Chapter Text
‘His hand so calloused from his pistol
Softly traces hearts on my face
And I could see it from a mile away
A perfect case for my certain skillset
He had a halo of the highest grade
He just hadn't met me yet’
- I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can), Taylor Swift
Dearest Ed,
This morning, I dreamed of you again, which is remarkable in itself, given how little sleep I got, but you’re always a welcome visitor. It’s been a very busy past few days at the inn we’re currently working at. There are so many things to do, yet somehow, I can’t leave my dreamworld easily, so I feel compelled to sit down and tell you about it as quickly as I can, so please forgive my handwriting.
I dreamed that I was on a beach, clear sky and land and sea stretching in all directions for what seemed like miles, a little eerie in its emptiness. I don’t remember how exactly how it came about, but I was fighting quite the duel against Izzy. I can clearly remember the ugly burning rage taking over me, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before. I felt drunk with it, fighting more brutishly than I would have imagined myself capable of, Izzy matching me in every strike, but I was victorious, my blade sliding through him with no more resistance than butter. In that moment, I was exactly the man I’ve always wanted to be; skilled and strong and unwavering in the face of hostility, yet something in me is unsettled by it.
In my dream, there was no such hesitation though, as within seconds, there you were, running towards me. We collided in a way that surely would have been a bone crushing hug in real life, resulting in several bruises, but as is the nature of dreams, instead it felt no more painful than falling onto a firm mattress. I was so relieved to see that charming smile once again. Each time I see you smile, I marvel that out of all the outcomes of every action I’ve ever taken, I could be lucky enough to not only meet you, but be able to cause you delight, contentment or mirth. There are so few people I’ve managed to do that for before, so I know how rare a bond such as ours is. I felt bereaved to leave you, before Roach dragged me out of my dream, insisting I start work.
However, as much as I’m missing you in my waking life, I must admit that in the cold light of day, I cannot shake a sense of disquiet at the world my mind has manufactured. I’m told that you’ll arrive in the Republic this very day, if Buttons’ is to be believed, although his unusual methods are yet to fail us, so I’m inclined to do so. As much as I am aching from the depths of my soul to see you, I’m quite concerned for your welfare.
I am well aware that the Izzy in my dream is not the real Izzy, any more than dream Stede is the real me. I know Izzy isn’t some terrible villain you need to be saved from. He is nothing more than a spite-filled little man, who you are more than capable of handling, no matter how much resentment I harbour for him, and the way in which he was so intent on tearing us apart.
I found it surprising when my crew told me that you’d allowed him to remain on board, despite their mutiny against him, and his constant defiance of you. In the real world, I certainly won’t advocate for his death, but I do worry. Do you think it is quite safe for you to keep him around, when he’s shown such disregard for your wellbeing and for that of our crew? He has proven himself quite cunning and I suspect he is largely behind the recent unnecessary violence reported on your raids. I wish there was more I could do to protect you from his machinations.
I may have killed him in my dream, in the manner of a gallant knight slaying a dragon in a fairytale, but I doubt I’d be capable of doing so in real life. Driving a blade through a man’s chest seems quite difficult and, even if I am now directly responsible for at least two men’s deaths, I’m no less unsettled by the thought of murder. I know you will empathise with this, since you confessed you too were troubled by such things.
Nonetheless I would very much like to be more like the Stede of my dream. Between my nighttime adventures and receiving word that we might meet so soon, it has led me to wonder how well I would be able to protect you, or indeed my crew, should I be called upon to do so. As excellent as your tutelage has been, I find myself falling short in a several areas. One of my main priorities as I plan to return to sea is to become as capable of a ship’s captain as I can; someone who can protect you and love you as you deserve to be loved. That is my true fantasy.
Forgive these incoherent musings, I am rushing to write this as I fear my presence will be required by the crew soon, in fact, I believe I hear them calling for me now! I hope to see you soon.
