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Chapter Text

When he wakes up, he starts thrashing and then stills again.

For some reason, he thought it’d be harder to crawl out of the dirt. He expected to have to break through a coffin, to lose his breath, to have to climb to the surface. Instead, he stuck his arm up and it met air. He sat up and his eyes met sunlight.

For someone so full of devotion, he fleetingly thought, he really hadn’t been buried all that well.

Spitting out dirt and blood, the thought left Izzy’s mind almost as soon as it entered it. He was alive. There was dirt on his face and a bullet wound in his side but he was alive. For just a moment, he allowed himself to listen to the sea, the waves crashing onto the shore and rushing back to the deep again. The wind whispered strange things on the waves, a chorus of breezes welcoming him home.

Home.

At that thought, a sudden pit of fear gripped his stomach. He didn’t know what he knew, he didn’t think at all about what he remembered or where he was, and no images flashed before his eyes, his body and mind were completely numb, reduced to nothing in the sand.

All he knew in that moment were Ed and Stede, and the fact that they’d cared enough about him to keep him close. He feels fragile thinking about it, but he can’t help it, looking up at the house they were in. They kept him.

And with that thought, Izzy gave in to the most base instinct he knew, not love, not anger, just the familiar feeling that he didn’t deserve the grave he had, with his leg as a headstone marking his body. Shame at being dead fills him because he knows, he knows that he doesn’t deserve the dirt he’s been covered with.

He wishes the ocean had taken him instead.

But Izzy knows more than anything else in the world what to do when you don’t deserve something.

He begins to crawl slowly up the beach, his leg currently being used as his gravemarker. For some reason, it feels wrong to move it, even if it is technically his leg. He felt like, if they talked to him, he should ask his captains first.

When he makes it to the porch, he makes no effort to stand. Instead, he just lifts his hand up and knocks clumsily a couple times, hoping against hope that they’ll come for him. He makes it to his knees but goes no further, figuring it makes sense to be on his knees anyway.

He doesn’t know why, but it does. He knows it’s right.

When the door opens, he begins to sob, head bent in something like reverence, so full of relief he is that someone’s come. He doesn’t even look up to see who it is, just stares at the feet in front of him.

And so, he does what he does best: begs.

“Please” he chokes out between sobs, “can I- may I come in?”

Chapter Text

Izzy was begging. 

Stede almost stumbled over him as he opened the door, but there he was, asking to come in like he hadn’t just risen from his grave. 

"Ed!” he called, forgetting his previous anger at his darling for another fight. “Ed, come quick!” 

“What?” came an irritated grumble from somewhere in the house. 

Raising his voice slightly to be heard over Izzy’s attempts to stifle his sobs, a hint of his own coldness slid back into his voice as he replied, “come over here and see for yourself”. 

With that, he turned his attention back to Izzy. 

He looked terrible. His face was caked with dirt, an ant or two crawling over his chest; his clothes, the same ones he had always worn in life, were in tatters, exposing more dirt on his skin that fell onto the porch alongside droplets of blood. His leg- what was left of it- was bleeding, probably having been cut on something on the way. 

He didn’t look at Stede’s face. He didn’t look anywhere, really. He stared into oblivion even as he hunched over with the weight of his apparent pain, eyes wide and desperate. Stede had never seen anything like it before; not just the fact that a supposedly dead man from risen from his grave, but the fact that Izzy Hands was sobbing in front of him, on his knees and actually begging to be let in. 

Despite the severity of the situation, a strange warmth grew in him at the sight. To see him like this, eyes glued to Stede’s boots- it made him feel powerful, something he hadn’t felt since coming here. He hadn’t wanted to be an innkeeper. He wanted adventure, and respect, and love . Having someone begging before you isn’t love, but it can certainly feel close. He lapped at the warmth that desperation gave for a just moment, reveling in it, even as Izzy broke down further.

Shoving those thoughts down, he turned at the sound of footsteps to see that Ed had finally come to his side. When he did see Izzy, his first reaction was to jump back and yelp in alarm. 

“What the fuck” .

As Izzy finally lifted his head at the sound, opening his mouth, Ed rushed forward to grab him by the arms. At first, he leans towards Izzy’s now eerily motionless body as if to embrace in, but then lifted him up by the arms. Gesturing to Stede, the two men hauled him inside, with no sound from Izzy except the occasional whimper at their touch. They just barely managed to lay him out on the couch before he passed out again, eyes fluttering shut and arms the same way they had been crossed when he was buried. 

Because he was such a mess, it was hard to discern his expression, but he looked worried, even in his sleep. It was only then that Stede realized neither of them had spoken a word directly to Izzy the entire time. 

Unimportant, he thought to himself. They had saved him. It was more than enough. 

Silently forgiving each other for their previous fight, Ed and Stede set to work. First, they washed the dirt off him, then changed his clothes and combed through his coarse hair. Finally, they dressed his wounds, various patches of red staining the white shirt they had changed him into already. Besides the usual assortment of cuts, a deep scar on his forehead had begun bleeding again, so they cleaned it too. Stede didn’t remember Izzy having that scar before the whole English debacle, but when he saw the way Ed refused to look at it, he figured it was best not to mention it. 

The last wounds to address were the worst of all; the bullet from Ricky had lodged itself into Izzy’s chest and they hadn’t even tried to treat it before he died. Part of him felt guilty for it when he saw the dried blood on his chest, moving with his faint breath and flaking off onto the carpet. He hadn’t been a very good captain, he thought with some bitterness, but he had cared about his crew. An image of him back in the cellar, eyes alight with the promise of heroism, flashed through his mind. In the corner of his eye, the Izzy from that day watched him, the grey light flowing in strips onto his face. Ed treated his leg wound and Stede decided not to help him. He was dealing with his own guilt. 

