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The duel came and went with the speed of a swooping seagull. Stede barely even remembers what happened, besides the fact that he won against Izzy Hands. The feeling of accomplishment and pride is still fresh in his mind. He’d love more than anything to relish in it, but it’s hard to focus on over the pain of the blade still stuck through his gut.
For hours Stede has been here, taking deep breaths and trying to stay out of the way. Lucius said that someone would come, some time ago, but Stede can’t remember who.
The moon is high in the sky. He can hear someone snore, somewhere. It’s gonna be a long night.
He tries to close his eyes, to rest, but every shift in his body brings a sharp, pointed pain back to his middle. The cherrywood was a good investment, but damn if it’s hard to wiggle free from.
His left and right are both bereft of people. He can’t even call for help. Stede sighs, and debates with himself whether or not it was worth it; the winning of it all.
Some dark little corner of his mind begins to pipe up. Nobody cares. They want you to die. You’re a weak-hearted, lily-livered little rich boy.
Blood drips from his tummy to his shoes.
They don’t care. No one cares. You’re a terrible pirate captain.
A spike of nausea overcomes him.
Your first mate doesn’t care. Blackbeard doesn’t care. He hasn’t even come up to check on you. He’s probably happy if you die. He was going to kill you before.
“Ed would never," Stede mutters, under his breath. The words feel stuck; muddy. “Ed would never,” He tries again, but his words get caught on a sob.
He never realizes it before he gets too far gone— the drifty, rampant feeling. It washes over him, shrinking him as it travels from his head to his toes. He hates it. The way feels like the floor’s dropped out from under him makes him cry ten times harder.
“Ed—” he manages, again. He only met this guy a week ago. Why does he feel the need to need him? “Ed, Ed—”
He thinks about how, two nights ago, he and Ed shared a hug. Through the pain of his stab wound (The one Stede gave him— stupid, stupid) Ed fell into his arms. Stede had hugged him, then, heart-to-heart and close, to give Ed the comfort he needed. How lovely it is, to have such a friend.
Stede closes his eyes, and bites his lip to keep from talking anymore. Pathetic. This is the kind of behaviour everyone’s talking about. He needs to sharpen up. He’s bad. Really, really, really, bad.
Scolded. Small. The ship is so large around him, engulfing everything in sight. The pain seems dull and gone, behind the sound of his loud thoughts. His imagination gets far too big like this; loud and booming, words zipping around him as fast as a cheetah. Stede can’t tell what’s his own thoughts or the crew’s voices as a few of them crowd around him.
He can’t open his eyes, or reply as they call around him. They’re touching him— his shoulders, his tummy— and Stede almost barks to get them off. It’s all so much, so much, too much.
He wants a hug as intensely as his body screams at him that wanting anything right now is selfish.
He wants—-
He wants to be off of this blade. He wants to stop hurting so badly. He wants to be spoken to softly. He wants to stop being so bad. If he wasn’t so bad this never would have happened.
“Stede?” someone says from beside him. He feels lighter— like all the big, heavy hands have lifted off. “Stede, hey, stop freaking out.”
Stop, stop, stop, stop— Stede cycles the word over and over in his head. It fills up his whole entire brain.
“Open your eyes, mate. C’mon. It’s only me.”
Oh. He knows that voice. He must be good. He peeks his eyes open, one at a time.
“Hey.” Ed says softly, from in front of him. “Come on, captain. I’ll help you get off of here.”
Stede can’t speak. The thought of the sword coming out—- of the blood and the stitches and the washing and the treatments—- the thought of moving right now in any capacity brings tears flowing down his cheeks, his jaw chattering. He feels like a feather. Like a snake. Shapeless and boundless and vulnerable. Bad, bad—
“You relax, mate. I know it’s fuckin’ scary. I gotcha.”
Suddenly, Stede feels so conscious of everything. Embarrassed. Why can’t he just be a man?
“Aw man, look— you want me to call the crew? I think they might be able to help more than ‘ol Blackbeard—”
“No! No.” Stede manages. The idea of more people being around him makes his eyes burn. “No, please don’t—”
“Okay, that’s okay. They’re kinda fuckers though, arent they. Thought they would have helped you out with this already. They’re kinda meant to help their captain. That’ll be our next lesson. Tomorrow. How does that sound?”
