Archive of Our Own

Ed watches with a curious tilt from across the deck as Stede stares vacantly and directly out over the horizon, apparently listening to Lucius speaking at his side.

Though the boy keeps talking, Ed keeps his eyes on Stede’s face, and he’s not sure he’s even hearing him. If he is, he’s certainly not processing any of it.

Something about him just looks— off. His shoulders are held stiffly; his expression is half-blank; his usually-fidgeting body is stock-still, frozen down and cemented into place. His fingers curl into themselves, one of his only real indications of life, until his nails dig into his palms and his knuckles go white. From this distance, he can’t tell what it is Lucius is saying, or if it’s contributing to the faraway look in Stede’s eyes, but he just seems to be absent, somehow.

“Fang,” Ed calls, and Fang’s there a moment later.

“Yeah, Cap?” he asks.

“Helm’s yours,” he says, and passes it off. “Keep us steady. Heading for a safe port. Any of ‘em, doesn’t matter which.”

“Aye,” Fang replies. His transition into taking the helm is nearly seamless; not for the first time, Ed’s grateful for his crew. Their efficiency right now means he can get to Stede more quickly.

Still, though, he’s not quick enough. Before he can make it to Stede, he watches him choke out something short to Lucius before twisting away from him and darting off across the deck. In practically no time at all, he vanishes through the door to their quarters, and Lucius and Ed both are left staring after him.

Lucius recovers in an instant, turning to seek out Frenchie where he’s chatting aimlessly with Wee John by the rail. He just joins in on their conversation, even while Ed’s still stood there, watching the door that’s closed behind Stede, wondering what the fuck it is he’s just missed.

When he gets himself to move, he goes to Lucius first. He’s not even sure if they’re talking; if they are, he interrupts them with a demand of, “What just happened to Stede?”

“What?” Lucius asks him, as if he can’t process the words he’s said in the order he’s said them.

Ed jerks his chin back in the direction of their door. “What’d he say to you? There something wrong with him? He feeling okay?”

“Oh, the Captain?” Lucius asks. He makes the small motion of a wave in the direction he’s vanished in. “Said he needed to rest for a minute.”

“He’s alright, though?” Ed asks him, because he didn’t look alright.

“Of course he was,” Lucius replies, bewildered. “It’s a lovely day. What’s he got to be upset about?” He evaluates Ed for a probing second before asking, “Unless you did something?”

“No,” Ed insists, before glancing back towards the door, frowning. Unless— Unless he did, and he just doesn’t know what it is he did, or said, or whatever. Then again, Stede had seemed fine when they last saw each other. It’s been a while since he’s spoken to him today; he’s not sure what he could’ve done, but he also doesn’t know what else could have happened.

One thing he’s certain of is that something isn’t right. Somebody did something, or something’s happened, because Stede doesn’t just stride off over nothing.

“Well,” Lucius says, “I bet he probably just needs a minute.”

“Mm,” Ed agrees, attention already slipping off him. “I’ll be back, then.”

If Lucius says something in response, Ed doesn’t hear it. He’s already heading for their quarters, a frisson of anxious anticipation starting to shiver through him, a cold chill just beneath his skin. It just feels all wrong and sideways, somehow. He knows that something’s wrong.

Pushing through the door that leads Ed to the hall that branches to their quarters, he pauses, listening for any sounds. There’s nothing. He moves just to search, nudges in the door to their room only to find it empty. The auxiliary closet’s empty, too, though Ed checks between and behind the hanging clothes just to be certain. He’s not in bed, or hiding by the books, or laying on the couch. He’s not anywhere in the cabin that Ed can find.

Frowning, he backtracks, steps back into the hall and listens again. When he strains, he thinks he can hear a shuddering sort of breath being taken, maybe. It could just as easily be wind, or a creak of the ship’s boards, but a vibration itches in the back of his head to tell him it’s not.

It’s this slight sound that Ed tracks down to the hall and back towards the room that holds the bath. Hesitating, Ed sets his palm on the door, tilting in to listen.

