Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The long nights of winter are some of the crew’s favorites, actually, because there’s fuckall to do. There’s dinner, yeah: usually delicious, always slightly surprising, always served with Roach’s trademark mix of threatening and nonchalant (with a dash of sweetness, these days). There’s the final tasks of the night, making sure everything’s squared away, ship-shape and all that, but this time of the year there’s not as much trade, so they’re a little less likely to need to react on a moment’s notice, so.

It’s not that they let things slide (much): rather, it’s that things get a little looser, as the nights stretch towards the new year.

And then of course, there’s reading time, which. Well.

Sometimes it’s delayed a bit.

#

“Captains?” Frenchie knocks again at the door, three quick raps, and inside, there’s the scuffle of movement, and—is that a bell? Something jingling, anyway, and a giggle, and a thump, and Frenchie glances over his shoulder at Wee John, shrugs, and decides he’ll come back in a few, maybe. Or send Lucius? It’s his turn to want to gouge his eyes out, actually, he figures.

The thing is, though, they’re working their way through the one with the wooden boy, and this time, Stede’s promised they’re going to finish it before the new year, which is, by Frenchie’s calculations—and by the Gregorian calendar, that weaselly, slippery thing, all its leap years and sneaky bits, and by the ship’s logbook, too—it’s tomorrow. So. They’ve got pages to go before they sleep, is all he’s saying. And they’ve got plans tonight, too. Plans that are non-negotiable.

He knocks again, and this time—silence.

Hm.

He swings his lute down from his shoulder and strums thoughtfully. He might need some reinforcements for this.

#

Fang’s on watch duty tonight—he likes the first watch of the night, actually, likes the quiet of it, likes the way things don’t tend to go wrong yet and likes the way that he can settle down afterwards and sleep through till the morning, if everything goes all right, curled up beside Roachie or Lucius or tucked tight between Frenchie’s elbows and Wee John’s warmth. It’s a good place, this ship, even if it’s not like any other ship he’s ever been on.

Maybe especially because of that.

So when he hears the crash from below, he has literally no idea what to expect when he rushes down.

He follows the sound of voices to the Captains’ cabin, finds most of the crew gathered around the door, which is not particularly odd—it’s a ship without a strict chain of command, usually, and so they’re always up in each other’s business. He still remembers fondly the way he’d stretched out on Stede’s soft silk sheets for Lucius to sketch him, that first week on the ship.

“I don’t know, babe!” Pete’s saying. “I wasn’t like, watching them!”

“But they were in there,” Lucius says. “I heard them in there!”

“We’re going to miss our reading time?” says Swede. “If we don’t find Captain soon, we’ll never know if the wooden boy gets flesh?”

“They probably fucked off into one of the stupid tunnels,” says Jim. “We can finish the fucking thing tomorrow, whatever!”

“Captain said by New Years?” Swede moans. “It is New Year’s Eve?”

“Guys!” Oluwande raises his voice over the chatter. “I’m sure they’re fine, I’m sure—”

“Is that blood?” Zheng says from inside the cabin, where she’s kneeling by a stain on the floor.

“Nah,” says Roach, pushing his way in beside her. “It’s -" he tastes it. "Okay, no, that's definitely blood."

"What the fuck," Pete says, then puffs himself up in a quick moment, flexing in a way he's sure is subtle. (It's not subtle, but that's not Pete's forte, anyway.) He makes it two steps towards the door before Jim's arm flies out in front of him, stopping Pete in his tracks.

"Cálmate, Pete, do you want to see them doing -- whatever?" They hiss, brooking no argument.

"What if? The blood is theirs?" The Swede gasps. "Or ours? Does everyone have all their blood?"

Zheng rolls her eyes, trying to hide a soft, amused smile. "I think we're all good."

While she's trying to figure out a tactful way to ask if anyone's on the rag or doing extracurricular stabbing, Archie slips behind Oluwande and bashes the door the rest of the way open. Without asking anyone, you know, like a pirate. Which they all are. Supposedly.