Izzy didn’t wake up again until that night. Ed and Stede were eating dinner in the main room, staying near Izzy should anything happen. Just when they were about to start the last course, Izzy’s eyes flew open with a gasp, and before they could react, he tried to pull his limbs together as if in defense. Instead of backing away, though, he chose the corner of the couch nearest to them. 

“Izzy!” Ed called as the two of them leapt up, “you’re back! You’re not dead!” 

“I think he knows that, dear”, Stede murmured fondly. Ed grabbed Izzy’s shoulders and tilted his head up, so overwhelmed with emotion was he that he couldn’t help being a little rough. Izzy stared up at him with wide eyes, like he couldn’t believe that Ed was granting him this, that his eyes were locked with the other’s that Ed was gripping him like something that mattered. 

His eyes flickered back to Stede for a millisecond as he swallowed, his voice raspy from disuse. “Ed”, he whispered, as if in prayer, and Ed really did look like a god in the candlelight, “I’m so sorry”. 

The same inexplicable fondness that Stede had felt when Izzy was on the porch begging returned, doubled this time now that Izzy didn’t look like a complete zombie. Almost against his will, Stede stepped closer to the scene, where Ed was gripping Izzy so hard he feared he might bruise. Body frozen, he turned to Stede, a quiet whimper escaping his lips as he took his face in. He repeated his apology and Stede couldn’t help but smile. Ed let go of his old first mate, letting him fall back, and smiled too. 

For a moment, they both turned back to Izzy, their bodies standing over him like angels. They watched as Izzy glanced at the room, at his clothes, and back at them again. 

“I don’t-”, he struggled, Ed tilting his head, “I don’t deserve it. I’m so sorry, captains, for-” here, he cut himself off again.

“You didn’t have to keep me. You don’t need to keep me now.” 

At this, Stede’s brow furrowed in confusion. Keeping him close had felt natural- some of the crew had been upset with them for it, saying he would have wanted a burial at sea, but Izzy had been such a good guard dog in life. It made sense for him to guard them in death too. 

Izzy, for his part, took Stede’s expression as anger. Moving backwards slightly, he scrambled to find the right words, but they came out in an almost incomprehensible stream. Ed and Stede just watched as he repeated his apologies over and over. 

“I didn’t mean to do this, I swear, I thought you wanted me to go, so I did, but it must not have stuck, I didn’t mean to, it was a mistake, your house is- is beautiful and I’ve ruined it, I’m sorry about the blood, I don’t want you to be scared-” 

Just then, Ed held his hand up, cutting Izzy off. 

Izzy froze, paralyzed, but Ed just gave him a soft smile. 

“C’mon, mate,” he said, “we need you here”. 

For the next few days, Izzy drifted in and out of consciousness, curled up on the couch and waking only to eat. 

Every time, he’d apologize for something different: for driving Stede away from Ed, for forcing Ed to be something he wasn’t, for stealing Stede’s alcohol back on the ship, for telling Ed what to do when it wasn’t his place, for the dirt in between the couch cushions, for the blood on the floor. 

He was surprised, honestly, that Izzy wasn’t angry about, well, all of it. He had a right to be. But then again, Izzy had always been good at taking whatever his captains thought he deserved. Stede decides it’s easier not to mention it. 

As the apologies grew less panicked and more subdued, Stede found himself admiring Izzy’s new quiet. He liked Izzy before, even after everything that had happened between them. He’d trained him, advised him, and in turn, Stede had tried his best to pull him out of whatever liquor-induced spell he was in at the time. 

But even then, even surrounded by the crew, Izzy had never had stopped being something other . It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but everyone knew it was there. Izzy, despite all he had grown, had never stopped being thorny. Stede has always reasoned that his years as a pirate had something to do with it, but even then, Ed had been a pirate for just as long and wasn’t like that at all. Izzy refused to rest, to stop wearing his leathers, to sleep in late. He didn’t enjoy fine things the way the rest of them did, no matter how much he tried. 

Current Izzy, though? He was positively angelic. 

He didn’t demand anything or comment about Ed and Stede’s relationship. He wasn’t restless and didn’t try to move faster than he should. He didn’t try to take anything that wasn’t given to him or flinch away from touch. He didn’t even comment on things that had been making Ed and Stede themselves disagree before, like the way the house seemed to whisper at night, the way the seagulls never stopped screeching, or the fact that, no matter how many flowers they brought inside, the air always smelled like rot. 

He was so quiet that it was almost easy to forget he was there at all, filling the room with pleasant silence. 

He never stopped calling Stede “captain” either. When Ed had grimaced at the title, he’d immediately stopped, but Stede didn’t feel like correcting him. It reminded him of a time when he had been more than just an innkeeper. He would stay, of course, here for Ed and Ed alone, but the sea would always call to him as he passed by. Izzy’s reverence was a welcome pacification for it. 

He brings it up with Ed one day when they’re on the porch, trying to make a homemade sign for the inn. 

“Don’t you feel like Izzy is a lot more- docile? Than he used to be, I mean,” Stede ventured while Ed was concentrating on trying to knot two braids together. 

“What- oh. Yeah, I mean, he’s always been my Izzy ,” he says, considering his words before speaking again. “But he’s never been like this. He’s calmer than I’ve ever seen him. A lot easier to hold a conversation with than before”, he snorts, and Stede finds himself laughing too, trying not to think about the prosthetic leg, rusted but still shining over the dunes. 

Chapter Text

It took about three days for Izzy to recover fully from his sickness. 

In those three days, he could barely do anything except lie down and think. He couldn’t even stand on his own without either Ed or Stede rushing to his side, so in the end he just stopped trying until they let him get up again. 

He floated through the world as if in a dream; when he was asleep, the walls of the house began to shift and speak to him. During the day, it was a cheerful, airy place to be, but in his dreams and at night, it felt like the house itself leered at him, mocking him for his weakness. He couldn’t place what exactly made him feel that way, but it was something to do with the way the floorboards creaked whenever someone moved. Sometimes, at night, he saw dark patches in the corner of the room, staining the floorboards and gleaning in the moonlight, but in the morning, they were gone. 

