[ It feels like a lifetime ago and it shouldn't. Ed's face. The nerves, the tentative excitement, the smiling.
He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]
[Fuck, he just sounds so fucking sad, and the hurt leaks out of him through the cracks in Stede's voice, collecting somewhere they'll have to mop up later, because Ed can't listen to that and not do anything about it. Whether it's weak, or a bad decision, or something Blackbeard wouldn't do stops mattering, the way it always seems to with Stede.
In one of those moments of weakness, he'd lain his head against Stede's hand, cried the way he's crying now, and been offered forgiveness without even having to ask- what if we just pretended that whole murder idea never happened?
Stede deserves at least the same in return. He deserves a lot better than that.
(And he knows it, something vile hisses inside him. He almost left because he knows it.)
Ed stands and begins to cross the dock in short strides, hesitating only out of fear that if he moves too fast, Stede is gonna bolt into the underbrush like a startled deer.]
Fucking- don't cry, c'mon. Hey. Just- we can- [the fear that crept into certainty, he's not coming, he's not coming- it's still too raw.] What happened? What the fuck happened?
I happened! [ It's all panic and no anger, well within his wheelhouse of undignified shrillness. ] I keep, I keep happening to people and I don't even mean to, they're just around me--
[ And then they're ruined. They're about to be executed, or they sign their life away and lose their beard, or they wake up and he's abandoned them, or their brother is gone, or they put a hole in their head, like he's some impossible infection.
Will they even find the body? Will it just stay out there while people wonder, worry? Oh god, he doesn't think he could lead anyone back to it even if he wanted to. Couldn't find it again.
Stede takes a step back that turns into a crouch, a shaky hand over his mouth for a moment while he tries and fails to pull himself together. Baby Bonnet. Same as always.
The problem with everything being your fault is it's hard to know where to start explaining yourself.
But what happened, what happened, that's why weren't you here, I trusted you to be here. That's tonight. Last night. The sky is so beautiful, and for what. Keeping Ed here where he's not safe longer instead of getting the explanations over with, and for what. He probably could have been here sooner. He doesn't know. ]
Somebody else woke me up.
[ He cannot presently manage "don't cry," but he ought to try to manage "what the fuck happened?"
[It's becoming increasingly more obvious that there's a bigger picture he doesn't have here. The middle of the puzzle. Ed wipes a hand down his face; takes another couple of steps forward- right as Stede retreats, and it feels like a chase and his gut sinks to his shoes and he has to fight off a wave of nausea.
But that nasty little spark of something hopeful licks at his insides, too- it only makes sense, something fucking happened, something bad, Stede could have changed his mind or realized he was making a mistake or whatever the hell else, but then why would he look like this? Why would he be saying-]
Who?
[That's a start. That's easier to focus on, easier to ask than anything else he wants to, and Ed grabs onto it with both hands, with all the ugly parts of himself. Just for now. Just for right now.]
I'll fucking- are they out there? [For the first time he looks past Stede, half expecting to see someone still in pursuit, and when that gives him nothing, he looks Stede over. Properly. His shaking hands, the dried and fresh tear tracks, the completely uncharacteristic rumpled-ness of his entire being.
Stede could have left, he thinks, and he still would have hated him less than anyone who made him look like this.
Ed kneels, and he reaches out a hand to Stede's shoulder.]
[ It's a relief. The narrowed point of focus. Ed being Ed about it, all sort of sharp-eyed in that way he gets, like maybe he's not all gone. A tiny little anchor, a comfort against the way that are they out there inadvertently squeezes the air out of his lungs with an unseemly wheeze.
He left Ed sitting here and he's the one taking comfort. Chauncey is lying out there somewhere because of him, and Stede is the one taking comfort. He shouldn't be here, and Ed's hand at his shoulder shouldn't be a tether in a scattered maze, but he's here anyway and he doesn't know how to make it not do that. ]
Oh. [ A touch belated, distracted. An "oh" in the sense that he told himself he'd explain, and then immediately ran aground after all of one sentence. Needs the middle bit, though, doesn't he. The part of the map with the ink. Needs the part that actually technically kept him away. ] Walked me out a ways. Meant to kill me. Can't really blame him in-- in context.
[ He doesn't tend to agree with getting murdered, but it's not like it doesn't make sense why people try it when they explain. Usually.