There, he hears that same breath again, trembling and strangled and high. The sound of it has his palms a little slick, his heart picking up its pace a bit. He knows what that noise is, even if he doesn’t know why it’s happening.

He can’t solve anything from the hall, so he knocks twice on the door before pushing it in, just a bit, leaning in to check just in case Stede isn’t actually in there.

Stede is, in fact, in here. He’s curled up on the floor beside the bathtub, wedged into the corner, long legs bent up until his thighs press into his chest and his belly, arms wound around them until he can hold himself together in one piece. His fingers had been gripping his own arms; when he startles and sees Ed, he brings his hands up quickly instead, swiping at his face, dragging his thumbs under his eyes to dry them fast.

“You’re crying,” Ed says, and immediately wishes he could take it back, because of course Stede’s fucking crying. He knows that, he’s the one fucking doing it. “I’m— L— Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

Stede’s eyes burn into Ed’s for a moment, red-rimmed and bloodshot and broken, before he shakes his head, looking away. His breaths are coming fast, catching on every hyperventilated hitch upwards. Though he’d just focused on Ed, his eyes are going glassy again, now, glossed and hazy as he stares at nothing but the middle distance between himself and the wall. His hands grip at himself, face twisting down until he can bury it in his forearms, wrapped into one tight, terrified, trembling mess on the floor.

For a moment, Ed just stands there.

Then, he steps in, pushing the door closed behind him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Stede chokes out, half-muffled, face still concealed, his words muffled by the press of his mouth to his forearm.

“Do what?” Ed asks him.

“Be in here with me,” Stede tells him. The space is small; Ed only needs to take two steps before he’s next to him. Standing over him feels wrong, somehow, but Stede’s not moving, and he doesn’t want to piss him off or upset him. “I’ll be fine in a minute. I just needed to— to take a moment. I’m fine.”

Every word that chokes up out of him is tight and strained and pained-sounding. His breath hitches again, and he shakes his head, seemingly at nothing, before his arms clench tighter and he squeezes himself closer.

Just looking at him like this has something thick expanding in Ed’s throat. He can’t keep looming over him like this, and he can’t leave him here to suffer whatever’s going on alone, so. He takes a seat beside him, folding himself up so he can sit on the floor in the space just next to Stede, one shoulder pressed into the wall, the other nearly brushing Stede’s.

When Ed doesn’t respond verbally, Stede lifts his head. He looks directly upwards, for a moment, before his brow furrows and he tracks down to find Ed sitting beside him instead.

“You really don’t have to,” Stede repeats. “I’m fine.”

Ed really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but he doesn’t know what the wrong things and the right things to say even are, and he can’t just keep saying nothing.

Instead, he asks Stede, “What’s going on?”

He’s careful to meet his eyes, to look at him, but Stede takes himself away again. He shakes his head, turns away, buries back into his arms, tightens his hold on his legs. There’s a moment where he inhales, like he’ll speak, but then he exhales on a watery sigh and there’s new tears burning at his eyes in the instant before he hides in his arms again. A minute shiver trembles through him, along his spine, through his limbs; the skin at his wrists where Ed can see his bare flesh is pebbled with goosebumps.

“Nothing,” Stede finally settles on saying. “I’m just—” His voice breaks, right there, and he twists further into himself. There’s a soft choking noise that comes up, then.

Ed doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to touch him, but he does; he doesn’t want to speak, but he does. He doesn’t know how to do this. Watching Stede at his side, though, as he fists his hands in the material of his own jacket and starts to cry in these stifled little sounds into his knees for no reason that Ed can discern, he’s pushed to shuffle closer, just to feel like he’s doing— something.

When he gets close enough that their upper arms brush, Stede full-body shivers. He also wrenches out a sharp cry that leaves him gasping, as if he didn’t expect it, either, and then he’s crying in earnest. It’s like he can barely get a breath, chest heaving and throat tight and face streaked with tears as he falls to pieces, sobbing at Ed’s side, burying his face down into his knees and concealing himself as best as he can and just collapsing.

It breaks something in Ed’s heart, and makes him feel a little insane that he can’t— do anything. He has to do something.