Yours always,
Stede
Stede clumsily shoved the letter into its spot with the others, as he heard his crew bickering in the corridor outside. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to give Ed that particular letter, even if he did wish he could discuss his worries with the other man, who always had something to say to reassure him. Stede did wish he could be stronger for Ed, but the longer they spent on land, the more his crew questioned him and the more he questioned his own judgement. If Stede were honest with himself, he was glad an accomplished pirate like Ed wasn’t around to witness it.
That morning, Roach had needed help with the food, as it seemed the crew who had gone out to look for Geraldine were yet to return. Stede, sleepy and preoccupied, had been startled by an impatient customer coming up behind him too quietly and, mistaking him for an attacker, dropped the plates of breakfast and pinned the customer to the table. Roach had yelled at him in front of the customers, before remembering himself and hurriedly apologising. Stede had rushed off, offering to help elsewhere, going to hide in the laundry again and exorcize his thoughts before they caused any more accidents.
Privately, Stede suspected Roach had only felt compelled to apologise because Stede was the captain, a title that felt less earned by the day, as they all were forced to answer to the ever-ill-tempered Bob.
Stede swiftly left the laundry room, as he didn’t want to be caught leaving the work to others after such an incident, curious about what had provoked such a spirited discussion amongst his crew.
He hadn’t expected to find two nuns in the kitchen, although maybe he should have.
“I mean look at my eye.” one of the nuns whined, in a deeper than average voice.
“I’m impressed she didn’t miss; she was as drunk as a skunk.” the other nun replied in an even deeper voice. “You’ve got to have respect for that.”
“You’re back?” Stede said.
Both nuns jumped, turning to look at him, outfits looking rather crumpled. Pete lowered the metal dish he’d been examining his reflection in, revealing the white of his headdress to be stained with a suspicious substance and that he was sporting a black eye. Wee John didn’t look too much the worse for wear, but he was inexplicably carrying a pile of Bibles. The rest of the crew were around the table eating soup, apart from Buttons who was gardening, and Geraldine was still conspicuously absent.
“Didn’t you find her?” Stede asked. “Wait, what happened to you?”
“It was a bleeding disaster.” said Wee John. “We ran into some actual nuns. They were not pleased.”
“They were giving away Bibles at an inn.” said Pete, gesturing to Wee John who dumped the Bibles on the table.
“Why?” said Oluwande. “Who around here can read them?”
Stede idly picked one up, flipping through it, pausing as he processed the headings he’d just read.
“I think they were counting on that.” he said. “These are misprints, they have the Gospels labelled as Matt-Hugh, Lark, Mule and Joln.”
“Is that not what they’re supposed to be?” said Pete.
“Nuns are out here conning people?” Wee John said, shaking his head in disappointment. “You can’t trust anyone these days.”
“Why were you looking for Geraldine in an inn, anyway?” asked Stede.
“Some shopkeeper told us to look for this guy who buys and sells stolen livestock there.” said Pete.
“Did you even find him?” Oluwande asked.
“No.” said Pete.
“I think the Mother Superior had been trying to blend in, if you know what I mean.” Wee John said. “They challenged us to a pub quiz of Bible trivia and wouldn’t take no for an answer, then they figured out we weren’t nuns. Things got out of hand.”
“The Mother Superior threw a tankard at my head!” Pete whined. “It could have killed me.”
“It didn’t though.” Roach muttered under his breath.
“Did you know,” Wee John said, “sometimes you need to train for at least like five and a half years to become a nun? I didn’t until last night.”
“If I’d studied that long to be a nun,” The Swede said contemplatively, “and found pirates just pretending for a day, I suppose I’d also be upset.”
“Upset?” said Pete incredulously. “They started a bar fight!”
“Guys, can we keep to the point, please.” Stede interrupted. “Did you get any leads on Geraldine at all?”
“No.” Pete and Wee John said at once.
Oluwande groaned.
“Fantastic!” said Stede sarcastically. “That’s just brill .”