Stede really thought there'd be a point between then and stopping walking where he calmed down. Felt like he could catch his breath. But even the part where he wasn't thinking wasn't very calm. ]
[It's beginning to glue together now, the picture fed as much by Stede's words as by what Ed wants to believe is true. Someone threatened Stede. Talked shit. Made him feel small, and stupid, all while intending to kill him. Like they were just playing with their food, and it makes his blood absolutely boil-]
Fuck this, I'm killing the fuckhead and then we're leaving.
[He makes to stand and head back into the trees, even though the sun is up, and everyone surely knows they're missing by now, and they really shouldn't be delaying their escape any further- but someone tried to take this from them. Tried to take Stede from him.
It'd only be right, he thinks, to kill someone for the first time since his father in return for attempting to kill Stede. Bloody, and slow and cruel enough that it empties out the disappointment in his gut that whatever they said to Stede, it almost fucking worked.]
[ Is it good that Ed's first plan of action is to go commit murder? It doesn't feel great. Then again, he's him. And that's the whole point, isn't it, that he's him no matter where he goes, that that's the problem. The instinct to temper, to gentle, to give an outlet, to soften. So it's... not not good. But it is hypothetical murder. And more than that it's Ed having a cry in the tub, all-- all torn up about himself about killing his father years and years ago--
A man can't know that and be fine with letting someone go off to do that to themselves again, surely. Any man. Even him. He's not worth all that.
Oh.
And there's the fact that there's no one left to kill, setting the rest aside. He's not doing wonderful work unseeing that.
Stede allows himself a second of unfortunate laughter, as a treat. Or if anyone asks he might say he allowed it, anyway. That it was very much definitely something he did on purpose, and it didn't just sort of pop and explode up from his chest like so many misdirected horrified bubbles before he could swallow it.
So he slaps one hand back over his mouth while it passes, and fumbles his way through trying to pull Ed back by the sleeve with his other hand. It's fine. This is fine. ]
He's already dead. [ Okay. Good. He can manage that at a stage whisper without having a whole time of it. Only part of a time of it. ] Very dead. Too dead to be killable, I think.
[ Stede is starting to suspect that he is not in an internal place very conducive to talking things through or making sense of them. Less than ideal.
What's important right now? What actually needs the focus?
Explaining, explaining things, because once Ed has the right perspective on him, it'll probably-- be over fast. He thinks. Never had to explain that sort of thing to someone before, people usually just immediately start in on it.
Keeping Ed from getting rounded back up, though, that's definitely the most important.
He signed his life away already. Stede can't be the reason he gets forced to follow through with it. ]
Dinghy?
[ There's a bespoke tone for "I have to talk to you but I don't think it's a talk we can have on land in a very short or safe amount of time," and Stede has just patented it.
He can cry on a boat just as well as anywhere else, really. ]
The words finish the job of stilling him where Stede's grip had started, and Ed unthinkingly covers the hand with one of his own. That would definitely explain the distress.]
Okay. It's alright. That's okay.
[Its obviously super not, but he doesn't really know what else to say.
All of sudden, he cannot believe he was about to stalk away from the dock and leave Stede here like this. What a completely fucking moronic shit-for-brains idea.]
Yeah, yes, c'mon then-
[He leans down to get a hold on Stede, to help steady his legs and give him something to lean on as he gets to his feet, and then they're lumbering down the planks, headed towards said dinghy.
There's still a lot to talk about or maybe completely ignore forever and seal away inside the 'if I don't look at this it doesn't exist' box, still a sharp burst of unresolved hurt in his chest, but every step they take towards the ocean makes Ed feel slightly less unhinged. He can only hope Stede feels even a fraction the same.]
Watch your step.
[He offers both hands, ready to help Stede climb in, but his eyes remain at their feet, afraid of what he might see elsewhere.]
[ It's not okay. It's nice of Ed to say so. It's nice of Ed to help him stand up, and nice of Ed to walk with him, and nice of Ed to offer his hands. He likes Ed's hands. It would be nice if they didn't have to worry about time or getting caught or anything else after all that. Spend a day holding hands instead. Maybe kissing. That was nice, too.
That's probably stupid. It's definitely stupid, considering. It just sounds like a day that would feel very quiet. The good sort of quiet, even when things aren't quiet at all.
