the poor woman, who only shrank under his gaze, and then he stormed into the kitchen. The sound of banging pots could be heard through the door.

“You’re friends with Ji- Maria?” Sarah leaned toward him quickly, speaking urgently.

“Who the hell’s Mar-” Silver cut himself off. He sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes went to the pictures on the wall again. None of them were of a child older than seven or eight, maybe even younger than that, but he hadn’t seen a young girl running around. He remembered now that Jim had told him he had transitioned into wearing boy’s clothing when he was young. Roughly when he was seven, if Silver remembered correctly-

How hadn’t he recognized Jim’s eyes in all those pictures? So round and blue and filled with wonder? What sort of father could he call himself if he couldn’t even pick out his boy when he was right in front of him.

“I’m friends with Jimbo,” Silver whispered. Sarah grabbed his hand in both of hers. She seemed so desperate that he turned his full attention on her again. Tears sparkled in her eyes, “Please…help he- help Jim. Help my baby…”

The fear was back in his gut. He stood from his chair, “Where is he?”

“Sarah!” The man barked from the kitchen door. The room had fallen silent and the atmosphere had gone thick with anticipation and dread. This must be a regular occurrence. 

She released Silver’s hand and hurried to the kitchen, disappearing with one desperate glance at him over her shoulder. 

He followed instinctively, his fear and anxiety turning to anger. Something was wrong, Jim needed help , and he had a feeling that man had something to do with it. He burst through the door in time to see him raising his fist to hit Sarah, who cowered against the far counter.

Silver caught him by the back of the shirt and whipped him around, lifted him into the air and shook him before he drew him to face level and snarled, “Knew ye were a piece o’ shit the moment I laid eyes on ye. Beatin’ a woman like that must make ye feel big and powerful, eh? How big an’ powerful do ye feel now? How do ye feel now?!”

The man tried to detach Silver’s hand from his shirt desperately, but there was no fighting the grip of his mechanical hand once he’d locked it in place.

“Where’s Jim?” He didn’t take his eyes off the human in his grasp as he asked Sarah again.

She started to sob and fell to her knees on the floor, “I’m a horrible mother…let him do all those things to Jim…let him hurt Jim…I never should have taken him back…never should have listened…”

“I never should have taken him back.”

So this was Jim’s piece of shit father. The man that didn’t have the eyes to see how amazing his own son was. Silver growled unconsciously and shook the man again.

“Tell me everything,” He ordered the wretched woman.

If she held anything back, he never would have guessed. She relayed months of mental and emotional torture that had been dealt to Jim. How she’d stood by and let Leland Hawkins - she said his name at one point in there - had forced Jim to be someone he hated. Forced him to grow out his hair. Forced him to wear dresses. 

She trailed off after a while, too distraught to continue, and Silver finally dragged his eyes away from Leland’s face to look at her. He didn’t have much pity for this woman, abused as she was too, for letting her own child get treated in this manner. His voice came out as a whisper, no less threatening than if he’d screamed, “Where. Is. He?”

“M-married-” Sarah bawled.

Something deep inside him clicked. Fury wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe the anger that radiated from his very core. There was no way Jim would agree to be married. He was still a CHILD. He had a DREAM. 

Sarah spilled her guts again. 

She told him Jim’s reaction to being told he was engaged. How he’d been discovered in the process of hurting himself the next morning. How he’d been locked in his room for more than a month until the wedding. Silver had gotten to Montressor the day of the wedding. He could have DONE something. He could have stopped it. But he’d been so consumed by his own anxiety and self-doubt that he’d waited until three days after the wedding to come to the Benbow Inn. By the time Sarah had devolved into inconsolable tears again he was shaking all over.

“Who.”

It wasn’t a question. His eyes went back to Leland, who was choking for air. He’d adjusted his grip so it was around the man’s throat and was just loose enough that he struggled for breath, but very definitely tight enough that he couldn’t speak.

“M-Maury. Patrick Maury.”

“Where.”