Stede sniffles.
Ed looks back at him, up and down and all around. He looks so sad. “Fuck off,” Ed suddenly yells into the space around them, followed by scattering footsteps. Stede’s body jolts at the sudden, loud sound. Ed frowns louder. No. Bigger. He frowns bigger. Stede’s so bad. He’s so bad at all of this. He can’t even think right.
“I’m really sorry,” Stede manages to whisper, before he’s overcome by wailing again.
—
The waves crash behind Ed as he goes over a plan in his head.
He can’t quite navigate this. He doesn’t know what to do. This past week has been engulfed by the man in front of him. Stede, the gentleman, the man who makes Ed’s fingers feel like they’re made of glitter. Stede, who usually stands tall and proud, but who now cowers in front of Ed, injured and shaking like a stray cat.
Ed doesn’t know how to fix this. Usually, there’s a clear-cut escape plan in his mind before a threat even poses itself. He knows how to fix Stede’s injury, and he knows the amount of opium he needs to give Stede to knock him out for long enough to heal. He knows how to do this, usually, when he doesn’t care about who he’s saving— when he can deal with hearing their stinging screams as Ed just does what he needs to do. With Stede shaking in front of him, he knows he’ll have to deal with this gently. He cares about Stede so much. He can’t, under any circumstance, make this any worse for him— not any worse than he’s already made it by scaring Stede with his yell for the crew to scram.
“I’m sorry,” Stede whispers near silently as he tucks his chin to his chest. “Bad, bad—” Ed hears him repeat.
Ed’s heart hurts inside of his chest. His friend is here, vulnerable as a child, and Ed can’t do anything but stare.
“Bad, bad—”
“Hey, Stede, stop that.” Ed comforts. Stede stills as he talks, his body curls in on itself. “Look. You’re gonna make your wound a lot worse if you move around.”
Stede shudders again.
Man. I can never say the right thing, Ed thinks.
“Just… okay.” Ed thinks. He thinks about himself at times he’s been this terrified. About himself as a wee thing. “It’s okay. Can I touch you?”
He noticed how quickly Stede had tensed as the crew crowded him before, their hands on him bringing nothing but more fear into the situation. Now that it’s just them, Ed hopes things can be different. He’ll take it slow. As slow as he can, with the sword still through Stede’s middle. Ow.
Tentatively, Stede lifts his head. His eyes are wide open. Saucers, they are, and glimmering with tears. His bitten lips quiver as he nods.
“Okay. Thanks, mate.” Ed brings a hand slowly onto Stede’s shoulder. He strokes his thumb back and forth, slow as anything, in hopes to bring Stede a bit of comfort.
He’s stopped crying. That seems comforting enough. “Thanks for trusting me.” Ed says. He feels like the wind’s tipped the ship sideways. His footing’s all lost. But Stede looks at him, and the stars reflect themselves in his face, and Ed’s never felt a pang of protectiveness more intense.
Stede’s been such a lovely friend. Of course Ed wants to take care of him. It’s only natural.
“Okay.” Ed says, getting his bearings once again. Stede still hasn’t spoken for the past few minutes, but his breathing’s becoming less rapid. “Keep that going, ‘kay? Those big deep breaths.” Ed does one himself, urging Stede to copy. Stede does.
“Good job. There ‘ya go. Always okay to have a cry if you need a cry. It’s a lot going on, isn't it? Fucking painful, I bet.”
Stede just stares on, watery eyes becoming watery-er.
Ed realizes he now has both hands on Stede— one on each shoulder. Huh. “I’m sorry for tonight. I shoulda’ made sure that you got off here before. I honestly thought the crew would have done it. They’re a messy bunch, eh? Like, why are they off getting pissed right now while their captain is all hurt and sad.”
Stede sniffles.
“Yeah. Well. it’s kinda my fault as much as it’s their fault. Not your fault, though. What are you meant to do?”
Stede opens his mouth, then closes it suddenly.
“What’s up, hmm?” Ed prods, gently.
Stede seems to ponder for a moment before he gulps out, “Are you mad at me?”
“Wh—” the question throws Ed for a loop. “No, man, no. Never. Why?”
