Mastodawn

Izzy's left(ist) nip piercing Aug 27, 2023

Stede stays silent for a long moment. Izzy can practically feel him thinking.

"So," he says at last. "We still need to find a shortcut to Kingston, and now we need to prepare not just to rescue Ed, but to save... Calico Jack?"

He can't quite keep the distaste from his voice, but he doesn't miss the desperate hope in Izzy's eyes when he looks up at Stede's words.

"That is what you want, isn't it, darling?" he asks softly. Izzy swallows.

Izzy's left(ist) nip piercing Aug 27, 2023

"Yes sir." His voice catches in his throat. "Please sir."

Stede smiles a bit sadly. Izzy's stomach drops. He always knew he'd disappoint Stede, one way or another, no matter how he tried to avoid it. And he's known for longer than that, how much he'd give for the chance to save Jack fucking Rackham.

"Right," Stede says, shaking off his momentary funk. "It looks like we've got a fuckery to plan!"

Ed takes his time when the boat docks in Kingston. The close cropped stubble in place of a beard and the tousled ponytail may be enough to keep the average sailor from working out exactly who he was swabbing the decks with, but it wouldn't work on Hornigold. If anything, the fact that he suddenly looked younger than his years would only make him more recognizable to that old bastard. Ed doesn't want a confrontation until he's good and ready.

For once, he's going to follow Izzy's advice. He's going to make a plan. He can't afford to fail.

He waits until the last of the crew have started to drift towards the gangplank. He stands, winding a rope around his arm, tidying the deck as he thinks things through. God, tidying the deck? He really has been missing Izzy, hasn't he? Finally, he picks up the small pack he brought with him when he left the Revenge, slinging it over his shoulder

He grabs a stray toque from the deck, pulling it down over his head. The slightly greasy wool scratches at his forehead and he wonders if he can find an inn where he can wash his hair tonight. If he's timed this right, Hornigold's ship will have only just arrived. Even if someone suspects Blackbeard's in town, the rumour won't have had time to reach him. That gives Ed a few hours to prepare, at least. He walks down the gangplank, casual.

It's dusk, the port bustling as the sun settles, glowing, at the horizon, gold light fading to coral and then to an eerie, violet glow. A hint of red at the horizon marks the place where the sun has just disappeared. Ed glances around. No one pays him any mind. He hefts his bag, leaning a little to the side to compensate for its weight. Izzy always says he overpacks. Ed always says he packs exactly what he needs, he just needs more than Izzy.

It's one of their oldest arguments, and one of his favourites. It always ended with Izzy rolling his eyes and complaining about the weight, even as he insisted on carrying the damn bags for his captain. Ed takes a deep breath, breathing out slowly. The first time they had that fight was looting their very first ship after the mutiny. A merchant vessel, carrying silks and velvets--those, Izzy conceded, were saleable enough to be worth taking.

But the ship carried art, too, sculptures and paintings, the collection of some rich eccentric. Izzy had rolled his eyes, declaring most of it worthless. Ed had filled three large sacks with his favourite pieces even as Izzy insisted it was junk, useless to them when they needed to fill their hold with things that would help them fill their bellies. Still, he carried them to the ship for Ed, setting them down carefully even as he grumbled.

"We're trying to build a legend, mate," he remembers insisting. "Can't do that if all we care about is where the next meal's coming from."

Izzy crossed his arms, pushing his chest out, still too skinny to be properly intimidating. Hornigold never fed his men well.

"And how's this junk gonna help build your legend, eh?" Izzy demanded. He couldn't quite hide the twinkle in his eye. "Gonna be Captain fuckin Knickknack? Captain Junkshop? "

Ed stepped into Izzy's space, crowding him against the wall. Izzy's eyes flashed, mouth twisting into a smile.

"It's not junk, mate," Ed growled, wrapping his fingers around Izzy's tie. "It's style. A legend. Has style."

Ed can still feel the charge in the air when he remembers that day, the rush that he felt when Izzy looked up at him, a little blush spreading across his chest. He remembers the way his belly swooped when Izzy kissed him.

He adjusts his bag again, keep his head down as he makes his way through market stalls, many vendors slowly packing up, preparing to cede the space to the night market. Long shadows spread over cobblestone, deepening to indigo in alleys that branch off the main road. A cool evening breeze sighs through tents and awnings as Ed slips down a dirt packed side street, looking for an inn. The lights are dimmer here, lanterns few and far between.

Ed moves unhurriedly, avoiding too much attention. Just another sailor, looking for a place to stay and a mug of ale. That's all he looks like. He'd stake his life on it.

"Ed Teach."

He feels the gun at his back before he hears the sharp, unmistakeable sound of the hammer being pulled back. He freezes.