If he had to ask one more goddamn time-

Sarah gave him the address to the man’s house. She spewed it out so quickly he knew she’d memorized it as if it were the most important piece of information in the universe. And right now, it just might be.

“They’re supposed to leave for their honeymoon tomorrow morning…” Sarah hiccuped softly between gasping, wracking breaths.

Silver finally gave into his hatred and clenched his fist tight around Leland’s throat. He savored the feeling of the man kicking and jerking as his body fought for air. Satisfaction wasn’t quite the right word when he saw the man’s eyes roll back into his head. He squeezed harder to make sure Leland’s windpipe was crushed before he dropped his body to the floor.

“I’m takin’ Jim. Seems ye can’t handle his needs,” Silver spoke far more calmly than he thought himself possible after everything he’d heard.

He left the Benbow Inn swiftly, the sounds of Sarah’s wails following him all the way to his longboat.

His heart was in his throat as he drove the longboat far too quickly to Patrick Maury’s house. His goddamn mansion. Silver leapt from the longboat the moment he got it stopped. He didn’t even bother tying it off before he was barreling up the stairs and bursting through the door.

He could smell Jim. It only made his heart slam blood through his veins faster.

Silver tread quietly down the hall, following the scent trail. Morph disappeared down the hall like a bullet. He started to follow when he heard something that made his blood run cold coming from a room he’d already passed.

Jim was screaming.

John Silver had never spun around so fast in his life. He slammed bodily through the door, his eyes searching for Jim, for his pup, for his son. They landed on a very startled man sitting half clothed in front of a desk with a holo-recorder in front of him. Jim wasn't in here. So why had Silver heard him in here- it was then that he realized that the man had a hand on himself, apparently too stunned to move it away and make himself decent. The twisting fear in his gut renewed. What...what was on that holo-recorder?

As if on cue, Jim's voice came from its speaker, breathy and terrified and as a whisper, “Stop…stop…please…it hurts…”

His eyes darted toward the device before he could stop himself. Every muscle in his body tensed. Horror washed over him as a blanket of ice. He couldn't tear his gaze away. Jim voice pleaded again through the speaker, weaker than before, as the recording continued to run, “No…no…please…”

The image playing on the holo-screen would be seared into Silver’s memory forever.

He reacted on instinct and stormed across the room in three steps. His hands caught either side of the man’s head - who still had not recovered from his shock - and he slammed his forehead into the corner of the desk so many times that if he'd been counting he would have lost track of the number. This piece of shit deserved so much more agony than this swift death for touching Jim the way he had, for making Jim scream like that, for recording the whole thing, for pleasuring himself to Jim's very clear agony.

By the time he finally got ahold of himself again the man’s head was a bloody mess and he was crying. Long John fucking Silver was crying.  

No wonder Jim hadn’t trusted men. The ones he’d been surrounded by did things like this to him. Silver’s arm switched to his pistol without him really even thinking about it. He destroyed the recording and the device. Shot it so many times the desk had a sizable hole through it.

His feet dragged him back down the hall. Jim was still somewhere in this fucking mansion.

The scent trail got stronger the closer he got. As did his terror. He could smell blood. He could smell a lot of blood.

Silver opened the door to a room. Jim’s scent and the scent of his blood hung strongest around the bed, but he wasn’t there. Morph was squealing frantically and he followed the sound.

What he saw in the bathroom nearly made his stomach turn over.

Jim stood at the counter. He leaned on it heavily, clothed only in an oversized white shirt soaked through and bloodied. His bare legs were smeared with blood on the inside of his thighs, one ankle swollen and heavily bruised. His hair matted and tangled and wet. His blue eyes, his beautiful, bright eyes, were distant, lifeless, staring into his own gaze. Morph zipped around him to get his attention to no avail. But that wasn’t the worst part. No…that wasn’t the worst part at all.

He held a knife to his own throat.

“Jim.”