One time, he even dreamed that he caught low voices coming from the captain’s captain. They had been hissing, angrily, until Izzy had realized they were talking about him. He stopped listening after that, and the next day, he’d made sure to apologize for everything he could think of that he’d done wrong, but in the light of day, he couldn’t tell if the conversation had been real or not. 

Ed and Stede never fought, after all. He watched them at meals and tried to take in every single piece of them at once.

Ed’s eyes glistening off the dinner plates. Izzy had been afraid to eat at first, but when they told him he had to, he wiped the plate clean like he’d been hungry for his entire life. 

Stede’s hair glowing as the sun breaks over the horizon. He hadn’t been able to move much without them, so the first time he stepped outside, he took in the air like he was drowning. That was when he saw both of them catch the light. They looked like gods , almost, faces unmoving, staring gently off into the distance. For a few glorious minutes they leave Izzy where he can’t hear them, and he gets to watch the love in their eyes, the soft smiles as they stare at each other. 

They’re beautiful. More beautiful than he’ll ever deserve. When he first says it to himself, some part of him seizes up. He feels worn out just looking at them. The house is a dead thing, rotting from the floorboards up, and so is he, ruined from the bullet wound on his leg. 

There were some strange things about the house, but he could get used to it. After all, he was grateful to even be there in the first place. 

The house always chilled at night. He knew, logically, that this was just how weather worked, but the grave had clearly addled his mind, making it seem far colder than it actually was. He thought for just a moment in those moments, shivering in the living room, of Ed and Stede curled together in bed, but pushed them from his mind as soon as they entered it. They were his saviors. They had killed kept him. He got more than enough from both of them. 

The next morning after that, he almost mentions the rot. 

It had been weighing on him ever since he got there; from the moment he crawled stepped through the door, he couldn’t shake the smell of the grave from him. No matter how many flowers his captains went off to pick, the dirt stayed. The blood stayed. He feels the grave all around him, like the walls themselves have been made into a tomb. 

And it was his fault that it was there in the first place. 

They’re sitting at the table, where Ed and Stede have set it up with flowers in the middle and cheerful placemats. The morning light is slowly filtering through the kitchen window, making the silverware shimmer. It’s beautiful, of course; everything here is. It feels almost blasphemous for him to open his mouth, but he’s still their first mate, at heart. He has to mention it if only to ask them how to fix it.

He gets his chance when his captain beams at him, eyes not quite meeting his and asking about the flowers. 

Instead of that, though, another question entirely slips out from his mouth. 

“When can I get my leg back?”

Instead of answering, Ed and Stede both go still. 

–

Ed is scared. 

He wasn’t going to lie: the past month or so had probably been the best time of his life. He and Stede had decided to leave suddenly (on a whim, one might say) but they had made it work. It had been hard to build the inn, but as long as he had Stede at the end of the day, he didn’t need anything else. 

Sometimes, when he thinks Ed’s asleep, Stede stalks down to the shore, staring out into the distance until nearly sunrise. He never said he missed it, but Ed can see the flashes in his eyes that come at the end of a long day, staring out the window with something like grief. 

Just the day before Izzy had come back, Stede had gotten upset. Said something like, “we ran away”. Ed’s never seen the problem with running, personally. It lets you leave everything else behind, get a fresh start. It lets you forget who you are, if only for a moment. 

When Izzy does get back, he’s overjoyed. He loves Izzy. He really does. Those first few days, he’s more relaxed than Ed’s seen him in thirty years and it feels like a dream come true. Finally, he could have everything he wanted- Stede and Izzy. No piracy. Nothing to worry about, no nagging voice over his shoulder. Izzy, being happier, didn’t feel the need to complain or worry as much anymore, and the two of them found it almost reassuring to have him in their house. It didn’t matter who they had been or what they had done in the past. It had been wonderful . 

But then, things started to crack. More specifically, Izzy started to crack. 

Ed didn’t he think he realized it. At first, seeing the new light in his eyes had been exciting, comforting, but with the light came constant reminders of things he’d really rather forget. Sometimes, for just moments at a time, Izzy would lift his head up from where it had been bowed, and his eyes would widen like he had only just woken up. The conversation that the three had been having would continue, but Izzy would begin almost subconsciously eyeing up the doorways, hand floating to an imaginary sword or the phantom of a cravat. When he spoke, the old bitterness would slip into his voice for just a moment, for maybe a word or two, and then it would hang in silence. 

It wasn’t like it was a bad thing, necessarily. It was just that Ed and Stede had been so happy to start over, to get away from it all. It was already enough work to get the inn up and running, and it was just so much easier for them to be with Izzy when the bitterness was gone.

So when he mentions his leg, the day after the two had been arguing about what to do about this new part of Izzy, he looks to Stede in horror. 

The thing is, even though he had just been raised from the dead, Izzy wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t have missed the tension in his old captains’ shoulders when they spoke or the “pleases” and “thank yous” that rang uncomfortably through the air, the arguments that had become more and more frequent. He was becoming more aware, and if he got his leg back, he, too, would start going to the shore at night. 

He and Stede have a silent conversation as the quiet settles. Almost subconsciously, Ed feels Izzy tense up, standing in front of them, but he says nothing, waiting more patiently than he ever had in life for the verdict. 

“Izzy,” Ed said slowly, “why do you think you need your leg?”

At this, Izzy looked up as if confused, but his eyes were still hardened in the same way they had always been. He looked from Stede, than back to Ed again, carefully searching their faces for the right answer. 

“I don’t-” he began, “I just figured it would be easier. For you.” 

Stede tilted his head, and he continued onward, “I wouldn’t have to bother you every time I had to move. I just, I don’t know, I thought it would help-”

“Izzy”. At Stede’s voice, he fell silent, throwing a glance at Ed as if trying to communicate something. Ed just stared. 