"Benjamin Hornigold would like a word, sir," a slightly nasal voice recites, stiffly enough that Ed knows they're Hornigold's words.

Another alleyway branches off from this one just a meter or so ahead. Ed just has to distract the man, keep him talking long enough that he can make a break for it and disappear in the backstreets of Kingston.

"Hey," he says, "listen--"

A bright burst of pain splashes, white, across Ed's vision as the butt of a pistol slams into the back of his head. He falls forward, seeing nothing but the packed dirt path as it rushes up to meet him.

*
Ed's head throbs as he slowly becomes aware of the world around him again. His mouth is dry, eyes crusted almost shut and, fucking hell, he must have drunk himself to sleep again. God, that'd be the first time in... Chains clank together as he tries to raise a hand to scrub at his face. They've bound his arms behind his back. He remembers the alley, the gun at his back. His head throbs again, and he rolls over slowly.

"Fuuuck," he groans.

He blinks, waits for his vision to clear. There's not much to see. The room is dark, ceiling lost in shadow above. Not far above him, though. Even in the dark, he feels the weight of the air, the tightness of the space around him. Most likely, even if he weren't chained to the fucking wall with his hands behind his back, he wouldn't be able to stand fully upright.

He pushes himself up to sit, trying not to crush his fingers beneath himself.

The floor rocks gently beneath him, the motion familiar, almost soothing. Definitely on Hornigold's ship then. Well, he meant to get here, one way or another. He'd have preferred to skip the headache though. And the chains. He takes a breath, then blows all the air out of this lungs, trying to clear his head, to focus on the plan. Or, well, a plan at least.

Someone else is breathing, steady, quiet. Ed's hackles rise as he realizes it.

He freezes, listening. There it is. He thinks it's coming from the right, tucked into one of the corners of the room. Hornigold? The bastard always liked to play games. Ed flexes his hands, licks his lips as he tries to decide on his next move. He hears fabric shifting, a faint clink.

"Who's there?"

The voice is rough, tone flat. For a moment Ed doesn't recognize it. Emptiness sounds wrong in that voice. Ed takes another breath.

"Jack?"

*
Jack doesn't care much anymore. He doesn't bother to look up as they drag someone else into the cell, doesn't take advantage of the few, precious seconds of light it affords him. He stares down at his hands as they chain the poor bastard to the wall, just a few feet away from where he's chained in the corner. There's dirt under his fingernails. More than dirt. Last time one of the pricks serving Hornigold came in, Jack clawed his eyes out.

It's a small revenge, taken on the wrong man, but Jack will take what he can get. He was hoping they might kill him for it. But since when has he ever been that lucky? The door swings shut again, leaving Jack with a new roommate. Lucky him. He wonders how long it'll take them both to starve to death.

He hears a groan and then a sigh as the man comes to.

"Fuck..." The voice is rough, harsh, but there's something in the way he says it...

Jack shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He's really fuckin' lost it now. Conjuring up Ed fuckin' Teach to keep him company. Fucking lunatic. He hears his new cellmate breathing. Fuck, even that sounds familiar.

He doesn't know why he asks. He doesn't give a shit. There's nothing left to give a shit about. But somehow, the words find their way out of his throat, raw and rough.

"Who's there?"

As if it would make a bit of difference.

As if it could matter even if it was Ed, even if it was Blackbeard running some fuckery, with a fleet of ships about to descend on Hornigold and tear him apart. Nothing matters. Izzy Hands is dead. Jack heard him die. He doesn't feel a damn thing when he hears that familiar voice from the shadows again.

"Jack?"

*
It's not that Jack's not tough. Jack's plenty tough. Jack survived Hornigold's tutelage for more than three years, and that's a hell of a lot better than anybody else can say, except Edward fuckin' Teach. And Izzy. Though it never really seemed like Hornigold was trying to teach Izzy anything. Little fucker learned anyway. Determined. Fierce. Hornigold's little bird was always a falcon. Or something. Jack doesn't know shit about birds.

He knows Izzy, though, at least he used to. Been a long time since he could fool himself into believing he knew anything, beyond how to survive a mutiny and where he'd stashed the last of his rum. But Izzy...

Jack knows Izzy the way he knows his own right arm. A constant presence, something you never think twice about until it's gone. Well, he's had a long damn time to think twice. That's why he didn't hesitate when Izzy asked him for help.

Hell, even when he hit the water, lungs aching, ears ringing, surer than he'd ever been that he'd drawn his last breath, he didn't regret it. He owes Izzy. He'll never stop owing him. How many times did Izzy save his skin when they were boys? Stupid and callow, with no sense of their own mortality. He knows he did, though. Izzy always took the brunt of Hornigold's ire. Took Jack a long time to understand. He never pretended to be a genius.