Silver moved carefully, hands raised and shaking in the air in front of him so the boy could see them. There was no reaction at first. But then he saw a minute twitch under Jim’s left eye, and his gaze shifted so he met Silver’s in the mirror. The dead look on his face didn’t go away, but he also didn’t press harder with the knife.

“Jimbo, lad, put the knife down.”

A shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of Jim’s mouth, “Silver…”

It was gone in an instant and a deep sadness replaced the blank expression on his face, “You’re not actually here…you’re just in my head…stop…stop taunting me…”

“I am here, Jimbo,” He whispered. He had almost made it to the doorway. If he could just get a little closer-

“No you’re not,” Jim’s voice shook with emotion. The knife moved away from his neck, but only a little bit, “It’s not safe…you’re too smart…you wouldn’t come all the way here just for me…”

“I would lad, and I did,” Silver pleaded. Just one more step-

“No…no…you’re too s-smart…I’m not worth it…” Jim’s voice cracked.

"Ye are-"

"NO I'M NOT!" The boy screamed. His fist tightened visibly around the handle of the knife and he moved to slash it across his throat.

Silver lunged forward. He grabbed Jim around his middle with his left arm and caught his wrist in his right hand. He yanked the knife away so it was a safe distance from his vulnerable skin, praying the entire time that he had been faster than Jim. His eyes searched for a deep cut. He hated seeing the shallow slice, but it wasn’t fatal.

Jim struggled weakly against his grip. He sobbed, “LET ME GO!”

“Calm down Jimbo, I got ye,” Silver buried his face in the boy’s hair and screwed his eyes shut. He’d stopped crying, but his tears were threatening to come back at the broken state his pup was in.

The boy's struggling had reduced to violent shaking. He needed medical attention, but he also needed some damn reassurance that he wasn’t imagining everything, and Silver would be damned if he didn’t do his best to give him that, “I’m here Jim. I’m here. Yer safe now. I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt ye again, ye c’n lay te that.”

A long, breathy, warbling wail rose from Jim’s throat. He finally went limp in Silver’s grip and let his head fall back and to the side so his cheek was pressed to Silver’s chest. Silver stroked his thumb pad over the inside of Jim's wrist as gently as he could.

“Drop the knife, lad. Jest let go.”

His fingers moved minutely at first, jerkily, rigidly as if his hand was too cold. Finally his grasp loosened enough that the blade fell from his hand and clattered harmlessly into the sink. Jim started to sob and tried to twist his body around so he could face Silver. He obliged the motion and aided Jim in turning around. Those big blue eyes searched his expression tearily. His hands came up and touched Silver’s cheeks as if he didn’t believe he actually was there.

The moment his fingers pressed against Silver’s skin his expression cracked and he let out another anguished howl. His head fell forward and against Silver’s chest, hands gripped tightly into his shirt. His shoulders jerked with the force of his crying, “You’re here…you’re actually here…I thought…Silver…you're really here…dad...”

They cried together, Jim far more vocally than Silver, but both equally as violently as the other. When he could see straight again, Silver picked Jim up as carefully as he could, but he still flinched when the boy made an involuntary noise of pain. He pressed his lips to the boy’s forehead and tried to steady his breathing as he felt Jim slowly relaxing from the tense, solid form his body had gone into in response to the pain.

“We gotta get ye te a doctor.”

Silver didn’t trust a goddamn person on Montressor to handle Jim’s medical care after he learned of all the people who knew of his abuse and marriage and done nothing about either, but he didn’t know how long Jim had been bleeding. From his ghostly pale appearance, he figured it was safe to guess that it had been for a while.

Which meant they didn’t have time to get him off planet and to a different doctor.

Thankfully, the woman at the emergency clinic didn’t ask for Jim’s name when Silver carried him through the door.

She didn’t want to let him in the room while she examined and treated Jim, but the boy refused to release his death grip on Silver’s shirt, and Hell nor high water nor his own bad experiences and subsequent distrust of doctors would have been able to drag Silver from his pup's side.