Reaching out, Ed puts his arm across Stede’s shoulders. When Stede jerks, but doesn’t separate them, Ed guides him in further, pulls him in closer, until Stede’s fit into him, wedged under his arm and into his side. He’s still curled up, as if unable to unfurl himself, moving as one tight unit into Ed, but at least he moves.

“You’re alright,” Ed tells him, and the words draw a hiccuping sob from Stede, something deeper and harder. Wrapping his arm around him, fitting himself into his spaces, Ed clutches him tight, then tighter. “You’re okay, Stede. It’s going to be okay.”

Stede shakes his head again, buried in Ed’s chest. Slowly, Ed starts to drag his hand up Stede’s arm, then down it. It’s the only part of him he can reach, this way, so he just does it. It’s all he can think of to do.

That, and telling him, “You’re okay, love. I gotcha. It’s alright,” while Stede shatters apart, skin splotched in hectic red and face hidden in Ed’s chest and chest heaving as he struggles to breathe through the tears. The sobs catch in his throat, and he doesn’t breathe, for a second, before he gasps, and Ed’s heart jumps in his chest.

Whatever just happened to him has his hysteria mounting. Ed kisses the top of his head, twists into him to get his other arm around him. They’re at an awkward fucking angle, but he drags Stede into his lap, lets him drop his head against his shoulder while he cries.

It goes on for a long time. Ed starts rubbing his back, once he can reach it, sliding up and down his spine as slowly as he can, pressing hard, just trying to calm him and soothe him and ground him as best as he can. Stede keeps crying, and he fists his hands in Ed’s shirt, and he doesn’t speak except for the occasional rambled nonsense, incoherent fragments of thoughts that mean close to nothing without the context in his mind.

After a while, Stede’s crying slows enough that he can breathe. A little later, he’s not gasping anymore, and he tries to move his muscles, tries to unwind. It takes time, but he gradually comes back into himself, tears slowing and breaths evening out and full-body shakes dying down into trembling.

When he finally slows to nothing more than the occasional hitch in his chest, he doesn’t lift his head. His fingers tighten on Ed, for a moment, before he inhales in a shaky sort of noise.

“I’m sorry,” Stede tells him, voice small. It almost cracks, in the middle; he clears his throat, repeats, “Ed, I’m s— I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, what?” Ed stops him. “Don’t be sorry, you’re fucking— It’s fine.” He tries to lean backward, to tilt Stede’s face up so he can examine his expression and meet his eyes, but Stede won’t let him move. “Hey—”

“I’m sorry,” Stede says, and his voice breaks, a little. He takes one deep breath, then another. This time, when he moves, it’s to remove himself from Ed, to separate their bodies and disentangle their limbs and shuffle himself away from him across the floorboards. Ed’s frowning when Stede plants his shaky hands right on the floor and begins to shove himself into standing, telling him, “I’m just going to—”

“Stede,” Ed says, and Stede shakes his head.

“Don’t,” Stede tells him. He grabs the rim of the bathtub, hauls himself up, stands on shuddering knees, looking like he’s about to collapse. “I’m sorry you had to see that, that was— That was—” Stede looks down at his own white knuckles on the bathtub’s edge. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw, tight tension strained through his voice when he says, “I’m so sorry, Ed. I shouldn’t have behaved that way.”

“It’s okay to be upset, Stede,” Ed argues. “I just want to know what the fuck happened so I can—”

“It’s nothing,” Stede tells him, still turned away.

“It’s not nothing,” Ed replies, incredulous. “Stede, you just fucking fell apart on the floor for— a fucking hour. Something’s wrong w—”

“Nothing is wrong,” Stede repeats, and his grip on the bathtub tightens, his breath growing shallow again. After a beat, he tries to shake himself out, releasing his grip and rolling his shoulders. His eyes don’t meet Ed’s when they flick towards the door. “I just— I need rest. I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Ed says. “What happened?”

“Ed—”

“You said we’d talk to each other,” Ed reminds him. “You don’t have to talk about the whole fucking thing right now, but don’t lie to me and say nothing happened. You don’t sit down and freak out over nothing happening.”