That was Ed's thing, anyway. Still, it took him too long to figure it out. The way Izzy would take the blame if Jack or Ed got caught fucking around, playing cards when they were supposed to be taking inventory, or painting pitch on the inside of the quartermaster's hat. Izzy always said it was his idea, even if there was no way he even knew about it to start with. He always begged Hornigold to leave them out of it, punish him instead.

The old prick was always only too happy to do as he asked.

The older men snickered about it. Hornigold's pretty little bedwarmer, begging to be put in his place again.

Fuckers.

Jack still didn't get it, not really. Took about a year before he saw Izzy slipping out of the captain's cabin late at night, just after one of his and Ed's pranks gone wrong. Izzy took the blame, as usual, the crew laughing, nodding to each other knowingly.

Jack wanted an explanation. He hid in a little alcove just down from the captain's cabin, quiet and ill lit. He was seconds away from falling asleep on his feet when Izzy finally emerged. He stood in the open door, talking to Hornigold, shoulders hunched, eyes down. Hornigold grabbed Izzy's chin, forcing his face up, then pressing his lips to Izzy's. Izzy stood, stiff in the captain's arms as Hornigold's tongue forced its way between his lips

Jack might have been young, but he'd been on the receiving end of enough kisses to know that this one wasn't about affection. It wasn't even about sex. This one was about ownership. Izzy accepted the kiss placidly enough. When Hornigold finally let go of him, he bid him goodnight, formal, respectful. Hornigold smirked as he closed the door. Only when it was fully closed did Izzy allow himself to turn away. Jack could see his hands shaking.

Izzy had hissed, pained, as he took a step down the hall. He looked behind himself, then ahead. Seeing no one, he glanced back at the captain's cabin one more time. That was the first time Jack thought he saw fear in Izzy's eyes. Hell, it might have been the only time. But he still remembered the way Izzy leaned on the wall for support when he thought he was alone. The way he gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound. Tough little fucker.

Jack tried to make it up to him then, sneaking him bits of his rations when he could get away with it, figuring out which jokes made him laugh the hardest. He tried to bring Izzy a gift once, after a raid. He'd found a little tie--he didn't know what it was made of, but the fabric gleamed, a rich, almost burnished green in the light of the setting sun. It reminded him of Izzy's eyes. He snuck it into Izzy's bedroll first chance he got.

Hornigold dropped it at his feet two days later, ripped and stained, unrecognizable. The old man had smiled at him, almost sympathetic

"You're a promising young sailor, Rackham. I'd hate to see you go down the wrong path"

The quartermaster gave Jack ten lashes the next day. Jack still has the scars. He didn't see Izzy for two full days after that. When he finally reemerged from the captain's cabin, it was with two black eyes and a split lip

It was a week before he looked Jack in the eye again.

Ed and Jack planned the mutiny not long after. Ed was always popular, skilled. Hornigold's protégé. It was easy to get the men on his side. Jack who took the plan to Izzy, in the end, but that didn't matter. It was Ed's. He saw the way Izzy's eyes shone when he looked at Ed like he was the only man in the room. Jack Rackham may be a gambler, but he knows a losing hand when he's holding it

When Izzy left to be Ed's first mate, well. Jack didn't even try to argue with him. He knew when to fold. Even if Ed never seemed to appreciate Izzy as much as he deserved. Izzy was happy. That was what mattered.

That's what he told himself, lying in the bottom of a little fishing boat, ribs aching, still not totally sure he hadn't found his way to a particularly boring circle of hell. That cannonball looked pretty final, after all.

It was okay. It would all be okay, so long as Izzy was happy, and safe. Jack owed him that. Jack owed him everything.

Jack was stuck in the bottom of a bottle of rum when Hornigold's men found him. Ribs still only half healed, reflexes dulled by drink, he was an easy target.

He half expected the old man to just kill him right away, but that wasn't Hornigold's style. Motherfucker always liked to play games. He left Jack alone in a cell.

Didn't even talk to him. Came in from time to time to just stare at him. Well, no skin off Jack's nose. If there's one thing he knows how to do it's fill an awkward silence

After two or so of those sessions, Hornigold had him gagged

"I won't take it personal, Horny," were his last words as Hornigold's man stuffed the gag between his teeth. Hornigold just smiled at him again, that same unnerving smirk that meant he knew something Jack didn't

And fuck that, too. Lots of people knew shit Jack didn't. Just about everybody, in fact. Didn't scare him none.

Until he heard Izzy's voice.

Jack stares down at the dark space where he imagines his hands are. They took the fucking gag out after... After. Let him scream himself hoarse calling for Izzy, begging him to answer. But after days of choked screams, of sounds he knew Izzy would never make if he weren't dying, there was nothing.