“Cause Izzy’s going to leave. Then— then you yelled right here.” Shakily, Stede brings his hand out to right in front of his face. “I didn't know you were gonna do that. It’s all my fault that everyone’s mad. The crew all don’t like me.”
“No, no. I promise, Stede, nobody’s mad at you. I think you’re thinking too much.” Naturally, Ed brings a hand up to Stede’s forehead, stroking away his hair like he can move some of Stede’s thoughts away. “It’s okay though. I promise you. And I don’t ever make promises, unless they’re super fuckin’ true.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” Stroke, stroke. “Bad news is, we gotta get you off this sword.”
“No,” Stede mutters under his breath.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’ve done this before. It’ll be alright.”
Stede takes another big, warbling breath at the sound of that. “Promise?”
“Hey,” Ed whispers, drawing his attention to his hand. He slowly sticks out his pinkie finger, and waits for Stede to pick up on it as he sticks out his own as well. Ed wraps them. “I promise.”
Stede tucks his chin back into his chest, as if bracing for impact.
“Swords hurt less coming out than it does going in, okay? Just— here—” Ed shucks off his jacket, the leather thudding to the ground. He tosses it to Stede, who frowns at the sight.
“I’m not cold,” He says, and Ed holds back a smile.
“I know. It’s not for your body, it’s for your mouth. Something to sink your teeth into. Bite down on it when I pull this out, okay?”
“No.”
“Stede—”
“That’s really gross,” He whines. “It was just on the floor.”
“Just for a minute, okay? Please?”
Stede takes a bigger, deeper inhale. He counts under his breath. Then he shoves the sleeve into his open mouth.
His eyes are closed so tightly, and his jaw almost locks. He’s making a little noise into the fabric. Ed’s grip on the hilt of the blade is strong, and he practically has to use his whole body weight to rip it out of the wood; his heart cracks right in half at the scream Stede makes as the sword is torn out of him. Stede’s still screaming once the sword clatters to the floor, and grabbing the jacket with balled fists as he spits it out.
“There ‘ya go, mate. It’s all over.” Ed rushes over to him, fluttering around. He’s not moving. It takes Ed a moment to notice how Stede’s back to crying. Stede’s shoulders shake as he sobs.
“Oh, mate—” Ed comforts. It is painful, he knows, but he’s seen Stede get stabbed, hung, and never did he react like this. Like a child.
It’s fine, totally fine, but Ed’s gut feels like it’s swan diving as he thinks in flashes of a smaller Stede in front of him, just desperate to feel safe. He imagines himself that small, again—
Nope. Gut too flippy to even entertain that thought.
He makes an executive decision, and carefully pulls Stede away from the mast where he’s now released. Ed picks him up, one arm across his back, and the other under his legs.
He sees Stede’s face now as clearly as he has all night, wobbly lip and all.
“I’m gonna take you to your room, ‘kay? Get you all patched up. Then I’m gonna kill that fuckin’ crew of yours. Blaagh, I’ll fuckin’ eat em.”
“No,” Stede says, quiet and shaking his head, but it seems to have calmed him down. The fat tears are small now. Ed wishes he could wipe them away.
“Yeah, no, I’m kidding. They are fuckers though.”
The talk has lasted long enough to make it to Stede’s quarters, and Ed makes quick work of dropping Stede down in his bed. Stede groans, hands flying to his stomach.
“No, hey, don’t touch it. Remember when you stabbed me?”
Stede thinks for a moment. “Thought it didn't count.”
“Well, I mean, yeah. You didn’t do it on purpose. Still stabbed me though.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No—” fuck, he’s doing this all wrong. Coming at it from the wrong angle. He needs to be the big person here. Ed takes a deep breath. He can do this. “I’ll be clearer. I just meant, do you remember afterwards? You and Roach bandaged me up.”
“Oh,” Stede says, eyes lighting up with the memory. “Yeah.”
“This is gonna be exactly the same as that. Super quick. I just gotta go grab Roach—”
“Ed?” Stede interrupts.
“Yeah, man?”
“Can you— not. Can you not grab Roach? Can you do it? Or maybe we can just leave it. I don’t—” He takes a shaky, big breath. “I don’t feel well. I don’t want him to see.”