Stede doesn’t look at him, still. His shoulders draw up again, tighter than before, and Ed can’t figure out what went wrong, where he made the misstep.

“I’m sorry,” Stede says.

“Don’t be sorry, man,” Ed pleads with him. “Just— I just—” He doesn’t want to fuck up, but, based on the ramrod-straight line of Stede’s spine and the averted gaze of his glassy eyes, he’s already fucked up. “Don’t lie to me—”

“I’m not lying,” Stede says, and if he means to shout it, he doesn’t succeed. It comes out broken, instead, and then he’s shaking his head. “It’s— I’m being ridiculous. Ed, I’m sorry—”

Ed shoves himself up to stand, too, hating the way Stede’s just standing there above him, trembling in the middle distance. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I just— Stede, I wanna help you. I can’t do it if you don’t tell me—”

“Ed,” Stede says, as if he’s falling apart inside. He’s slow, and pained, and his eyes stay on the door, splotched-red face turned away from Ed. “There is nothing wrong with me. Th— Well, I suppose that’s not strictly true, is it? Because nothing happened to me, and I am still like this. So, in that sense, I suppose, yes, there is something very deeply wrong with me, but I don’t know what it is so I don’t really have an answer for you, Ed, and I’m sorry,” he tells him, tears starting to spill again, “because I wish I did, I really do, but I don’t. I’m just— I’m just like this, and I just get like this and I just can’t— I can’t—”

Ed tips in closer to him when he starts choking up on his words, the torrent coming to a shuddering halt while he drags in a tremulous inhale. He catches Stede’s shoulders in his hands, strokes up to cradle his face between his palms.

“It’s okay,” Ed tells him, heart hammering in his chest.

Stede shakes his head; Ed lets his hands move with him, then catches him again, pulling him in closer, embracing Stede tightly. For a moment, Stede just stands there, stiff and unmoving, as if he doesn’t know what’s happening to him, ice and confusion and melting distress.

Then, though, he sobs once, half-dry, and falls into Ed, burying himself in him again, clinging to him tightly. Ed keeps him upright, holds on tight in return. When he buries his face in Stede’s hair and kisses the crown of his head, he gets another gasp of a breath in return.

“I’ve gotcha,” Ed says. “You don’t have to be sorry. I gotcha.”

His mind is rushing, because he wants to help Stede, but— Fuck, he gets exactly what he means, because this has happened to him before, too. He suspects it’s happened to Stede before, more times than he’s seen, even if Stede tries to hide it from him. Ed can’t help but wonder how many moments just like this that he’s missed— moments where it’s all gotten to be too much and Stede has had to hide himself away in the fucking toilet to break into pieces alone while Ed was fucking oblivious somewhere else.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Stede spits, venom laced through every word. It’s a jarring frustration, churning just beneath the surface of him, matches something similar in Ed.

“No, it’s not—”

“Yes,” Stede argues, face warm and slick where it’s still buried in Ed’s throat. His words are half-muffled by his flesh. “It is. Nothing at all has happened to me, I’m just— I’m just like this, Ed—”

“I like you the way you are,” Ed says.

Stede huffs a dry laugh; there’s not a hint of humor to it, no lightness in him. The next words he says are unintelligible, hidden in Ed’s skin; when Ed can make out what he’s actually saying, voice lifting again, he catches onto, “—for fucking nothing, and you’ve got to deal with me like I’m a— a child, and all I’ve got to do is just— eat, and rest, and be normal, and I can’t even do that—”

“Hey,” Ed stops him. “Stede, hey, stop it. Look at me.”

“Ed—”

“Look at me,” Ed repeats, and separates them, setting his hands on either side of Stede’s face again so he can draw him away.

He doesn’t speak again until Stede’s eyes finally lift to meet his, swollen and red. It’s fucking heartbreaking; Ed thinks he’s starting to understand what’s going on.