Stede takes the help into the dinghy. ]
Thank you.
[ Almost funny how much more stable it feels to be standing in a choppy little boat instead of solid ground.
He maybe takes some liberties in holding onto Ed's hands a couple seconds longer than is strictly necessary for either of them. He'll own that. ]
[Stede is quiet. It's unsettling, at odds with the constant chatter, nervous rambling and delighted musings Ed has grown used to.
It makes him, despite everything, want to wrap Stede up in warmth and slice the ankles of anyone who so much as looks at him wrong. It makes him want to resurrect the fuckhead that got him feeling this way in the first place, just so he can shoot him point-blank.
It makes him feel like a cancerous growth on Stede's life, sucking the joy out of him.
If Stede holds on longer than necessary, it doesn't feel that way to Ed. He's not ready to let go until Stede is settled, and even then he lingers, some little voice in the back of his brain worried that Stede is going to change his mind and leap back out to splash his way to shore.
He grabs the oars and begins to row, fueled by the knowledge that he needs to get them the hell out of there as quickly as possible, but also by the adrenaline rush that has absolutely consumed him. Like a madman, he can't control what rushes out his mouth next. He doesn't want to say it, but it's like he fucking has to. Has to be sure that even if Stede is clearly not in his right mind, he at least knows what choice he's making.]
He couldn't even manage running away together without hurting Ed, could he? It filters in almost idly, distantly. Tightness of his voice, his posture, sterner lines of his expression. How long was he even sitting there? Definitely hours. All night. Some morning. Of course he feels like he should give fair notice. ]
Yeah.
[ Stede probably shouldn't miss that soft excitement from earlier. Ed and his big smile, what he looked like happy. Or he honestly shouldn't be surprised it's been chased off, maybe. He feels like he can't track the plot on what's worse.
He scrubs at his face with his sleeve. Is it dignified? No. Has dignity really been on the table since about the time he got woken up? Also no. No need to worry about it too much when he's at bedrock. ]
Sorry. Yes. I'm here. [ Debatable at best. ] Just need a minute.
[ He definitely doesn't want either of them to be back there no matter what else he still has to do, at least, so he is... definitely physically here. He's not sure if it's better for anybody that he managed it.
Doesn't make a very clean break, being on the water whenever he scrapes together the means for a human conversation. Sort of has them both stuck. Stede hadn't thought ahead to that. ]
[They row in quiet for some time, broken only by Ed reaching into his pocket to retrieve a familiar square of soft, red fabric. His heart can't really handle continuing to watch as tears idly slip down Stede's crumpled up face.
What he wants to do is hold him until they stop. He wants to have the perfect words to bring this together and hold it down safe and propel the dinghy smoothly halfway across the continent to somewhere they can hide alone to figure this all out.
All he can manage, instead, is to lean across the slats of the boat, between the ends of the oars, and pat Stede's face dry with tenderness as awkward as it is sincere.
There's so much contained in Stede right now; Ed can feel it like a rubber band drawn incredibly tight and given no reprieve. He can do that, maybe. Ed can try to cut him loose.]
Just say it. Say whatever you want to say right now.
[ Stede hovers in that for a minute. The little comfort. The sudden drawing a blank on whether or not tears stain silk, like every fabric he ever had a quiet cry into in his old study has all but vanished from memory. He hopes it doesn't stain. Very different, very tangible sort of ruining. The uncertainty of where to start.
Listening is always easier than talking, when it comes to this stuff.
History's greatest pirate, gently dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Almost steering clear of him only to end up coming back. Throwing himself away.
[To his credit, Ed manages to keep his hand steady, even as his heart drowns in his stomach. Stede's face is dryer now, and it's a good thing, because steady or not, Ed's hand drops heavily into his lap. He holds Stede's gaze as much as the other man will allow, and does his very best to not just hear this as the simple rejection he instinctively feels it to be.
Instead, he composes himself and takes a deep shuddery breath, ironically enough taking a leaf out of his what would Stede do book. His hand comes back to rest on Stede's knee, and his face is open. Free of judgement.]
[ Okay. First step done. The first step is traditionally the hardest one, but Stede finds that it may have been the easiest thing to break off. The rest is stuck as some odd congealed mass. It wants to get out all at once even though the shape is unfamiliar in his throat.
