Ship In A Bottle || South Park Pirate AU

Sixteen

(Content warning for allusions to sexual assault)

In which a begrudging understanding is reached, begrudgingly.

Stepping out of the navigation room was worse than being manhandled into it. Craig strode behind him with a gun to his back – a performative act of strength, for there was no doubt that Kyle would comply. The moment he placed his foot on the boards outside the room, everyone fell silent. There was nothing to be heard but the creaking of the ship as it sliced through the waves. He wondered if the crew had been given precursory orders not to look at him, for that was what most of them did – fix their gaze in all directions except for towards him. Those of whom dared to sneak a glance his way did so to varying degrees of pity or disgust.

Kyle hung his head, but an ocean of eyes still burnt into the back of his neck. His wrists had been wrapped in rope once again, and it was as if he were back where he began, bound up and being led to be hung, on a ship where no one knew his name.

But everyone knew it now.

He was relieved when he began the descent below deck, hoping that would mark the end of the onslaught of nonverbal judgement of his ex-crew, yet more pirates came to the doors of their cabins to gawk, far more openly than those upstairs. Kyle's skin crawled. He had expected to feel indignant or perhaps even enraged, but all he felt was shame.

Passing sickbay was the worst of it all. The door was open, which was unusual, but everything inside was exactly as it should have been, save the absence of himself. Kyle's heart ached so much to go back there that he thought it might fall out of his chest and drag itself across the floor in a bloody pulp towards a familiarity which he would never be welcome to again.

Kenny and Butters were inside, tucked into the corner where the Greetings from South Port! postcard had once hung. But that was gone now, the only other thing missing. Butters looked at Kyle for a long heartbeat before he cupped a hand over his mouth and turned away, though not soon enough for Kyle to miss his pink, puffy eye and glistening cheeks, smeared with tears. Kenny snaked an arm around Butters and pulled him tightly into his chest, and from over Butters' shoulder, Kenny shot Kyle a look so dirty that it drew forth a strangled sound from the back of Kyle's throat. He swallowed it down again and looked away. His heart wasn't itching to escape anymore. It was just slowly sliding into the pit of his stomach.

"Here," said Craig when they had reached the end of the hallway. "The galley." She swung the door open and shoved him inside before he had a chance to say anything, then slammed the door shut behind him. Tweek was waiting inside to greet him, if standing with her back turned over a recipe book could be considered a form of greeting.

Kyle had never been inside the galley before. It was smaller than he had expected, though still larger than sickbay, which some distant part of him resented. Two opposing walls were lined with cabinets and shelves, upon which was cluttered a variety of utensils and ingredients, with no apparent order to any of it. Across from Kyle was a small iron oven, with saucepans bubbling away on the stovetop. There were no windows save a single small porthole next to a hammock tucked into a corner.

"Is that for me to sleep in?" he asked.

"No, it's mine," said Tweek. "I sleep in here. I've always slept in here."

"You have?"

"Of course," she scoffed. "You think I'd bunker down with the likes of them, out there? Not a risk I'm willing to take."

Kyle did not ask what exactly that risk might be. If he was going to be sharing this place with Tweek for the next few weeks, then he would like to keep her as calm as he could.