When they are looking at each other, Ed tells him, “There is nothing the matter with you. You’re having a hard time, love. That’s it.” Stede’s brow crumples, face creasing. Before he can speak, Ed continues, “I don’t know what it is that fucking— crawls up in us and makes us hurt this bad, but it fucking sucks. I’m sorry you’re hurting, man. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not real,” Stede tells him, as if he’s begging him to understand. Ed just wants him to understand. “I haven’t got anything to be hurt about. Nothing should hurt me—”

“That doesn’t mean nothing does,” Ed says, and Stede’s jaw clenches, a muscle jumping. “It’s okay to be hurt.”

“I shouldn’t be,” Stede insists.

“There’s no should be. You just are,” Ed says. “That’s alri—”

“It’s not.” Stede’s fingers clench up in Ed’s top, gripping the fabric tight enough to crinkle it. “It’s not alright, Ed. I’m a— I’m an adult. I should— I know better than this, Ed, I know that I need to eat and sleep and I know that I need to talk to people, I understand, I really do, I just— Sometimes, I just— I can’t, and it just all— It’s too much, and it shouldn’t be, but it is, and I can’t make it not be, and then I just— I can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what, mate?” Ed asks.

“Any of it,” Stede confesses. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, I can’t— I don’t know how to make it better when there’s nothing bad to begin with.”

Ed’s throbbing heart is beating so hard it nearly hurts. He threads his hands up through Stede’s hair, strokes down the back of his neck, along his spine, just trying to calm him. He’d do absolutely fucking anything to stop Stede from crying again, to keep him from feeling like this, to get him smiling again. It kills him inside that he can’t just— fix this.

But— he’s been here before, and it’s not an easy fix. It’s not. It’s just— gnawing, and aching, and nothing, and everything, and pain, an inside sort of pain that doesn’t have proper words, or ways to express it, except, just— hurt. And Stede’s hurts aren’t the same as Ed’s, but he knows them well enough to know how they still sting him, to know the old wounds that will never go away.

“I’ve got you,” Ed tells him, because it’s important to him that Stede knows that, and because he thinks it’ll help him to hear. “You’re not alone. Not for any of it. I’ll— I’ll bring you something to eat, alright? And you can talk to me, and you can sleep. And it’ll help. Yeah?”

Stede exhales against Ed’s skin, a huff that spreads warm over him. “I d— I don’t know. I hope so.”

“When’s the last time you ate something?” Ed asks him. Stede shakes his head again. “It’s alright. I’m not mad, I’m just trying to help.”

Still, for a moment, Stede doesn’t speak. Then, quietly, he admits, “A few days ago.”

“Stede—”

“I’m sorry,” he rushes to say, before Ed can get anything else out. “I just— I did— I didn’t want to, and then I just wasn’t, and—”

“It’s alright,” Ed tells him, chest tight. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Stede,” Ed repeats. He lifts his head, separates them so he can push them back together, bringing his forehead down to meet Stede’s. From this close, he tells him again, “I love you. Don’t be sorry. It’s okay to be fucked up sometimes.” It looks like Stede’s going to protest, so Ed cuts him off, says, “You don’t tell me I’m stupid or that I should be fucking sorry when I’m upset.”

“But you’re upset about something,” Stede insists. His eyes are still fixed on Ed’s, even this close up, even when they get watery with tears again. “I haven’t got anything to be upset about, I’m just— I don’t deserve this.”

Ed frowns. “What don’t you deserve?”

“This,” Stede repeats. “Any of this, Ed, I d— There’s not a reason anybody here should give a damn about me. They were right, wanting to mutiny against me. What’s wrong with me? What the f— This isn’t how adults act, Ed—”

“St—”

“I’m a mess,” Stede tells him, and starts to move, but Ed doesn’t let him, holds him close. Tears streak down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t— do what I’m supposed to do, I make you deal with— with this, with my— weakness— And for what? Ed, I— It’s no wonder, isn’t it? That— The way— The way everybody— sees me, and— Ed, nobody likes me—”

“That’s not true,” Ed argues, but Stede shakes his head against his.

“It is,” he says, “it— There’s no reason. I’ve not got— anything, Ed, I can’t offer anything, I fall apart over— over nothing and I can’t do the most basic things and people— People don’t like me, they don’t think of me. Ed, I don’t matter—”

“No,” Ed stops him.