He can't look at Ed's open face for as long as he might normally like. ]
There's something wrong with me.
[ Which is less of a confession and more admitting to what he already knew. ]
I thought maybe I could change it, or leave it behind, but it only came with me. Or it is me. So I only wound up ruining things. I didn't even think twice.
[ Him in general, he guesses. Soft. Stupid. So caught up not wanting to drown that he didn't let himself think about what he left to sink. ]
I left my family and I didn't even talk to them about it. I've gotten people killed. I'm always getting my crew into trouble because I don't know what I'm doing. Ed, it's my fault you had to give up everything. All because I couldn't-- all because I wanted to-- [ Be happy.
But that really would be a stupid thing to say. ]
I'm just a plague.
[ A thing that happens to people.
He always did hate when a Badminton had a point. ]
[God, but he's so fucking angry. Not at Stede. At whatever or whoever made him feel this way. At the asshole who, tonight, reaffirmed those feelings. He doesn't know how to bite it down, how to make it manageable- but it doesn't matter, in the end, because as Stede finishes talking, it rushes out of him and leaves him hollow with hurt.
There's so much he loves in Stede, admires- the bravery it took to start a new life, his compassion for his crew, every part of him that is unapologetically delicate, and those that are entirely unremitting. Fierce and clever and soft in a finely dressed, beautiful package.
But the doubt that floods from Stede could sink their little dinghy, and Ed considers whether or not he needs a fucking magnifying glass permanently glued to his face, if he's missing things this big about the person he wants to know best. Claims, if just to himself at this point, to love. Unapologetically, he's realizing at this point, may be closer from Stede's point of view to inescapably.
Stede talks like he thinks he's ruined Ed's life, like everything Ed's let go of was precious goods, and not weight he was so glad to unpack. A plague, but Ed doesn't feel sick. He feels like he was the blight, a rot that could have spread through Stede's veins, and instead Stede cleaned him out. Head to toe. Right down to his soul.]
Don't say that shit. You're the best thing in my life. One of the only good-
[It's not what he wants to say. Ed swallows and tries again. ]
I can't speak for your family. I can't speak for the crew, either- sidebar though, we both heard them fucking vouch for you, and pirates don't do that shit for someone who doesn't deserve it. Anyway, I can speak for myself, so just listen to me.
[ Ed leans forward and tries to duck his face low enough to catch Stede's eyes again, even when he's trying to avoid it. Then he gives up worrying about being subtle because they're so fucking far past this right now, and instead reaches out to grasp Stede's chin and tilt his face towards Ed's.]
I had fucking nothing, before you. Nothing I actually cared about. And if you think that me caring about you is some awful thing and you don't want it, that's fine. [His mouth quivers in a way that suggests it's decidedly not fine.] But you don't get to decide how I feel about it. I didn't give up anything I wouldn't happily get the fuck rid of a hundred more times over. You're what I want.
[He adds, in a desperate last ditch attempt to draw attention away from the thinning thread of his voice and bring some fucking levity to it all,]
You're not a plague. Can't even fold your own socks.
It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
[It'd be enough to make him laugh, normally, that that is of course what Stede responds to first, before anything else, that teasing him worked; but Ed's just so tired, and all he can manage is a fond little grin.
A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
[ Maybe one of the nicest things about this dinghy is that Stede can't feasibly imagine Chauncey fitting in here with them. Or it's that Ed is just very good at warding off ghosts. Because he feels like he might have a whole new fake Badminton to cope with otherwise.
He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]
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He wants him to be happy. More than anything. He knows that it's possible. He's sure of it.
Ed's not happy now, though, is he? Because Stede is past the point of excusably late, because Stede was Stede and he did something that caused something that made someone miserable, and it caught him up in exactly the right way to make someone else miserable.
He shouldn't have come here. Selfish. ]
There was-- I got-- I ran into--
[ Into nothing. Watched someone kind of run into their own pistol. But he can't dredge the right words up, scrabbles fruitlessly at the metaphorical rock face of them looking for a handhold. Does it even matter? What's an excuse worth? What's talking it through worth? Not nearly enough. He just left Ed here waiting. Ed waited. Longer than he rightfully should have.
Stede Bonnet has always been what he is. He's never known how not to be, never been able to change it. The thread that links miserable, dead people all together. The one who ran away from his family, the one who smiled over Ed coming back and getting captured with the rest of them. The picture of a spoiled little rich boy.