Like a dam's broken, everyone else piles into the captains' room behind her, finding a whole lot of nothing. Roach insists on gustatorily confirming that the drips on the floor are, in fact, blood. And Buttons, back from his afternoon flight, insists on confirming himself that it is, in fact, human blood, and Archie is desperately trying to get everyone to stop doing cannibalism and help find their captains for fucks sake. (It's not going well.)

In his haste to gather clues, Pete manages to knock over a small table covered in knick-knacks, which of course leads to both a cacophony of clattering objects rolling everywhere and an impromptu game of pick-up-shit. Which, of course, means that no one besides Zheng (who knows better than to say shit about shit) notices the suspicious noises coming from the not-so-secret closet that Stede still totally thinks is a secret.

(Ed indulges him, because that's the world they all find themselves in now.)

When the bookcase opens up, everyone freezes. (Well, not everyone. The Swede gasps, says in a small voice "I was not expecting this?" and faints. Same thing.)

When time starts up again, Archie does a backwards roll and comes up opposite the bookcase with a heavy trinket in her hand, Pete runs forward, somehow more sleeveless than usual, and narrowly misses punching Stede in the face.

The source of the blood is immediately apparent, since Stede's holding a blood-stained cloth to his forehead, chipper as ever.

"Nothing to worry about, crew, just a bit of an injury, we can patch it up after storytime," he waves the cloth flippantly, and a rivulet of blood immediately drips into his eye. "Blast," he says, a bit forlorn.

Lucius hisses between his teeth. "Hate when a head wound puts a stop to some good old fashioned wardrobe sex."

Ed is very quick to pipe up from behind Stede. "Nah, just got into it with some sharks. You know. Pointy fuckers. Had to punch a few each to get out. Anyways, storytime, yeah?" He shoulders his way to the door.

Roach chooses that moment to return, brandishing a bottle of cat-gut suture aloft. "Stitches, then storytime." He pauses. "And can one of you please get the Swede off the floor?"

Frenchie grabs Stede by the arm while Roach gets to work. "Okay, but what actually happened?"

"Ow! Fuck. Sea snakes. Really sharp teeth." Stede grits his teeth.

"One time I fought off a whole swarm of venomous sea snakes, right, Ed?" Pete lies. Lucius kisses him about it anyways.

"Uh, ghost…cats. Knives in their feet. Slippery little buggers," Ed says, now power walking away, ostensibly to get some more seating things out on deck, definitely not fleeing the situation. "Definitely a sex thing," he calls over his shoulder.

Jim returns, noticeably rumpled, and surveys the scene. "Did you cut yourself practicing your 'moves' again?" They don't neglect the air quotes.

Stede deflates a little. "Maybe," he says in a small voice, as Roach ties off the last knot.

Jim rolls their eyes. "You always do this thing with your wrist and lose stability. If you flip it counterclockwise, you won't lose your grip. See?" They flourish a knife they produced apparently from thin air and yes, it looks very cool. "C'mon, it's flesh boy time."

Stede winces. "Please never say that again?" He hauls himself to his feet and plucks Pinocchio from the bookshelf.

Jim cackles. "Not a chance." They clear their throat. "Don't you want to feel my fancy flesh nose, sir?" They chase him upstairs with terrible impressions, all the way to the little nest Ed's made for him.

Archie is telling Zheng a long, convoluted story about a sea snake/python hybrid, while Olu rests his head on Archie's thigh. Jim finds their place on Zheng's lap, legs tucked up against Olu. Everyone is chattering expectantly, even the Swede, who is both confused and no worse off than usual.

“All right, all right, settle down, crew,” Stede says, rearranging the blanket so it drapes over both of them. “We’re all anxious to see how it ends…”

An expectant calm spreads over the crew, eyes closed or on Stede, hands still or busy with repetitive tasks, bodies curled together or splayed out.

Stede takes a deep breath, settles his glasses on his nose, and begins.