“Yes, captain?”

“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t think you need to worry about it now”. 

Izzy began to open his mouth again, but not wanting to argue, Ed cut him off. 

“Izzy. You need to understand something. You don’t need your leg right now”. 

The three fell silent for a moment, and Ed was satisfied that Izzy would stop asking questions. But then, just as they were about to start drifting away, Izzy opened his mouth again, forcing the words out before he could regret them. 

“The leg- the crew-” 

Ed went still. Stede missed them. Izzy missed them. He preferred not to think about them. 

“Israel”, Stede said, shooting Ed a concerned look, “we don’t talk about the crew here. Do you understand?” His voice took on a firmer tone than he’d ever used with Ed before, and Izzy tensed. 

“Yes, captain. I understand”. 

With that, Ed breathed a sigh of relief, squeezing Izzy on the back of his neck as he passed. He didn’t look at Stede, but at the contact, Ed suddenly understood that he needed Izzy, not just because Izzy would always love him, blindly, devotedly, but because, if he and Stede were alone together for too long, he didn’t know what they could do to each other. 

–

There’s something wrong. There’s something wrong. The house is wrong. He’s wrong. 

The touch earlier in the day had flayed him open, even as blurry images of the crew flashed through his mind. He hadn’t meant to make them upset, he really didn’t, but he wanted his leg. He needed his leg. 

His captains were sleeping in the next room, but he knew that they were still angry. Unable to sleep, he resolved almost blindly to get up, to find them, to bask in their warmth. He hauled himself up and began dragging his hands on the wall, but before he could get very far, he collapsed, leaving scratches on the wall from where his nails had been. 

Good , he thought, the house deserved it, for hurting his captains. He gave up on trying to move. If his captains didn’t think he deserved it, he wouldn’t try to get to them. He and the house felt like one in the same at the moment, and he needed his captains, and he loved them more than they could ever know, and he shouldn’t be here, and he didn’t deserve them, and he began scratching at his arms until they bled. He wished the walls would bleed with him. 

Chapter Text

When Izzy thinks about it more, he agrees. They’re right about his leg. He feels ashamed for even asking. 

He’s grateful that he doesn’t have it, because now, when he has to move, he gets to feel them hold him, if only for a moment. The hands on his arms almost make up for the guilt he gets when he forces them to get up. 

They forgive him for it, because of course they do. When he apologizes they don’t just accept it,“ You’re welcome, Israel,”, they praise him for it, even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s learning that they like it when he says please and thank you. 

When he does, they smile at each other, Izzy gets to see the fondness in their eyes. He lights up, too- he’d never imagined that that fondness could be about him. 

So, for just the briefest of moments, when the sunlight glints through the windows, he’s good. They sit with him and his legs tremble, because he knows they’ve been upset, and he’s trying, but those flashes of fondness leave as soon as they come. They leave coldness, like a draft coming  under the door, and someone always seems to be getting up and leaving. Never him. He couldn’t. 

They like it when he’s quiet, so he’s quiet. They like it when he says words like “please” and “thank you”. They love the word “sorry”. It feels strange to say those words out loud, even though they seem like basic decency, but they feel foreign as they roll off his tongue. He doesn’t think he said those things before this, which is why they taste bitter in his mouth. He says them anyway. 

It all falls away one night as they sit quietly, eating dinner. 

By all accounts, things are okay. Things should be okay. The sky is a deep blue outside, the kind of blue that happens after the sun sets, and the inside of the house glows with warm orange light. The three of them sit at the table, Ed and Stede at the heads, Izzy in between them. Stede is impressing Ed with his knowledge about the local flora and Ed is gazing dreamily at him, interjecting with questions, thoughts, and “that’s so cool, babe”s. Izzy, in their opinion, has done well today. He’s been helpful- Stede has been trying to repair the porch and Izzy’s been assisting him. Technically, Izzy did most of the work, but Ed felt a quiet satisfaction at seeing the two of them together, recalling the difference between their previous animosity. 

Ed is looking at Stede fondly and recounting how he and Izzy first thought about him. He talks and talks about how he had looked that first day they met, and then, he mentions the murder plan they’d had. He recounts it with amusement, now, as if him wanting to kill Stede was so improbable now that it was funny. Izzy should have remembered this, but he supposes death can do strange things to your memory. He’s seen it before, not in gaps but in strange inconsistencies. Sometimes, he sees Ed leaning over him and telling him to be quiet. Ed says it’s from when the bullet hit him, on the ship as the crew watched, but he remembers candlelight, and darkness, and a pain in a part of his body that he didn’t have by then. In that moment it wasn’t Ricky that had hurt him. He said nothing then and he says nothing now. 

There’s something crawling inside him in the silence, and he can hear his heart beating louder, as if his lingering rage is trapped behind his ribs and trying to get out. 

“You never told me Izzy was in on the plan”. It’s said casually, but Izzy knows that tension. His chest tightens and he waits, quietly, for Ed to answer.

He knows he deserves it. He knows he deserves whatever Ed says, but Ed is- well. He's Ed.

“I mean, yeah, mate”, Ed says. “It was a serious plan”. 

Stede snorts and puts his fork down. Izzy takes this as his cue to leave and make himself useful, but as he starts to shift, Stede turns his attention directly onto him. 

“I should have known it was your idea the whole time”, he says, mouth tilting up in a way that seems cold all of a sudden. “Dear Edward would never do that, of course”- here, he takes Ed’s hands, and Izzy gets to- no. He has to watch them stare at each other, Ed smiling back softly. “It makes sense that you would, I suppose”. 

And then he laughs. He stares at Izzy and laughs, like this is amusing. 

And then, for just a moment, Izzy sees. In a split second, he debates lying for Ed, who’s still gazing softly at Stede and most definitely not looking at Izzy. God, they love each other. They fucking love each other. He shouldn’t say anything, he should agree. He doesn’t deserve to open his mouth. And besides, the last time this happened-

The last time. The last time is a black hole that opens up behind him, and at every turn, it swallows him whole. The last time is the wood rotting in the corners of the room. The last time is the dark, empty ocean outside, the ocean that he wanted to left in. The last time. 