Picking flowers cuts them off from their roots, he thinks. Breaks them. The only path left for them is to wilt and wither. ]
I'm sorry. [ The problem was always him. You defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things, you defile beautiful things-
Things he thought he might be finished with for now: crying.
Things he can't seem to breathe around: the crying he was wrong about being done with. This is the nightmare scenario. ]
no subject
In one of those moments of weakness, he'd lain his head against Stede's hand, cried the way he's crying now, and been offered forgiveness without even having to ask- what if we just pretended that whole murder idea never happened?
Stede deserves at least the same in return. He deserves a lot better than that.
(And he knows it, something vile hisses inside him. He almost left because he knows it.)
Ed stands and begins to cross the dock in short strides, hesitating only out of fear that if he moves too fast, Stede is gonna bolt into the underbrush like a startled deer.]
Fucking- don't cry, c'mon. Hey. Just- we can- [the fear that crept into certainty, he's not coming, he's not coming- it's still too raw.] What happened? What the fuck happened?
no subject
I happened! [ It's all panic and no anger, well within his wheelhouse of undignified shrillness. ] I keep, I keep happening to people and I don't even mean to, they're just around me--
[ And then they're ruined. They're about to be executed, or they sign their life away and lose their beard, or they wake up and he's abandoned them, or their brother is gone, or they put a hole in their head, like he's some impossible infection.
Will they even find the body? Will it just stay out there while people wonder, worry? Oh god, he doesn't think he could lead anyone back to it even if he wanted to. Couldn't find it again.
Stede takes a step back that turns into a crouch, a shaky hand over his mouth for a moment while he tries and fails to pull himself together. Baby Bonnet. Same as always.
The problem with everything being your fault is it's hard to know where to start explaining yourself.
But what happened, what happened, that's why weren't you here, I trusted you to be here. That's tonight. Last night. The sky is so beautiful, and for what. Keeping Ed here where he's not safe longer instead of getting the explanations over with, and for what. He probably could have been here sooner. He doesn't know. ]
Somebody else woke me up.
[ He cannot presently manage "don't cry," but he ought to try to manage "what the fuck happened?"
He owes Ed that much, at least. ]
no subject
But that nasty little spark of something hopeful licks at his insides, too- it only makes sense, something fucking happened, something bad, Stede could have changed his mind or realized he was making a mistake or whatever the hell else, but then why would he look like this? Why would he be saying-]
Who?
[That's a start. That's easier to focus on, easier to ask than anything else he wants to, and Ed grabs onto it with both hands, with all the ugly parts of himself. Just for now. Just for right now.]
I'll fucking- are they out there? [For the first time he looks past Stede, half expecting to see someone still in pursuit, and when that gives him nothing, he looks Stede over. Properly. His shaking hands, the dried and fresh tear tracks, the completely uncharacteristic rumpled-ness of his entire being.
Stede could have left, he thinks, and he still would have hated him less than anyone who made him look like this.
Ed kneels, and he reaches out a hand to Stede's shoulder.]
What did they do to you?
no subject
He left Ed sitting here and he's the one taking comfort. Chauncey is lying out there somewhere because of him, and Stede is the one taking comfort. He shouldn't be here, and Ed's hand at his shoulder shouldn't be a tether in a scattered maze, but he's here anyway and he doesn't know how to make it not do that. ]
Oh. [ A touch belated, distracted. An "oh" in the sense that he told himself he'd explain, and then immediately ran aground after all of one sentence. Needs the middle bit, though, doesn't he. The part of the map with the ink. Needs the part that actually technically kept him away. ] Walked me out a ways. Meant to kill me. Can't really blame him in-- in context.
[ He doesn't tend to agree with getting murdered, but it's not like it doesn't make sense why people try it when they explain. Usually.
Stede really thought there'd be a point between then and stopping walking where he calmed down. Felt like he could catch his breath. But even the part where he wasn't thinking wasn't very calm. ]
Everything he said was right.
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Fuck this, I'm killing the fuckhead and then we're leaving.
[He makes to stand and head back into the trees, even though the sun is up, and everyone surely knows they're missing by now, and they really shouldn't be delaying their escape any further- but someone tried to take this from them. Tried to take Stede from him.