“Do you mean to say,” came a furious voice from behind them, “that you’ve lost my fucking goat?”
“He did it.” Pete said, pointing at The Swede, moving away, as Bob stomped into the room.
“Not on purpose!” The Swede said, backing away.
“Okay, that’s it! Pack your things.” Bob demanded.
“No!” said Stede. “You’re not throwing him out.”
“Yes, I am.” Bob said, smiling with far too many teeth showing. “And while we’re at it, you can go too.”
“Me?” Stede pointed at himself in disbelief. “Why me?”
“Did you think you’d get away with what happened this morning?” Bob said.
“What happened this morning?” asked Pete.
“You know,” said Bob, “I woke up in a good mood. I would have considered overlooking the plates and the fact that you nearly killed a customer-”
“That wasn’t intentional, I-”
“But what I can’t overlook,” Bob raised his voice over Stede, “is what you said.”
“What did he say?” Pete whispered loudly.
“Um,” Roach whispered back, “A customer said, ‘The menu might have been basic last time I came here, but at least I wasn’t worried I’d get an ear in my salad’, and he said, ‘If I wanted a good dining experience this is the last place I’d go.’”
“I mean it's true, but that’s probably bad for business.” said Pete.
“We offer a fine dining experience, Thomas!” Bob snapped over them.
Stede couldn’t help but scoff.
“You can hardly market yourself as offering a fine dining experience, when you’ve budgeted to offer two course meals at most.”
“You’re in no place to judge my management when you’re fucking useless.” Bob spat. “What do you have to offer my business? You can’t cook, you can’t sew, you certainly can’t wait tables, you barely clean properly, and you upset my customers.”
“I could learn those things.” Stede said.
“You’ve had long enough.” Bob said. “I’m hiring someone qualified.”
“How exactly do you imagine you can do that,” Stede said tetchily, “when you have such a poor working environment to offer? I certainly wouldn’t want to work here if I had any other choice.”
“Congratulations! You no longer have to.”
“No.” Stede shook his head.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I told you, if you send any of us away, we’ll all go.”
“Uh, yeah, about that-” Oluwande interrupted, raising a hand awkwardly.
“We don’t think that’s a good idea.” Pete said.
“Sorry.” Oluwande said awkwardly.
“If we do that, none of us will have anywhere to live.” Wee John said.
“I’m sure you two can figure something out.” said Oluwande, sounding like he was not sure at all.
Stede looked between them in disbelief, heart sinking as none of them came to their aid. This had been, deep down, exactly what he’d been afraid of. Stede knew he hadn’t been able to show his capabilities lately, but he wanted to prove himself to them badly and wanted them to be able to trust his leadership, so straightened his shoulders.
“Fine!” he said, sharply. “Fine, I’ll figure something out, come on.” he said to The Swede.
The Swede stared at him gormlessly for a moment.
“Out!” Bob yelled at the man, who leaped into action.
So, Stede found himself hastily grabbing his meagre possessions and being bodily pushed onto the doorstep, The Swede stumbling into him as he followed.
“Right.” said Stede, turning to him. “Let’s find the damn goat.”
Stede might not have many skills good for innkeeping or gaining any other kind of well-paying job in the Republic, but if Stede could prove that he was self-sufficient enough to find Geraldine on his own when they couldn’t, surely that ought to help rebuild some of their respect for him.
“Oh,” said The Swede’s mouth fell open and he blinked at Stede for a moment. “How?”
“Captain!” Button’s voice rang out across the garden.
Stede stepped off of the porch, looking around and finding the man, sat on top of the shed, Olivia returned to his shoulder.
“Oh, Hello Mr Buttons!” Stede shielded his gaze against the sun to look up at the other man. “I’m afraid we’re being forced to leave, but never fear, we’ll find Geraldine and return very soon.” Stede did his best to infuse the statement with a confidence he didn’t feel.