“It wasn’t my idea, though, Bonnet. It was his plan”. 

At this, the smile slipped from both Bonnet and Edward’s faces, and for just a moment, Izzy caught Ed’s eye as he frowned at him from across the table. That one glance, that one, questioning glance was all it took for Ed’s eyes to harden. It was now his turn to stare coldly at Izzy, and suddenly Stede’s gone, and he’s on the floor of an empty cabin, a shadow towering over him as he begs to stop. 

“What do you mean, Iz?” he says. Something in him twists at the nickname. “It was your fault, remember?”

Izzy just stares numbly back at him. Stede’s eyes fall upon him again, but he ignores it, body and mind wrapped around Ed. He knows, vaguely, that Bonnet wouldn’t like that, but this is more important anyway. Bonnet wouldn’t like him thinking that either. 

And then, Ed’s voice turns sharp, as cold as his gaze and as hard as ice. “You made me come up with a plan. You made me try to kill him, because that’s what you always did. I always did what you wanted. Stede’s right. I wouldn’t. It was you”. 

“Really, Israel, I can’t believe you right now,” Stede chimes in. “Throwing Ed under the bus like that after all we’ve done for you”. 

Something snaps in Izzy for just a moment, a well of anger rising up in him, and he wants very suddenly to go back to the ocean, though he’s not sure why. It’s not his place, he knows that, but it’s also his job to question his captains until he has to be put back in his place. It was, anyway. 

“It wasn’t my fault”, he bites out, irritable. “You didn’t have to say that to me-”

You didn’t have to keep me.

“You didn’t have to make me stay”. His voice is rising, now, and it felt almost foreign to him. He hadn’t spoken above a whisper since he’d died. “But you did. You wanted me, even when you had him”, he continued, motioning to Stede. 

He’s standing. When had he started standing? He wasn’t supposed to be able to. Or he wasn’t supposed to. Same thing, anyway. 

His voice is full of bitterness. 

“And now I’m dead”. 

The two men across from him stare at each other. 

Ed slaps Izzy in the face. 

It’s not the pain that shocks him. He’s received far worse punishments. It’s the touch that makes him crumble. 

In the corner of his eye, Stede gets up, advancing on the scene, steps strong and purposeful. God, it’s been ages since Izzy’s felt the warmth he feels now. The touch of Ed’s hand, however rough it may have been, settles in his chest and numbs all the anger of the moment before. 

He keeps his eyes down as Stede approaches. 

Frozen in place, calculations race through his mind, trying to predict what will happen next. He’s never been one for predictions - that was always Ed. Still, it’s hard to keep his mind from spinning as he hears shoes clack on the tiles. 

He’s surprised another blow hasn’t landed yet. He knows he deserves it, for questioning his captains, his gods, for disrespecting them like that. Maybe Ed feels bad, he thinks with a twist in his gut. He’s always been softer than Izzy deserved, always guilty for simply doing his job. He should be.

That’s why Stede is coming. Ed can’t do it, so he will. He’s never hit him before, even when Izzy expected him to, after the crew found each other again. But Izzy’s seen him change, get stronger. He can. He should. Desperately, he almost opens his mouth and tells him to get it over with, but his lips never move and he’s grateful for that. He’s already committed one act of blasphemy disobedience. He doesn’t think any of them could handle two. 

Against his will, Izzy feels his muscles tense, limbs drawing themselves together on their own. If he was stronger, he’d lift his head again and wait for the next hit. He used to be able to do that. Now, all he can do is keep a straight face, bowing his head like a disciple in church. 

Or maybe Stede will drag Ed away. Maybe he’ll touch Izzy softly, take his face in his hands and say something that makes him feel holy. He remembers, distantly, a hand on his check, a mouth near his ear, but the feeling is gone as soon as it enters. He pushes out of his mind. He doesn’t deserve to chase it. 

Instead, he rushes over to Ed, and if Izzy could lift his head, he would see Stede take his hands in his own and kiss his knuckles softly, even as Ed stands, frozen. He’d see Ed lean into the touch and his knuckles turn white with the force of their grip on each other. 

But Izzy doesn’t lift his head. He stays exactly as he is as a soft trail of words trickle from Stede’s mouth, directed towards the man he’s holding. 

“Are you okay, love? Ed, are you okay? I’m so sorry you had to go through that, love…” 

It goes on like this for about a minute, Stede and Ed swaying in each other’s arms, the guilt piling in Izzy’s chest with every second that passes.

He had hurt his captain. It’s the only thought that passes through his mind. He had hurt his captain and he wasn’t hurt, not enough, anyway. It built up inside him, and he could barely move, that singular thought weighing him down like an anchor, distantly remembered from some battle long ago. 

Presently, Stede looks away from Ed and towards Izzy. If it was possible for him to tense more, he did. 

“Israel”, he ordered, voice ringing through the silence. “Look at me”. 

Except that was impossible. Everything in him fights to obey, but he’s too stiff. He can’t speak. All he can do is hope that somehow, they would know that he was trying. He was good. 

Running out of patience, Stede abandons Ed to grab Izzy’s jaw and tilt his head up. The light is almost blinding, but Stede’s eyes are unbearable. They pierce into his, and then Ed is at his shoulder, and both of them are looking at him with a disappointment that required expectation. He had let them down. Against his will, a whimper escapes his lips, and Stede grips his jaw harder. 

“You hurt Ed, Izzy. You made him hurt himself. You hurt the man that buried you here. You hurt your savior ”. 

Izzy physically winces. He looks to Ed if only to make it hurt more for him. 

Ed stares back, his anger more quiet than Stede’s. His eyes are smoldering. 