It'd only be right, he thinks, to kill someone for the first time since his father in return for attempting to kill Stede. Bloody, and slow and cruel enough that it empties out the disappointment in his gut that whatever they said to Stede, it almost fucking worked.]
no subject
A man can't know that and be fine with letting someone go off to do that to themselves again, surely. Any man. Even him. He's not worth all that.
Oh.
And there's the fact that there's no one left to kill, setting the rest aside. He's not doing wonderful work unseeing that.
Stede allows himself a second of unfortunate laughter, as a treat. Or if anyone asks he might say he allowed it, anyway. That it was very much definitely something he did on purpose, and it didn't just sort of pop and explode up from his chest like so many misdirected horrified bubbles before he could swallow it.
So he slaps one hand back over his mouth while it passes, and fumbles his way through trying to pull Ed back by the sleeve with his other hand. It's fine. This is fine. ]
He's already dead. [ Okay. Good. He can manage that at a stage whisper without having a whole time of it. Only part of a time of it. ] Very dead. Too dead to be killable, I think.
[ Stede is starting to suspect that he is not in an internal place very conducive to talking things through or making sense of them. Less than ideal.
What's important right now? What actually needs the focus?
Explaining, explaining things, because once Ed has the right perspective on him, it'll probably-- be over fast. He thinks. Never had to explain that sort of thing to someone before, people usually just immediately start in on it.
Keeping Ed from getting rounded back up, though, that's definitely the most important.
He signed his life away already. Stede can't be the reason he gets forced to follow through with it. ]
Dinghy?
[ There's a bespoke tone for "I have to talk to you but I don't think it's a talk we can have on land in a very short or safe amount of time," and Stede has just patented it.
He can cry on a boat just as well as anywhere else, really. ]
i lied one more before i sleep
The words finish the job of stilling him where Stede's grip had started, and Ed unthinkingly covers the hand with one of his own. That would definitely explain the distress.]
Okay. It's alright. That's okay.
[Its obviously super not, but he doesn't really know what else to say.
All of sudden, he cannot believe he was about to stalk away from the dock and leave Stede here like this. What a completely fucking moronic shit-for-brains idea.]
Yeah, yes, c'mon then-
[He leans down to get a hold on Stede, to help steady his legs and give him something to lean on as he gets to his feet, and then they're lumbering down the planks, headed towards said dinghy.
There's still a lot to talk about or maybe completely ignore forever and seal away inside the 'if I don't look at this it doesn't exist' box, still a sharp burst of unresolved hurt in his chest, but every step they take towards the ocean makes Ed feel slightly less unhinged. He can only hope Stede feels even a fraction the same.]
Watch your step.
[He offers both hands, ready to help Stede climb in, but his eyes remain at their feet, afraid of what he might see elsewhere.]
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That's probably stupid. It's definitely stupid, considering. It just sounds like a day that would feel very quiet. The good sort of quiet, even when things aren't quiet at all.
Stede takes the help into the dinghy. ]
Thank you.
[ Almost funny how much more stable it feels to be standing in a choppy little boat instead of solid ground.
He maybe takes some liberties in holding onto Ed's hands a couple seconds longer than is strictly necessary for either of them. He'll own that. ]
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[Stede is quiet. It's unsettling, at odds with the constant chatter, nervous rambling and delighted musings Ed has grown used to.
It makes him, despite everything, want to wrap Stede up in warmth and slice the ankles of anyone who so much as looks at him wrong. It makes him want to resurrect the fuckhead that got him feeling this way in the first place, just so he can shoot him point-blank.
It makes him feel like a cancerous growth on Stede's life, sucking the joy out of him.
If Stede holds on longer than necessary, it doesn't feel that way to Ed. He's not ready to let go until Stede is settled, and even then he lingers, some little voice in the back of his brain worried that Stede is going to change his mind and leap back out to splash his way to shore.
He grabs the oars and begins to row, fueled by the knowledge that he needs to get them the hell out of there as quickly as possible, but also by the adrenaline rush that has absolutely consumed him. Like a madman, he can't control what rushes out his mouth next. He doesn't want to say it, but it's like he fucking has to. Has to be sure that even if Stede is clearly not in his right mind, he at least knows what choice he's making.]
We're leaving. So. Last chance. Yeah.