He hated being in that office. Hated seeing the medical supplies out of the corner of his eye, and he focused his attention on Jim as much as he could. The words ‘Jim needs me’ looped constantly through his head.

He positioned himself awkwardly on the edge of the bed in the only way he knew that would allow Jim privacy and the woman access to assess the damage. Jim lay normally down the length of the bed on his back, while he leaned over him perpendicularly as he faced the head of the bed. He sat on his right hip, legs twisted to the side so his left foot rested on the floor and his right leg was cocked up a bit, and leaned over Jim so the boy laid in the space under his right arm. He supported all of his weight on his right arm and was very careful not to press down on Jim at all. His right hand he used to cradle under Jim’s shoulders, and his left hand was set to the task of stroking his hair to sooth him. 

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to Jim’s, “We’ll get ye patched up quick as we can lad. I know ye don’ like this one bit.”

It had taken a good amount of gentle coaxing to get Jim to relax enough to let the doctor look him over, and she was down there now, which Silver was very grateful that it was happening behind him.

Jim winced and his breath hissed out between his teeth. Silver stiffened.

“I’ll need to stitch this.”

Both he and Jim flinched. Silver let out a shallow breath. Tried to put the image he’d seen on that holo-recorder out of his head for the millionth time. It too played on repeat in his mind, especially vividly when he’d explained to the doctor where Jim was bleeding from and why . She was understanding, and quick in her work, and clearly felt that either Jim or both of them needed to know what she was seeing. By the time she mentioned “internal tearing” Silver had gotten to the point he had to tell her to stop detailing everything, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from putting half a dozen rounds from his laser pistol through her wall to try and ease some of his overwhelming rage.

“I’m sorry, honey. This is going to be uncomfortable.”

From Jim’s reaction Silver guessed that ‘uncomfortable’ was an understatement. Jim immediately tensed and his eyes screwed shut in response to whatever it was she had done. If his head wasn’t effectively pinned in place, Silver was sure he would have thrown it back as he screamed.

Several tense minutes passed as the doctor presumably stitched whatever it was she needed to stitch. Silver didn’t say anything while he held Jim. The boy managed to turn his head and bury it in Silver’s shoulder, and in turn he pressed his face against Jim’s hair. Jim’s sobs were muffled, but his shaking and flinching weren’t, and Silver whispered into his ear gently, “Yer doin’ so good, Jimbo. So, so good, lad. Jest keep breathin' fer me.”

“Ok, it’s done,” The doctor whispered. He heard her moving away from the bed and opening a drawer, but he didn’t bother looking back.

He hadn’t felt relief once since learning about everything Jim had gone through while he was gone and it almost seemed foreign now as it swept over him. Jim went limp in his arms with a small groan.

“Did ye hear that, Jimbo? Ye did it. Ye did such a good job, lad.”

Jim whimpered very softly with a weak nuzzle into Silver’s shoulder. The doctor’s footsteps approached the bed again and there was rustling and shifting on the mattress. She murmured words of instruction to Jim as she apparently helped him into a pair of underwear and pants.

“Ok. You’re free to go. The stitches should dissolve in the course of the next month and a half, and the pain should ease within a couple weeks. And speaking of pain-” there was more rustling and shifting before her voice piped up right next to Silver “-you’ll need these.”

He turned his head to regard the dark bottle in her hand. A large part of him didn’t trust the liquid inside. She offered a small smile, “Trust me, you’ll be happy you have it later.”

Silver sat up very slowly, his back cracking as his body untwisted from the uncomfortable position. He scooped Jim into his arms, hesitating again before finally accepting the medication. He made sure Jim was comfortably nestled in his arms before he devoted even an ounce of attention to the woman, “What do I owe ye?”

She shook her head, “No charge. You’ve been through enough.”

Jim made a small noise and his hands unclasped from Silver’s shirt for the first time since they’d reunited. He very carefully removed the engagement ring Silver hadn’t noticed on his hand and offered it to the doctor.