“I can’t believe you, Izzy”. 

And with that, the tension in Izzy’s muscles breaks, replaced by a bone deep ache that can only be described as grief. Without thinking, he sinks to his knees, limbs aching when he hits the floor. He can’t bring himself to care. 

His eyes dart desperately between his captains as his body shakes with sobs. He needs them to hit him again. He needs them to punish him. He’ll take whatever they give him. He just needs to repent for this, because he’s hurt the only people in the world that love him enough to keep him. 

“I’m sorry”, he chokes out between sobs, “I’m sorry, please, forgive me, please don’t get rid of me…” 

He stays like that for- he doesn’t know how long. He’ll stay here forever if he needs to. Ed and Stede don’t move, or their legs don’t, anyway. He can feel their eyes on him, watching almost impassively as he begs. Some part of him would have been ashamed, to be on his knees like this, but that was a small piece that only existed an eternity ago.  

But the verdict he’s waiting for never comes. Instead, he realizes with a jolt that someone is stroking his hair, rhythmically running their fingers from front to back. The touch, like every other one that he’s been granted so far, just breaks him down even more. 

He allows himself to give into the gentleness for just a moment, before Ed’s voice breaks through his. 

“It is your fault, Izzy, all of it”, he comforts. “Even your death. You’re just denying it because you want to seem good, don’t you?” Izzy nods, sobbing harder and pressing into Ed’s leg as he realizes that he’s right. He doesn’t dare touch or reach for him, even though he wants to. Instead, he revels in the small, familiar mercy of being allowed to lean on him as he braces for the judgment to come. 

But it doesn’t. Instead, he hears Ed murmur “I forgive you, Iz”. 

Izzy stills. With enormous effort, he lifts his head up to meet Ed’s eyes, then Stede’s, chin digging into the skin on Ed’s thigh. 

He finds softness. Stede is even smiling at him. 

“I don’t”- he starts, but then Ed’s fingers dig into his scalp and he quiets. Stede answers the unspoken question for him. 

“I’d say you’ve learned your lesson”.

With that, Ed nudges his knee, and Izzy’s head snaps up again, eyes wide. But Ed doesn’t take it back. Instead, he asks, “got something to tell us, Iz?” It’s said lightly, almost amused, but Izzy knows an order when he hears one. 

“Thank you”, he says, swallowing his pride and just savoring the fact that he’s been forgiven. 

Ed smiles, satisfied. 

“Of course. We want to put the past behind us, especially yours. You’re better now, see?” 

Izzy nods in understanding. 

–

It’s Izzy’s fault . 

Ed repeats it to himself in his head. He says it enough times that he believes knows it’s true. 

Did he feel bad about letting his anger get the best of him? Sure. But his anger was lessening, he was so much softer now, and Izzy’s bitterness wasn’t. 

Ed and Stede had been so alarmed by his outburst that he was left with no other choice. They couldn’t listen to this all this blaming again, all this dredging up of old wounds that only left them angrier. 

So he’d made the only logical choice, gotten it out of the way as quick as possible and forgiven Izzy for it. He had to admit, he had felt guilty when he first saw Izzy in the doorway, kneeling on the ground and covered in blood, scar that he’d given him reopened. 

It was like the universe was punishing him sometimes. It wouldn’t let him move on unless Izzy did. So he’d cleaned the wound and given them a fresh start. 

Old Izzy would have taken that chance gratefully. He wanted nothing more than this, after all- to be with Ed and Stede. To be kept. Death had just confused him, clouded his mind. He knew Izzy better than Izzy knew himself, after all- he knew what Izzy needed, and he hated making his captains upset. He just needed a reminder.

All in all? This incident had been good for Izzy. He couldn’t keep reaching for ghosts- his leg that wasn’t there, his cravat, locked in the bedroom drawer. The rest of the evening had been perfectly serene without them, reaching for his first mate in the back of his mind. 

That night, Izzy crept into their room, painfully slow without his leg but still quiet as a shadow. Stede was out like a light, but Ed cracked an eye open and couldn’t help but smile when he saw Izzy’s figure in the doorway. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out what to say, but in the end, all that slipped out was a whispered, almost nervous “please?” 

Without questioning it, Ed nodded. He knew Izzy too well to be surprised by what he did. And besides, he had been so good after dinner, so quiet and sweet, that Ed figured he deserved it. He watched as Izzy curled up at the foot of the bed, covering himself with his blanket and using another one as a pillow. Nodding, Ed promptly flipped over to face Stede, nuzzling his face in his chest and scooting closer to him for warmth. 

This was all he’d ever wanted: Izzy, content, soft, and Stede, warm in bed with him. 

The universe wasn’t completely against him, he supposed. Everyone got what they deserved in the end.

Chapter Text

“Fuck you,” Ed growls, slamming his fists into the table. “You’re being selfish”, he says, and isn’t that ironic?

“Me?” Stede shouts back, just as bitter. “I”m being selfish? After everything I left for you-”

It’s a nice day out. They’re both smiling. 

“You’ve been leaving everything your whole fucking life, Stede, including me, this shouldn’t be any different”, Ed snipes, a gentle grin arranged on his face. It doesn’t match the anger boiling from both of them, but they keep smiling. They’re cutting deep, now, and Izzy knows all too well what happens when either of them get angry like this. 

They’re in the kitchen, and the plates are gleaming, the floor is polished, but the walls of the house still seem to be bearing down on them like vultures. They’re leering over Ed and Stede even now, the roof hanging over them storm clouds. 

Izzy, for his part, is leaning against the wall by the windows, keeping his eyes blank and completely still. Right now, he’s invisible, keeping himself so still that it was like he wasn’t there at all. They didn’t let him wear black anymore- too many memories, Stede had said briskly. Izzy glanced at Edward then, who resolutely avoided his gaze. Both were thinking about the kohl that Izzy had found in the guest room, shoved between a dresser and the wall. 