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He couldn't even manage running away together without hurting Ed, could he? It filters in almost idly, distantly. Tightness of his voice, his posture, sterner lines of his expression. How long was he even sitting there? Definitely hours. All night. Some morning. Of course he feels like he should give fair notice. ]
Yeah.
[ Stede probably shouldn't miss that soft excitement from earlier. Ed and his big smile, what he looked like happy. Or he honestly shouldn't be surprised it's been chased off, maybe. He feels like he can't track the plot on what's worse.
He scrubs at his face with his sleeve. Is it dignified? No. Has dignity really been on the table since about the time he got woken up? Also no. No need to worry about it too much when he's at bedrock. ]
Sorry. Yes. I'm here. [ Debatable at best. ] Just need a minute.
[ He definitely doesn't want either of them to be back there no matter what else he still has to do, at least, so he is... definitely physically here. He's not sure if it's better for anybody that he managed it.
Doesn't make a very clean break, being on the water whenever he scrapes together the means for a human conversation. Sort of has them both stuck. Stede hadn't thought ahead to that. ]
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What he wants to do is hold him until they stop. He wants to have the perfect words to bring this together and hold it down safe and propel the dinghy smoothly halfway across the continent to somewhere they can hide alone to figure this all out.
All he can manage, instead, is to lean across the slats of the boat, between the ends of the oars, and pat Stede's face dry with tenderness as awkward as it is sincere.
There's so much contained in Stede right now; Ed can feel it like a rubber band drawn incredibly tight and given no reprieve. He can do that, maybe. Ed can try to cut him loose.]
Just say it. Say whatever you want to say right now.
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Listening is always easier than talking, when it comes to this stuff.
History's greatest pirate, gently dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. Almost steering clear of him only to end up coming back. Throwing himself away.
Cracked up on the rocks. ]
I don't think I can go to China.
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Instead, he composes himself and takes a deep shuddery breath, ironically enough taking a leaf out of his what would Stede do book. His hand comes back to rest on Stede's knee, and his face is open. Free of judgement.]
Alright. Why not?
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He can't look at Ed's open face for as long as he might normally like. ]
There's something wrong with me.
[ Which is less of a confession and more admitting to what he already knew. ]
I thought maybe I could change it, or leave it behind, but it only came with me. Or it is me. So I only wound up ruining things. I didn't even think twice.
[ Him in general, he guesses. Soft. Stupid. So caught up not wanting to drown that he didn't let himself think about what he left to sink. ]
I left my family and I didn't even talk to them about it. I've gotten people killed. I'm always getting my crew into trouble because I don't know what I'm doing. Ed, it's my fault you had to give up everything. All because I couldn't-- all because I wanted to-- [ Be happy.
But that really would be a stupid thing to say. ]
I'm just a plague.
[ A thing that happens to people.
He always did hate when a Badminton had a point. ]
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There's so much he loves in Stede, admires- the bravery it took to start a new life, his compassion for his crew, every part of him that is unapologetically delicate, and those that are entirely unremitting. Fierce and clever and soft in a finely dressed, beautiful package.
But the doubt that floods from Stede could sink their little dinghy, and Ed considers whether or not he needs a fucking magnifying glass permanently glued to his face, if he's missing things this big about the person he wants to know best. Claims, if just to himself at this point, to love. Unapologetically, he's realizing at this point, may be closer from Stede's point of view to inescapably.
Stede talks like he thinks he's ruined Ed's life, like everything Ed's let go of was precious goods, and not weight he was so glad to unpack. A plague, but Ed doesn't feel sick. He feels like he was the blight, a rot that could have spread through Stede's veins, and instead Stede cleaned him out. Head to toe. Right down to his soul.]
Don't say that shit. You're the best thing in my life. One of the only good-
[It's not what he wants to say. Ed swallows and tries again. ]
I can't speak for your family. I can't speak for the crew, either- sidebar though, we both heard them fucking vouch for you, and pirates don't do that shit for someone who doesn't deserve it. Anyway, I can speak for myself, so just listen to me.
[ Ed leans forward and tries to duck his face low enough to catch Stede's eyes again, even when he's trying to avoid it. Then he gives up worrying about being subtle because they're so fucking far past this right now, and instead reaches out to grasp Stede's chin and tilt his face towards Ed's.]