Ed smiles as gently as he can manage. He can feel it shake. “Yeah. Yeah, I gotcha. Let me go grab the bandages. Hold down on your belly, hard, okay? It’ll keep,” blood, guts, innards, “everything in order.”
“Thank you.” Stede says, softly. He winces at the feel of pressure on the wound.
Once he’s turned around, Ed lets his hands shake.
—
It takes Ed less than five minutes to get everything he needs to tend to Stede, and an extra two explaining to the crew what’s going on. No, he’s not dying, yes, I’m pissed, No, he’s not pissed right now, but he probably will be when this all hits him tomorrow, now fuck off and swab the deck.
When Ed makes his way back into Stede’s quarters, he hears a distinct lack of noise. He peeks in, and nearly yells at the sight of Stede lying there, motionless— but soon sees the blanket pulled over him, and his chest rising and falling, rising and falling—
Right.
Quietly, Ed makes his way to Stede's bedside. He’s sweaty, sickly looking, not unlike the first time Ed saw him. Ed brings the back of his hand to Stede’s forehead. Not too hot. That's good. He throws back the blanket Stede’s covered himself with, and with steady hands lifts up Stede’s blouse to begin checking out the cut. Fully through him, so, like, not great, but Stede did take the blade in the right side. Ed starts wiping up the blood, the motion making Stede whimper— small, watery noises that make Ed's heart lurch.
“Shh,” Ed comforts, “You’re okay.”
“Ed,” Stede mutters. “Ed—”
“Shh, hey, you’re dreaming.” Ed doesn’t even know what he’s saying. Anything to keep Stede asleep; to keep him from being awake and feeling his injury be poked and prodded like this. Once Ed finishes stitching up Stede’s front, he puts hands on Stede’s shoulders to turn him to get to the back, and repeats the same motion. Ed hopes Stede feels better once these things have to come out. He winces at every yelp Stede makes as the needle glides through his flesh. Ed supposes one pro of getting stabbed so much is getting pretty good at pretty stitches. He thinks Stede will like how uniform they are. Might not even leave too big a scar.
Stede’s fully out by the time Ed’s done. For the best, He supposes. He’ll have to stay here, to make sure Stede recovers okay. That’s fine. Something about Stede is very easy to care for. As twisted as it seems, Ed thinks he likes it. No one’s ever trusted him in the way Stede seemed to, tonight. Come to think of it, Ed’s never really trusted anyone like he trusts Stede.
A unique friendship, this is. A buildable one. One Ed doesn’t want to jeopardize for anything.
He reaches up to grab the duvet he pulled off of Stede, and tucks it snugly around his shoulders. He goes to smooth out Stede’s pillow, but finds a bump.
“What are you hiding?” Ed mutters.
He finds, tucked underneath Stede’s pillow, something stuffed.
Ed squints. It’s— definitely something. An animal. Something eternally worn, but with a tiny stitched face, and a tiny fluffy body.
Under the lamplight it’s hard to tell, but Ed smiles once he realizes.
“Little lamb, you got?”
The little lamb’s smile remains. Ed takes that as a yes. He doesn’t know what to do with it.
Well. He kinda does.
He thinks again of Stede, smaller. Of himself.
He brings the stuffed animal up to Stede’s forehead, and presses it’s fluffy head gently up to Stede’s.
“Mwah,” Ed mocks, before tucking it right beside Stede’s head.
“There. Now you’ve got a friend.”
The lamb looks at Ed. Ed looks at the lamb. Stede does another sad little sleep mumble.
“Friends.” Ed corrects.
“Ed,” Stede mumbles again, brow furrowed.
Ed brings a hand to Stede’s. Tethering weight— needed and clear and fast as a seagull. Stede seems to relax at this.
“We gotcha, mate. That’s what friends are for.”
The little lamb maintains it’s smile. Ed tries his best to match. Under candlelight, through the cloud of pain and uncertainty that tonight has brought, Ed swears he sees Stede copy them.
“Sleep tight. You’re all safe. I’ll see ‘ya in the morning.”
—
Stede’s exhausted. Sleep pulls heavy at his eyes. The burning sensation of tears hasn’t abated, but he swears he can feel someone wiping them.
He feels his lambie soft on his face.
He hears soft words.
“Shh,” they say. “Shh. I’m here.”
Gosh, what a lovely dream. Stede follows their orders.