So, because he wasn’t wearing black, he truly was invisible, blending into the wallpaper almost seamlessly. He preferred it that way, really; he didn’t think he wanted to be the center of either’s attention at the moment. 

“I left my family for you. I left my children for you. And then you made me leave my new family, because what?” Stede responded, beaming. “Because you couldn’t look them in the eyes?” 

Against his will, Izzy tensed, and the old instinct kicked in, telling him to bite, bleed, attack anyone that dared to speak to Ed like that. Before he could move, though, the walls behind him pressed into his back, digging the plaster into his shoulders, and then he was covered in dirt again. No air, no sunlight, nothing but the Earth pressing in on all sides and the distant tide, washing onto shore like they were trying to him to drag him under. The sudden, familiar longing for the horizon gripped him before the mercy of his captains drowned out those thoughts. He said nothing. 

Meanwhile, said captains were still arguing. 

“Don’t use that against me now!”

“Why not?”

If it was possible, the corners of Ed’s mouth turned up even more.

“Because you’re selfish, mate . If you only came here with me to hold it over my head, you’re just as selfish as I am”. 

“Oh, shut up , Ed!” 

And then, suddenly, Stede’s face falls. 

Another slam, another pair of fists on the table, and then a straightening of the back, a smoothing of the face, and a pair of feet storming away. After a moment, the distant slamming of the door. Izzy did not move. 

When the noise subsided, Stede’s face was still as a statue, his features carefully arranged back to their usual state. He stood, staring after Ed, before turning to Izzy, who had been dutifully watching him as if he were the only man in the world. 

“Am I selfish, Israel?” Stede asked. Like he didn’t know what Izzy would say. What he had to say.

“No sir”. 

Stede stared, eyes roving up and down his body. There was no need to smile, now. Izzy didn’t deserve it. He abruptly realized that his hand, though subconsciously, had moved to where a sword would have rested in some long ago lifetime. Now it seemed to him as there was no world outside this cabin. 

Try as he might, however, he couldn’t bring himself to move, jaw tensing almost on it’s own. His hand stayed by the phantom weapon. 

“Why not?”

“You saved my life, sir”.  

His captain remains silent, eyebrows raised, and Izzy has to worship now, kneel at the alter and pray. The walls press into him again, pushing him closer to his god as if to nudge him on.

“And”, he continued, “you’re making me better”. And they are, they are. Izzy smiles, now. He doesn’t talk back. He’s good, as good as someone like him could ever hope to be. 

“You’ve forgiven me”. He carries the marks of their forgiveness like gifts, even now, from the scar on his forehead to the last of his legs.  

“You’re letting me stay”. 

There’s silence for a moment as his captain considers this, almost comfortable, but oppressive, humidity on a summer afternoon. His offerings are almost enough until a spark is lit in Stede’s eyes. He doesn’t smile with his mouth now, but Izzy sees it in his face: he’s had an idea. 

“So is Ed wrong?’

“I-what?” It’s a damning question and he knows that. Bastard , Izzy thinks, before remembering he shouldn’t be thinking that. 

“You heard me, Israel. If I am who you say I am, Ed is wrong. Is he wrong?” 

A beat. 

“I won’t ask again”. 

He says nothing. Ed is his captain. Stede sighs. 

“I’ll guess I’ll have to go get Ed again, then. You can give him your answer.”

And Izzy knows why Stede is asking this, doesn’t he? He knows what he needs to be placated. Izzy is nothing if not good at giving his captains what they want. Right now, Stede needs two things: an outlet and an excuse to use one. 

“Why, you can’t hit me yourself?”

–

This is unacceptable. He truly thought, after that night at dinner, that Izzy had been getting better. He had taken to thinking of it like a sickness, when the darkness from the grave came back to haunt him. No one’s fault, of course; Izzy was simply like that. 

But Izzy had been so peaceful since they’d taken him in, so sweet compared to the Izzy he’d known. That day was meant to be a one-off, the cruelty of his words, the anger in his voice. Merely an echo of the time before. He saw now that he had been a fool; Izzy was, after all, one of the most stubborn people he’d ever met, and he wasn’t going to accept their forgiveness easily, even when he wanted to. 

It’s the same old defiance, and Stede can’t help but be insulted. He’s not selfish, not like Ed said he was. God, Ed, he thought. He can’t see Izzy like this or he’ll break.

Sure, his fists had been clenched long before Izzy opened his mouth. Sure, it had stung, to hear him refuse to condemn Ed, even now. Sure, he’d been angry before this. But Izzy’s being ungrateful; he thinks Stede’s mercy can be taken for granted. He thinks Stede will tolerate this, because he’s not as strong as him, because he can’t look pain in the face. Baby Bonnet.  

–

He watches as Stede begins to take his belt off. 

There is nothing to be said anymore, no apologies to be given. Izzy takes a quiet breath and stands tall, waiting for the next order. This, he knows. This, he understands.

In the silence, a seagull calls. He imagines he can hear the waves. 

“Take your shirt off”. 

There’s a frost in his voice, and Izzy reaches instinctively for his cravat before remembering it’s gone. Stede catches this movement and his mouth twitches. He’s patient as Izzy takes off shirt, eyes never leaving him the entire time. For a fraction of a second, Izzy wishes he would look away. 

“Face the wall”. 

Dull eyes, don’t shake, don’t shake. He obeys. For some reason, the wall is an even worse sight than Stede’s eyes and the metal gleaming on his belt buckle. It presses up to him, hard and unrelenting, as he rests his forehead against it, shoulders tensing as he prepares for what’s to come. 

For some reason, in the back of his mind, he can’t help but feel betrayed. Because he knows, instinctually, that Stede has seen what his back looks like, scars and all. Some of them were old, stretching over his skin naturally, and when Stede had seen them, some were still open, raw, bloody. It wasn’t like he hadn’t deserved them, after all. His captain- Ed- had the right to do what he wanted, but for some reason, he hadn’t expected this of Stede. He couldn’t remember him doing this to anyone before, but then again, he was different. Gentleness had never taken to him well. 