“But Captain,” Buttons said, seeming a little startled, “the darkness descends upon The Republic!”
“Really? I thought it looked rather nice out.” Stede returned, looking up at a mostly clear sky, holding out a hand to test for rain.
“It’s getting cloudy.” The Swede said.
“A bit.” Stede agreed.
“But Captain, take heed-” Buttons began.
“Oh, later, Buttons-” Stede said dismissively, worried the other man might say something to discourage the man next to him, leading the Swede down the garden path, careful to close the gate behind them. “We can’t waste any more time. We have to find Geraldine.”
“We’re really still doing that?” The Swede asked, doubtfully.
“It seems the best course of action to get back in Bob’s good graces. You know, I think Roach was right. She would go where there is food.”
“The others tried that. They didn’t find her.” The Swede said.
Stede hummed in agreement.
“I think we should…” he began, knowing the other man would be expecting a strategy, “I think we should think like a goat.”
“How?” The Swede asked, sounding twice as perplexed as before.
“Well, Geraldine’s not human.” Stede said slowly. “We don’t know if she’s been out in Nassau before. Why would she know where all the food is? Wouldn’t she go wherever is closest she can smell it or something?”
“But we don’t have goat nostrils.” The Swede said.
“Maybe we should look for where the next thing a goat might eat is and let it lead us to her.”
“Oh.” said The Swede uncertainly. “We could try.”
“Come on then.” Stede encouraged.
They began at the edge of Bob’s garden, looking for any upset plants or rubbish that might look tasty to a goat, finding several hoof prints along the way, spending a painfully long time arguing over which patch of weeds looked tastier. As they slowly made their way out, down a few back alleys that connected the property to the more populated area adjoining it, the air became increasingly humid, shadows racing over the ground, the clouds shifting as the breeze picked up. Stede was so focussed on his search for Geraldine, he barely noticed their surroundings until The Swede tugged on his shirtsleeve, leaning into Stede’s side,
“There are more people here.” he said nervously. “What if we get recognised?”
“We’ll have to fight our way out.” Stede replied.
The Swede wordlessly side eyed him.
“Besides.” Stede said. “I don’t think there’s any danger of people recognising me dressed like this.” Stede wrinkled up his nose, returning to his search, glancing up and the rare passersby.
“Buttons said Blackbeard arrives today.” The Swede said. “What if he finds us?”
“Well, that would be fortuitous.” Stede said, brightly.
“Why?” said The Swede. “He marooned us all. I’m not very happy about that. He could have killed-” he broke off for a second, voice hitching, “Our friends could be dead.”
Stede remembered the state he’d found his crew in and felt a swell of sympathy for the other man.
“I don’t think Edward would do that.” Stede said, more gently. “Besides, our crew can take care of themselves.”
The Swede tugged Stede away from the patch of chewed-looking weeds he was currently examining, with an unexpected amount of strength, frowning at Stede through the starting drizzle.
“You’re not taking this seriously.” The Swede complained.
“I am.” Stede replied. “I’m very serious about finding Ed.”
“You always defend him, when he marooned us.” The Swede repeated, expression sourer than Stede had seen it before. “It feels like you’re not listening to us. It feels bad.”
“I am taking you seriously,” Stede promised, “I just think that…” Stede bit his lip, remembering all the moments alone he and Ed had shared; watching the sun rise while idly chatting and eating breakfast in the crow’s nest, the late night confessions over drinks in his cabin, Ed beardless, gentle arms around Stede and eyes filled with hope as he suggested abandoning his old life and being with Stede.
“You don’t understand.” Stede said. “I’m not defending him blindly; I just know Ed better than you all do.”
“No, we’ve known him the same amount of time.” The Swede said defensively.
“What I mean is I have information you don’t. He told me that he doesn’t kill by his own hand, and he told me he was tired of having to live up to Blackbeard’s myth.”