I had fucking nothing, before you. Nothing I actually cared about. And if you think that me caring about you is some awful thing and you don't want it, that's fine. [His mouth quivers in a way that suggests it's decidedly not fine.] But you don't get to decide how I feel about it. I didn't give up anything I wouldn't happily get the fuck rid of a hundred more times over. You're what I want.
[He adds, in a desperate last ditch attempt to draw attention away from the thinning thread of his voice and bring some fucking levity to it all,]
You're not a plague. Can't even fold your own socks.
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It's everything he ever wanted. Reminder of a place where he has a place. Made a place, more like, came in as himself and carved a space against all odds that the people around him kept. Someone who's seen him and knows him and can still say they want him, like wanting him is easy, and him fitting is easy. No hoops to jump through, no magic switch to flip that he was born missing, no amount of himself that he's supposed to somehow choke back.
Like Ed couldn't do or be or choose anything else in the world that would be a hundred times better in a heartbeat. Smart and funny and brave and creative and-- and respected. Knows how to put on the right face with people and have it work.
Good. Better than he thinks he is when the layers get peeled back, no matter what's under those layers. ]
I can fold socks. [ There are important tenets of anchoring a person more properly down to Earth than in the mental spiral they were very carefully cultivating. Time. Distance. A little touch. In some special cases, their own vague confusion.
He can just about latch onto socks as an entry point. A foothold in the rest, which is big and terrifying in the least terrifying way that a thing can still be terrifying. It's like Ed threw him a brain lifeline. Can he fold them? He must do. Can't be hard. He doesn't have socks right now so he can't prove it, but he's pretty sure he could.
That's probably not a grand place to stop after I had fucking nothing, before you and you're what I want. ]
Do you ever... do you ever feel like you pulled a fuckery on someone, only you can't figure out how you did it?
[ He's never tricked anyone into liking him in his life, let alone anyone half as clever as Edward, and yet?? ]
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A grin that dips into something sadder and confusingly fonder all at once, when Stede asks him a question. Sadder, because Ed wonders how long he's felt like this on his own. Like Ed wasn't obsessed with every word he spoke and choice he made, like it was all going to crumble when Ed, what- saw who he really was? As if he hasn't already. And that's why he can't help but keep smiling, shaking his head. Because there was no fuckery in the way Stede comforted him at his worst, or immediately saw more in him than most people bothered to, or, or, or.]
You'd have to be an award winning actor, mate. Real globe trotting cut-above-the-rest phenomenon. And frankly, no offence, you're not garbage, but you're not that good.
[Cautious and then firm, he grips Stede's hand.]
You can't figure it out, because there's nothing to figure out. It's just this. [He squeezes their hands together, insistent.] Yeah? Soon as I met you. You trying to tell me you pulled off a fuckery on Blackbeard, strangled half to death? Limping around everywhere? Nah. Not a chance. Give it up.
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He might still. He's not sure. Floating in the water, maybe. Swimming up behind them. All gory, all creepy. Sweaty-handed and flailing.
He doesn't think Ed would let go of him, if he got pulled on by something that isn't real and pitched overboard. He thinks Ed would probably hold onto him even if they both drowned, and it's a lot more terrifying to picture than anything from the past few hours. ]
Yeah. [ Stede stares down at their hands in a very cool pensive way. Not in the way of someone with the emotional processing power of oatmeal. ] You're making it hard to argue with you. Which I'd normally think is rude.
[ Where's the fine tonal line between sounding mildly insulted, but also like all of that is the sort of stuff he used to hope he'd hear from someone and then quietly made himself smother out the hoping and then circled back around to secretly hoping to hear it at some point anyway?
It's just-- it's just he can't have it both ways. Logistically. So it actually is hard to argue with.
Is he so whatever it is that he is that he can't stop it and can't hide it and can't fix it? In which case Ed definitely already knew what he was looking at when he kissed him. Or has he pulled off a magical feat of corruption and theatre and trickery with such finesse that Ed can't even conceive of it as a trick? Even though if he had that kind of talent, he would've had an easier time overall for basically his whole life and wouldn't have half the problems he has.
There is so much math on this table and none of it is coming out right. Fuck. ]
Do you forgive me for getting your beard executed?
[ Catch Stede in the literal next tag like "babe I think I may be mentally or emotionally compromised" but right now this is very vital to his process. ]