It was an impressive piece of jewelry, probably worth more than Silver’s ship, with dozens of tiny gems inlaid in the gold all around one massive diamond. Even so, Jim looked ready to chuck it across the room without a second thought.

She began to argue that she couldn’t accept it, but Jim’s voice was strong when he interrupted her, “Please. Just take it.”

Silver felt relief again as he watched the ring fall from Jim’s hand and land in her outstretched palm. Jim’s hands returned to their place in his shirt and Silver took that as his cue to leave as he hurried toward the door. He was done with this godforsaken planet.

Chapter Text

Three weeks.

It took three weeks before Jim didn’t wince - even minutely - when he walked. It was a little longer after that before he showed even a little confidence in his work on the ship. 

Silver watched him carefully. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious about Jim doing something reckless, but it quickly morphed into fear that Jim would never mentally recover.

He hardly spoke. One of the only times he did speak in the first two months he was on the ship was to ask for all the mirrors (there were only two) to be either hidden or destroyed.

He couldn’t handle being alone, but he desperately wanted privacy. If he was in their cabin the door was wide open and he seemed apprehensive to close it even when he had to.

He was especially careful not to touch any knives.

He couldn’t sleep unless he was tucked against Silver’s side. He hardly let the man out of his sight, and more than once Silver had looked up from working on something to see Jim frantically searching for him. When this happened, the boy would throw himself into Silver’s arms and cling to him until he calmed down.

Silver’s heart broke a little when he first suggested that Jim help him with his arm and the boy had looked terrified. The little human sat for a long while with a wrench in his hand as if it were the first time he’d ever held one. The relief that flooded his expression when he finally slid his hand under the protective plate on Silver’s arm was enough to bring Silver to tears as he realized Jim must not have been allowed to touch anything mechanical since they had parted ways. He had nearly cried again when the ghost of a smile crossed Jim’s lips the more he worked.

A hand gripped his shirt hem suddenly and it startled him out of his thoughts. Silver turned and peeked down at Jim, who hesitated before he met his gaze, “Can…you help me cut my hair?”

He wanted to snatch the boy up and hug him. It was so infrequent hearing his voice that he was terrified he’d forget what it sounded like. But instead he very calmly and carefully wrapped his arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“O’ course, Jimbo.”

They went down into the tiny galley and Silver sat on an overturned bucket. He patted his mechanical knee, knowing it was the one Jim preferred. The boy turned around and shucked off his shirt, unwound his chest wrap, kicked off his boots, and finally dropped his trousers. Silver sat stiffly. He stared at the space right between Jim’s shoulder blades because nowhere else felt like it was safe to look. 

Jim perched on his knee and adjusted a little, whispering so quietly Silver almost didn’t hear him, “I, um…the pants because…there’s so much…this time…”

Realization at what Jim meant finally came to him as he watched the boy reach up and touch his hair. There was a lot. A full year’s worth grown out since the last time they’d done this ritual. Silver was surprised Jim hadn’t asked for his hair to get cut sooner, considering how long it had gotten, but he didn’t question him. He had still needed time to process everything.

Silver ran his fingers through the chestnut locks. He sorted through his arm’s attachments before reaching a set of shears, “Same cut ye had when we met?”

Jim nodded.

“Rattail an’ all?”

The boy’s slender arms came up quickly and he sectioned off a small clump of hair where his previous rattail had been and held it almost protectively.

Silver worked carefully around Jim’s hands. He started by cutting the excess length off. Morph played in the growing pile of hair on the floor as each new snipped off clump was added to it. Jim tilted his head easily where Silver guided him to do so. The razor blade touching Jim’s skin made them both flinch.

Another realization came to him now. This was why Jim hadn’t asked for his hair to be cut before. Why he hadn’t done it himself, even though both of them knew he was perfectly capable of it. It was the same reason he hadn’t touched any knife.

He didn’t trust himself.

The countless scars down his thighs were a reminder to him that he couldn’t be trusted to care for himself. Silver pulled the blade back.