“He has committed a lot of crimes.” The Swede pointed out. “Olu says the posters-”
“I don’t think blindly trusting everything on the Navy’s wanted posters is wise, either.” Stede said briskly, returning to look at the weeds. “He slipped through their fingers, so of course they want to make him into a monster that he isn’t.”
“Why would he do these things, if he didn’t want to?”
Stede hesitated. If this was what he had chosen to do, was this what Ed had really wanted? Ed’s main complaint with being Blackbeard was his boredom. If Ed was so busy with so many raids, surely he couldn’t be bored now. If he was no longer bored and had fully stepped into his role as Blackbeard, what need would he have for Stede? Stede didn’t even have the fine things to offer Ed that had so intrigued him. Stede himself had nothing to offer but himself and his love for Ed and Stede had no idea whether that would be enough.
“I know it seems like he’s relapsed and maybe he has, but he’s still Ed.” Stede said, attempting to convince himself.
If Ed had resorted to doing all of these things he’d said he no longer wanted to, he couldn’t be coping well with Stede’s absence. If that was the issue, Stede’s return would surely solve matters and if it didn’t, Stede could show him the care he needed until he returned back to normal, surely?
“Ed is still quite terrifying.” The Swede whispered to him with a hint of awe, cringing away from a drunk passerby stumbling past them.
“He isn’t.” Stede rolled his eyes.
“Captain!” The Swede shouted in his ear.
Stede jumped, staring at him in shock.
“We’re worried about you.” The Swede said, earnestly.
“You are?” Stede said, touched.
“The crew have talked,” he continued, “and we’ve decided we like you, and would like Blackbeard not to kill you.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Stede promised.
“He might, and I don’t want that.”
“I can look after myself.”
The Swede shook his head, frowning at him, pitying.
“Not really. He’s better at fighting than you. And cleverer.”
“Alright, alright!” Stede said. “Perhaps. He might be in a bad way at the moment, but I know he won’t harm me, not seriously. I know it.”
“If he’ll harm anyone else, that’s still not good news for the rest of us. Don’t you care about us at all?”
“Of course I do.” Stede insisted.
“Then why are you more worried about him than the crew?” The other man questioned, accusing.
“I-” Stede was at a loss for words.
Stede, admittedly, had been preoccupied with finding Ed above the crew much of the time, but he hadn’t considered that they might actually feel hurt by his lack of attention. Despite the affection he had for them that he hoped was returned, realistically, Stede had always assumed they were tolerating him at most and hadn’t expected any more. Stede’s eyes became focussed as he struggled to formulate a response. He badly wanted to defend Ed, but Stede had to admit, he hadn’t been much help to the crew of late and had nearly made them all lose the roof over their heads once again. Out of the corner of his eye Stede saw something black and white moving over The Swede’s shoulder.
“Geraldine!” he cried.
Stede shoved his bags into the hands of the other man, darting past him after the goat, who froze as she saw him coming, before bleating and turning tail and disappearing down and alleyway.
“Hey, come back!” Stede called, all thoughts of strategy forgotten in his desperation to reach her.
Thunder rolled overhead and the heavens opened.
Geraldine, it turned out, was a shockingly fast runner, disappearing down alley after alley, made all the more difficult to follow in the pouring rain. Stede rounded the corner to find an empty archway, tripping his way to a standstill as he was confronted with a wall completely papered in layer upon layer of increasingly monstrous and unrepresentative art of Blackbeard. Geraldine was nowhere in sight. Stede ducked into the archway breathing hard, turning round in a slow circle at a loss to explain where Geraldine could have escaped to, heart sinking as the rain got heavier.
Once again Stede’s over-enthusiasm had got the better of him and scared off his chance at redeeming himself.
“Oh, Ed.” Stede said in despair to the posters. “Things are terrible, I think I’m afraid to see you. I’m not afraid you’re going to kill me, I’m afraid that your life is better without me.”
“Well, maybe you should be afraid.” he felt the soft words prickle on the side of his neck, like a landing fly.