“B—”

“No,” Ed repeats. He tightens his grip on Stede’s face, looks hard into his eyes. “You listen to me. I know your head’s all fucked up right now. You’re exhausted and hungry and your head is sick and it’s telling you things that aren’t true. You’re not weak—”

“I—”

“You’re not,” Ed tells him. “Stede, it’s okay. It’s okay. There’s no— Fuck, there’s no normal. There’s no fucking supposed to be. If you’re hurting inside, you’re fucking hurting inside. It’s not going to make it better to pretend you’re not, is it?”

Stede stares at him, wide and watery.

“Is it?” Ed asks again, and Stede shakes his head. “No, it’s not. You’re always telling me not to bottle it up ‘cause it makes it worse. That goes for you, too.”

“I should be able to do this,” Stede whispers to him.

“There’s no should,” Ed tells him. “Sometimes you can and sometimes you can’t. That’s okay. That’s what happens to everyone.”

“Not like this,” Stede argues.

“Yeah, ‘cause nobody’s you,” Ed says. “Everybody freaks the fuck out in their own way. You’ve helped literally every single person on this crew when they’ve done exactly the same thing you’re doing right now, they just— do it different.” Stede still looks skeptical. Brow furrowing slightly, Ed explains, “Like— Like when you find me hiding in the closet with one of your robes. Or when Lucius is up and just staring out at the waves for— fucking hours without blinking. You always know what to do.”

“There’s reasons for that,” Stede says.

“There’s reasons for this,” Ed tells him. There’s a disbelieving bend to his brow, still, and so Ed insists to him, “It’s okay to not be okay, babe. I get the same way.”

“No,” Stede disagrees. He’s more skeptical now, though. Ed can practically feel him defrosting, the icy core of him starting to drip and melt.

“I do,” Ed says. “Sometimes— Stede, love, sometimes, I fucking swear I’m going insane. It just— My head just hurts, but it doesn’t, and I feel like I’m going to scream and cry and fucking throw up all over the place, and there’s literally no reason. Or, like, not a reason I know. I just wake up fucking mad, and it makes me so sad I wanna die.”

Stede’s watching him with his creased brow and his streaking tears and his flushed-red face and the whole mess of him, crumpling in Ed’s hands. “Ed—”

“I don’t,” Ed says. “But I do. You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Stede tells him. “Me, too.”

Ed knocks their foreheads together again. “I’m so fucking sorry you feel this way. I don’t want you to, I want— I want you to know how much people love you. How much I love you. Like— so fucking much.”

“Even like this?” Stede asks him. It almost sounds like he’d be teasing, if he wasn’t so fucking sad.

“Especially like this,” Ed says. Stede huffs a disbelieving sort of scoff. “You’re human, Stede. Humans get sad. They get fucked up. We make mistakes, man, that’s like— our whole fucking deal.”

In the back of Ed’s mind, every day he’s spent without Stede burns like a brand. He still feels that sting, still wakes up with the pain gnawing at him, even with Stede at his side. There’s— There’s a fucking dozen things that wake Ed up soaked in sweat and shivering and sad for the rest of the day. It happens. It’s— That’s what happens.

“I don’t want to be sad,” Stede confesses. “I’m not usually like this, Ed. I don’t want to be like this.”

“I know, babe,” Ed says.

“It— I hate it,” Stede tells him. “I ju— I can’t figure out why I can’t feel the way I usually feel. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I don’t— I don’t know how to do it right again. I want to feel happy. I know I can feel happy. It’s like I— I can’t— find it again. I want to find it again so badly, and I still can’t. But I know I will. But I feel like I won’t.” He’s desperate when he asks him, “Does that— Does that make sense? I want it back, Ed.”

“I know,” Ed promises him, chest tight. “I know. It’s going to be okay.” He kisses his cheek, draws him into another embrace, arms wound tight around his shoulders. Stede folds his limbs around Ed’s, fits their legs together until there’s no space left between them. “It’s okay to be sad. Sometimes we’ve got to be sad. But you’ll always be happy again, and I’ll always be here to remind you that you’re gonna be. I can be happy for you when you’re not. You’re happy for me when I’m not. We’re just borrowing from each other, or whatever. It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. They’re feelings. You just gotta feel ‘em.”