It detached easily from his arm, as did most of his other attachments for cleaning and maintenance purposes. He turned it over in his palm for a moment before offering it to Jim.

The boy didn’t notice it at first, but when he did his head snapped around so he could look Silver dead in the eye, “What-”

“I trust ye, lad.”

His big, round eyes filled with tears, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyebrows pinched in the middle. He let out a breath, “I need a mirror-”

Morph flew from the nest he’d made in Jim’s cut off hair and turned into a small hand mirror. Jim stared at him, and then at the blade. He took the knife very tentatively. Ran his thumb down the back edge. Silver held his breath. 

Jim tilted his head, raised the knife, and quietly directed Morph where to float so he could begin shaving. His fingers brushed over the long clump Silver had left for his rattail. He looked as if he were debating something, and Silver guessed it was whether he should shave first and then braid it or go the other way around.

“I’ll braid this while ye shave.”

Their gazes met in mirror-Morph’s reflection and Jim offered him a tiny smile. Silver’s heart stopped for a long moment. It was more than a shadow of a smile like all the others had been. This was a real, genuine, just-a-little-nervous-but-definitely-thankful smile he'd seen Jim give him before.

He recovered as best he could and began his own task as Jim started to shave. They were silent as they worked together. Silver gently guided his hands in the places where he couldn’t see even with Morph’s help. When they were done Jim’s hair looked almost exactly how it did when they’d first met. Except for the sloppily braided rattail. I'll have to practice more at braiding...

Silver took the straight razor back and reattached it so Jim could run his fingers through his hair.

Jim did that for a while, his fingertips skating over the peach fuzz on the back of his neck before twisting the rattail around his index finger. He dropped his hands and reached for his shirt, foregoing the wrap for some reason. It pulled over his head easily and he sat on Silver’s knees still as if debating what to do next. 

Silver couldn’t help himself; he reached up and gently tugged the adorable little poof at the end of the braid.

He jumped a little when Jim whipped around and hugged him tightly around the neck. He embraced him back instantly. There was a growing wetness against his shoulder, but he didn’t care.

“I missed it when you did that…I missed you so much, dad…”

“I missed ye too, Jimbo. Weren’t a day that went by that I didn’t think o’ ye.”

The thumb of his mechanical hand traced the countless scars marking Jim’s leg while his other stroked a wide, slow circle in the middle of the boy's back. He wished he could erase every single one of those scars. He was so distracted by the raised ridges of the otherwise smooth skin under his sensor pad that he didn’t realize Jim had started to talk again. It was so good to hear his voice after nearly two months of near silence, even if what he spoke about was when he’d first cut himself.

The boy detailed how it had given him relief. How he’d finally found something he could control in his life. How it had been almost comforting to start up again when he returned to Montressor.

Silver cried when Jim talked about the first time he’d held a knife to his throat and how he’d had to talk himself out of ending his life. How he'd wished someone would come into the bathroom then and stop him, but no one even knew he was struggling. How he'd only been seven. How instead of cutting his skin that night, he’d cut his hair and embraced the feeling in his chest that he had been avoiding.

Morph squeezed in between them at one point and Jim stroked him with his fingertips as he continued to hug Silver with his other arm. He’d stopped talking when he’d finally reached the part in the story when the two of them had met when he had attempted - again - to take his own life. Silver didn’t know how long they sat there just holding each other in silence, but he wasn't too concerned about keep track of the time. He laid his cheek on the top of Jim's head and closed his eyes.

“I’m glad you showed up when you did,” Jim finally murmured. "I'm glad I'm still alive."

Silver squeezed him closer reflexively, “So am I.”

The shuffling of light feet behind him alerted Silver to Jim slipping into the galley. Morph’s following happy chirp and the soft grunt as Jim pulled himself onto the counter only confirmed it.

Jim had been sluggish since they got up that morning. Silver hadn’t seen him drag his feet so much since he had first started his work as a cabin boy on The Legacy. He normally had far more energy, especially the last couple months now that he’d gotten a lot of his confidence back.

