Edward and Blackbeard

Head wounds are a hell of a thing.

Ed had more than his share over his long career as a pirate. But a cannonball to the head by a member of his own crew was a new one.

Well, Ed thought as a thousand aches small and large cascaded across his body, at least it was fucking original.

Consciously or not, Ed had courted the mutiny, and when his crew finally stood up to him, he welcomed death with a smile.

Ed had courted his own death harder than he'd courted anyone or anything - including Stede Bonnet.

But that courtship had failed, just as he'd failed with Stede. As he passed between throbbing, aching consciousness, and restless unconsciousness, the lines between reality and the purgatory he'd escaped blurred. When he was asleep, he could feel the sway of the ship beneath him. When he was awake, he felt like he was underwater. But he felt Stede's hand in his, and heard his voice echoing from both miles away and next to him at the same time.

In his restless dreams, and his painful waking moments, Stede was always there. That bone-deep awareness of his presence was the only thing that stopped Ed from sinking back into purgatory's beach - and whatever came after.

Ed's first true bout of awareness wasn't with Stede.

"S...Stede?" Ed looked around the hold of the ship.

Oluwande grasped his shoulders firmly. "Easy, easy. He'll be back. Come on, drink some broth. You survived the mutiny, but you still might die of dehydration and hunger."

Ed blinked as he tried to clear the underwater feeling from his eyes. Oluwande's voice was garbled, and at moments, there were two or three of him. Disorientation rather than acceptance allowed Olu to tip some broth past his lips.

Food from the mortal world felt harsh and unfamiliar. Ed coughed after the warm and meaty broth slid down his throat and woke up his stomach.

"There you go. Come on. A bit more."

Ed took the bowl with shaking hands and swallowed another mouthful. "Thank you," he croaked.

"Thank Jim. They asked me to. No one else will come down here except for Stede." Oluwande grabbed a cloth from a basin and touched it to the wound on Ed's head.

The contact sent a shockwave of pain across his skull and down his spine. But Ed didn't shirk away. "Where is he?"

"Trying to convince the rest of the crew to not have another go at taking you out. To be blunt," Oluwande took a breath, "You really fucked yourself. Jim didn't want to kill you, but you left them no choice. The only reason I'm doing my part to keep you alive is that Jim is actually relieved you're not dead."

Ed stared down at the bowl of broth in his hands. Lantern light above threw off enough illumination to give him an inky, distorted view of his own broken and sickly face.

"I shouldn't be alive."

"No, you shouldn't," said Oluwande as he stood up and tossed the rag aside. "But you are. And you're going to stay that way. At least until you're off the ship and your blood won't be on the hands of this crew." He stood and headed for the stairs.

"Olu. Tell Stede I'm awake?"

"Nah, nah. I'm going to do that, mate. I don't want you to die, but I do want you to be alone with your thoughts and whatever passes for your conscience before Stede forgives you for everything."

—

Ed did find himself alone with his thoughts as unconsciousness returned quickly, and so did fitful and powerful dreams.

His dream body was clean-shaven and draped in a bird of paradise robe while his tyrant shadow stalked across the deck of some poor merchant ship full of innocents and a handful of soldiers.

As the tyrant stalked, his crew bowed their head or scattered as he approached. Forced outside of himself, Ed saw what he'd refused or didn't care to see when he was that shadow. This was not the respect and power he'd seen when he first came into his power as Blackbeard. These were people who had once been his friends who were now terrified of him. Where once there was the mask and showmanship of a master pirate, there was now only a hollow monster.

He watched the demon in his clothes slice through anyone in his path with no remorse and no hesitation. Ed remembered how addled his mind had been from drugs, rage, and heartbreak, but none of that excused what he'd become.

Blackbeard stalked the deck of a burning ship while Edward watched. The pirate spectre struck down anyone who moved - including the injured who were no threat to him. He skewered the necks of wounded victims with a slow draw of his blade meant not to neutralize them, but to prolong their suffering.

"Stop it," croaked Ed.

He didn't expect his doppelganger to acknowledge him, but Blackbeard turned and looked Edward straight in the eye. His dark eyes were empty and soulless, smudged by kohl, cheeks spattered with blood and gore.

Edward startled and backed up until he found himself pressed against a mast as a ruined and smoking sail fluttered overhead. He reached for his sword, but found only soft linens.

Blackbeard stalked across the deck in a haze of acrid smoke. He dragged his blade across the deck, cutting a deep gash in the planks and tossing up sparks. "Time to die, Edward Teach," the pirate rumbled, his voice harsh and deep. And yet there was no malice in his tone, just rattling emptiness.

"No, no, don't. I...I'm unarmed. I'm no threat to you," Ed stammered.

"When has that ever stopped you?" the shadow said. And then he raised his sword and swung through the air, the blade hissing toward his head.

Ed felt the sting of the blade on his temple, then sat bolt upright with a cry. The sudden movement made every inch of his body ache and his stomach lurch. He doubled to the left and spilled broth and bile onto the deck in a wet, sour splatter.

He sat there on the edge of the table for a long moment, his lips wet and spots flashing in front of his eyes as he shook uncontrollably. Ed dry heaved again, then he slumped back down on the table that served as his bed. It was then he realized the only accommodation made for his comfort had been a balled-up sack of rags for a pillow.

It was more than he deserved.

Ed felt hot tears slide down his cheeks and tap against the leather of his pants that were stained with blood - both his own and of recent victims. The darkness around him was so deep and so cold that it threatened to completely undo the joy he felt in seeing a fantasy version of Stede swim to his rescue.

Had Oluwande actually been there? Had Stede? Or had he been left for dead below decks by his mutinous crew and any comfort or hope been only an illusion?

Slowly, Ed lowered himself back down on his makeshift bed. He curled his knees up to his chest and rested his head against the lumpy pile of rags. His mouth tasted foul and dry. His lips were chapped. The intense pain in his skull forced him to close his eyes. Every creak and shift sounded a hundred times louder than it actually was. He feared sleep, where Blackbeard stalked the decks. But he feared the waking world, too, where he had to reckon with the sins of that Blackbeard.

Just when Ed found himself praying for a return to purgatory's beach, he heard a soft and familiar voice.

"Ed?"

His eyes snapped open. And he saw hope in the shape of a man.