He’s so swept up in the anger in his stomach that he’s not ready when the first blow comes. 

It’s not fair. A quiet gasp escapes him and, in response, the second blow is harder than the next. 

A third blow. It’s fair, Izzy thinks. It’s fair. 

Four. He keeps count, an old habit from their pirating dies. He doesn’t know if Stede is keeping count, so he does it for him, almost wishing he would. If he keeps count it might end sooner. 

Five. How dare he want it to end sooner?

Six. Forgive me, Captain, Izzy thinks. Please don’t be angry. Please.

Seven. He’ll do anything, anything at all, to be forgiven. He’ll take this for the rest of his life if he has to.

Eight. They’re so close, Izzy thinks, almost distantly. Stede’s body is a heaven behind him. He hasn’t earned the right to look at him- it comes with the punishment- but he presses his cheek to the wall and relishes in the smell of his sweat-glistened body, the sound of his heavy breathing. The taste of blood in his mouth becomes the taste of his tongue when he closes his eyes. 

The beating continues and his mind goes blank. There is nothing in the world that matters except the contact of his skin with the leather. 

He almost grins. This is why he’s allowed to stay. This is why he can be useful. This is how it feels to be good. 

After what feels like an eternity, Izzy is given a reprieve, and there is no noise except for their breathing, Stede’s heavy and his own shaking. 

“I’m sorry”, he chokes out, before he can stop him himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir”. 

And yet, despite his pleading, there is no movement behind him. Stede doesn’t raise his belt. Instead, he tilts his head, face going soft again. 

“What for?”

Izzy freezes. 

“What are you sorry for, Israel?”

He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s done wrong, he’s made him angry, he’s sorry. 

The silence is deafening between them. Izzy still hasn’t moved from his place on the wall, but he flinches as a large bang sounds from behind him. Despite his fear, he still doesn’t move. 

“Stede”, a deep, earnest voice says, and he realizes it’s Ed, back from where he’d stormed off too. 

He’s still not allowed to see what’s going on, and this is how it’s supposed to be, Izzy bleeding onto the floor, the sounds of Ed and Stede kissing and reconciling behind him. He realizes that he’s cold, suddenly, shoulders shaking. He keeps quiet. He’s good. 

Inevitably, Ed seems to realize that he and his lover aren’t alone in the room, eyes burning into the back of his neck. 

“What’s this, love?” he asks Stede, presumably taking in the dropped belt and Izzy’s back, still dripping with blood. There’s no need to speak to Izzy, after all. He’ll speak when he’s ordered to. 

“Oh”, Stede answers. “Now, don’t be angry love, I know you have your, er, issues with him, but I had to show him the error of his ways somehow, he got rough again.” 

Then, there’s silence, and after a moment, Stede leans forward. “He still feels for you, Ed”, came the whisper. Motioning to his back, he continues. “He remembers ”. 

And Izzy does remember, why some of these scars are younger than others. He remembers why he wouldn’t dare call Ed selfish. 

“Oh”, comes Ed’s response. There’s silence for a moment, and Ed’s going to be angry again, and he’s going to pick Stede’s belt up and hurt him again, and- 

“You did great, Stede”, came his soft voice. “I know you don’t like… I know you don’t like to hurt people, but you were so strong. You did the right thing, love”. 

Stede sighs in relief, and Izzy does, too, suddenly very tired. 

“It was so smart of you to do what you did”, he continues, “I know you don’t know Izzy like I do, but he needs it, sometimes. You’re so strong to help him like that”. 

“I love you so much, Ed”. 

“I love you too”. 

After a moment, Ed directs him to turn around. It’s oddly humiliating, to look him in the face after listening to their exchange, to have his worst transgressions laid bare. It felt almost as if he had been caught listening to a conversation that he shouldn’t have, red handed like a child stealing a cookie. 

Nonetheless, he turned around, looking Ed in the eyes for the first time in what seemed like ages. 

“What are you sorry for, Iz?” he asks, raising his eyebrow in that same cold, unforgiving way. 

“What am I supposed to say?” is the only response he can think to give, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. He’s not trying to be rude, he really isn’t. He doesn’t think he is, at least. But they won’t know that, will they? 

In a flash, he’s crying out in pain as his back, open and red, is slammed into the wall. As soon as the back of his head makes contact, however, he’s opening his eyes, because this position is familiar. The dark eyes towering over him are familiar, the stripes on his back are familiar, and mostly the pain is familiar, rushing back to him like an ocean wave, washing over him like a baptism. He knows what to do, now. It’s been drilled into him so much that even death can’t take it from him. 

“Whose fault is it that we were fighting, Iz ?” is Ed’s next question, anger shot through his voice, and some kind of love, too, familiar, achingly familiar. “Whose fault is it that we’re here in the first place? Who did we have to bury in the ground to keep close?” 

It hurts to say it, but he has to say it anyway. It is his fault, and if Ed thinks he hasn’t been punished enough, he’ll take this. He’ll take anything to see his eyes soften. He’ll take anything to get away from the pain. 

“Mine, sir”. He’s not supposed to call Ed that, not anymore, but it feels right. 

It works. Ed lets him out of his grip, and Izzy’s whole body slackens, missing the touch. Nonetheless, it’s worth it. Ed smiles. Stede smiles, too, and Izzy watches as they kiss again, soft, slow, and in the silence, wrong . Their lips don’t fit together, Izzy finds himself thinking. He feels like at any moment, one of them will bite the other, but he doesn’t move, watching. 

When they pull away, standing stiffly, they’re still smiling. In unison, they turn back to Izzy, almost as if waiting for him to break. He’s been good, he’s been so good, and his back is bleeding but it’s okay, because they’re smiling, they’re not angry anymore and they’re smiling. 

Izzy smiles back.