Silver paused. Had it already been five months since he and Jim had left Montressor? Time sure does fly. He reached for the cutting board, “Took ye a while te finish that task, Jimbo. Ye feeling alright?”

He only got a soft hum that bordered on a groan in response. Fully concerned now, he turned and examined Jim closely. The boy was pale and looked damn exhausted. He sagged against the wall as if his body were too heavy for him, head tipped back and eyes closed, hands resting on the countertop with his palms up and fingers slightly curled. Silver took a step toward him and he jerked a little, opening his eyes and sitting up slowly, “‘M fine…just a little…eh.”

“‘Eh’?”

“Mmm,” Jim hummed quietly in response. His hands made their way to his stomach and he curled his fingers in his shirt. That apprehensive expression Silver had caught him wearing recently flickered over his features and lingered.

Silver felt the pit in his stomach growing. Jim wouldn’t talk to him about what was eating at him and he kept brushing off his questions as if he were worrying for nothing. But he knew his boy. Something was bothering him. He’d guessed at a couple things it could be based on Jim’s other self-image issues. 

When he’d proudly commented on how Jim had put on enough weight to show a tiny bit of a belly and then teased that if he wasn’t careful he’d end up looking like him, Jim had gotten very quiet and distant. Of course Silver had apologized and told him he’d only been joking. He hadn’t meant to touch on one of the things Jim was self conscious about. Jim had smiled and told him it was fine, but he could tell that he was still upset.

It wasn’t as if Jim was fat, if that was what he was worried about. If anything he was still far too skinny. The swell of his belly was cute. It almost looked as if-

Jim sucked in a sharp gasp through his nose that made Silver jump. His blue eyes were wide, lips parted a little, body rigid. Morph darted around him with a concerned squeak. Silver reached toward him, the pit in his core growing, “Jimbo-”

The boy launched off the counter and sprinted out of the galley and to their room. He slammed the door shut.

Silver stood frozen in his shock for only an instant before he was racing after him, “Jim?! What’s wrong?!”

He tried the handle, but Jim had locked the door. He hadn’t EVER locked the door since they’d reunited. Silver jostled the handle harder, “JIMBO?!”

It wouldn’t take much effort to bust the door down, and Silver braced himself to slam through it, but he paused and quirked his ear forward to listen. There was a soft noise from behind the door followed by the click of the lock. Jim flung the door open and looked up at him with an elated smile on his face.

Silver turned to stone.

This was the first REAL smile from Jim he’d seen since they parted ways in the longboat hangar on The Legacy. But everything else was wrong. Jim was clothed in just his oversized shirt. His pants and undershorts held in his hands as if they were trophies. There was blood on them-

“I started-” Jim started to cry, but he was still smiling so wide that Silver wondered if he had reached some sort of mental breakdown. The clothing fell from his hands and to the floor and he swiped at his eyes, “I started my period! I’m not- I’m not pr-pregnant!”

Now Silver was the one to suck in a sharp breath. He gaped at Jim, feeling very foolish and stupid for not even entertaining the idea that Jim could be pregnant. He was so used to Jim being…well, being Jim that he forgot that there was technically a woman’s body under his clothes. Even when Jim asked for help to wrap his chest he was able to overlook the boy’s natural biology. It was just part of who Jim was to wrap his chest.

“Oh- ye- why didn’t ye tell me ye were worried ‘bout that, Jimbo?” He laid his hands on his son’s shoulders gently as Jim started to cry more violently in his relief.

“I didn’t- I didn’t want you to w-worry- a-and I didn’t want to think about h-how it would have happened-”

Silver pulled him into his arms, “That’s my job, Jimbo. I’m yer dad, ain’t I? I’m ‘sposed te worry ‘bout my boy.”

Jim’s breath hitched a little and he nodded after a brief internal debate. Silver rubbed his back gently for a while before clearing his throat. Now that the nerves and confusion had been sorted out, the smell of blood was…overpowering.

“I’ll erm…let ye get cleaned up…” Silver carefully detached himself from the hug to give Jim privacy to take care of…all of that…

He hesitated when Jim caught his hand. The boy looked up sheepishly, “Thanks, dad. Thanks for being here and for...everything. I know it’s probably been…hard on you the last couple months…”

“That’s part o’ me job too, Jimbo. I’ll always be here for ye. If ye ever need anythin’, jest tell me an’ I’ll make it happen,” He pressed their foreheads together briefly. Jim released his hand and he slipped back into the galley to start on dinner…again.

Jim shifted a little. Silver cracked an eye open. He was met with a face-full of sleep-styled brown hair and he smiled softly. 

He knew that by letting Jim sleep next to him every night for the past ten months that he was probably enabling his attachment issues, but he was comforted by the weight against his side too. His fingers tangled a little in Jim’s hair when he went to pet the boy’s head, and he ended the motion with a tug on his rattail.

The soft groan and second shift indicated that Jim was awake and he ruffled the boy’s already messy hair.

“Mmmnnhh…nnm mmoohnhn…” Jim pressed his face harder into Silver’s side as he spoke so it was impossible to tell what the hell he’d said.

“Sorry, lad, I don’t speak in mumbles,” he grinned and teasingly poked Jim in the ribs.

“Gah! Stop it!”

Jim rolled away from him and straight over the side of the bed. He sat up after only a moment and stuck out his tongue at Silver, “That was mean.”

He reached for his chest wrap and dangled it in the air between them, “Mind helping me?”

It was their morning ritual getting that damned thing on, oftentimes ending in frustrated sighs and giving up. Silver sat up and reached for the package he’d stuffed between the wall and the bed. He’d wanted to save this gift for a special day - Jim was turning 18 soon - but now seemed like a good time.

“I actually got ye somethin’...wanna test it out?”

His heart trembled in his chest as Jim took the plainly wrapped package. He gave Silver a puzzled look with one eyebrow cocked up before he carefully tore the paper. His mouth fell open and he looked up in shock. They just sat there in silence for a moment as Jim worked out how to form words again.

“You…you got me a binder?”

Silver took it and ran his fingers over it carefully, eyebrows furrowing as he studied it, “I didn’t know yer size, so I hope it fits ye-”

Jim was on his feet, and then had his arms flung around Silver’s neck and shoulders in a tight embrace before he could blink. Silver dropped the binder on the bed and hugged his boy back tightly. Jim nuzzled into his neck and he felt the tension bleed right out of both of them.

The boy jumped back excitedly and grabbed the binder, nearly forgetting to turn around before whipping his shirt off and squeezing into the thing. Silver, thankfully, was quick to turn away and give him privacy before he saw anything and he only turned around when he heard Jim squeal loudly. 

He’d never seen Jim so excited. He did a quick little dance, smiling brightly with his eyes screwed shut, and then he stopped in the middle of the room and stared at Silver with a whole slew of emotions twisting on his face all at once. Silver stared back and waited for Jim to figure himself out.

“I love you, dad.”

Silver turned to stone again. A million thoughts and emotions hit him all at once, but he - the infamous Long John Silver - was at a loss for words.

“I- I never thought I’d ever…” Jim’s face twisted into an expression of sadness mixed with overwhelming joy, “Never thought anyone would be there for me…would care about me…would understand…”

He turned his tear filled eyes back to Silver’s face and touched the binder with his fingertips. A tear slipped down his cheek, “Thank you…”

“Jim…”

Silver’s body suddenly clicked back online and he stood up off the bed quickly. It was his turn to launch himself at Jim and he picked him up and hugged him as tightly as he dared without hurting him. What was it with this kid making him so emotional all the time? In less than a year he’d cried more than he had in the majority of his life. But he didn’t care. He would cry and hug his son and never fucking let him go.

“I love ye too, Jimbo. Me boy, me pup…me son.”