This time, Stede nods shakily against him. He takes a shaky breath, then another, deeper one. His hands drift up to clench in the material of Ed’s top, nails scratching lightly through the fabric to drag across his back.

“I’m always here,” Ed promises. “All you gotta do is tell me. I’ll give you— whatever you want. Or need. Feed you or make you sleep or whatever. Or just listen. Anything.”

Stede tightens his grip on Ed. “I should be better than this.”

“There’s not better, Stede,” Ed insists. “Sometimes you just need something different than other times. That’s just life.”

Exhaling, Stede nods again. He drags his face up, tilts to look at Ed, to meet his eye. On impulse, Ed kisses the space beside his nose, and can’t begin to describe the relief he feels when the corners of Stede’s mouth actually turn up in response.

For a while, they just— stand there. Ed holds him, and pulls him in closer, just— hugging him, and rubbing his back, and telling him it’ll be alright in as many ways as he can think of to say it. In return, Stede hangs onto him, and breathes evenly, and finally starts settling into something like calm, if not an actual calm.

When Ed’s spine is aching from its bend and his knees are starting to throb through the rest of his legs, he suggests, “Why don’t we go lay down, yeah? You should eat something, sleep a little. It’s fine,” he tells him, quickly, in case there’s a second he can think it’s not. “It’s just what you need right now. It’s good to do it.”

There’s a beat where Stede is silent. For that moment, Ed’s sure he’s fucked up again, that there’s been some new misstep that he hasn’t recognized.

Then, though, Stede tells him, “Thank you,” in a soft voice, barely raised above a whisper. Before Ed can ask him what he’s thanking him for, as if Stede can read his mind, he clarifies, “For— all of this. I know I’m being— I know I’m not easy. I’m not being easy. But you— Ed, thank you.”

His words are a little muddled, and choked, and Ed knows what he’s saying even if he can’t get the exact phrasing out his mouth. He’s felt the same thing every time he’s hidden himself in the bathtub, or a blanket fort, or the auxiliary wardrobe, and Stede found him staring at the wall, and he just took Ed by the hand and pulled him to sit in front of the fire and fed him and spoke to him and coaxed him into spilling everything inside of him until he fell asleep collapsed into Stede, everything bitter and sour and hurting that eats him up inside spilling out overnight. He sometimes wonders if Stede just absorbs it all while he sleeps; he always feels better the next day, as if the world is right again.

The world feels like it’s ending, and then it doesn’t, when Stede shows up. Ed wants to fix things the same way for him.

“I’m gonna fix it,” Ed promises him. “As best I can, anyway.” He cups Stede’s face in his hands, squishes his cheeks in a bit until he smiles, even if it’s just a slight upturn at the corners. “How’s that sound?”

Stede seems like he’s going to say something else before he reconsiders. Instead of whatever he’d been about to tell him, he instead says, “Good,” and there’s a golden-edged sort of promise to the way he’s said it. Ed thinks it’s a step in the right direction.

“Great,” Ed agrees, releasing Stede only so he can let a hand snake down to wind with his.

Optimism starting to churn inside of him, he tugs Stede from the room, escorts him into the hall and down to the door of their cabin, bringing him into the day-bright and sun-warmed spread of their quarters. Stede allows himself to be guided, trusting Ed’s movements when he brings him to the sofa, same as Stede always does for him, and tucks him into the corner of it.

“Stay there,” Ed instructs him. “I’m going to get you something to—”

“Please, don’t—” Stede starts, then stops. When Ed turns back to him and finds his brightening eyes fixed on his, Stede tries again, asks, “I know it’s— But— Please, don’t— Don’t go. Please?”

It’s so halting and afraid and it stings something inside Ed like it’s poisonous, this spreading fear in him. Ed wishes he could throttle everyone who’s hurt him, steal every moment that’s pained him, drain the ache that throbs in his head, spare him the agony he suffers through, shape the world to make him happy. He fucking— can’t, but he can take care of him when it gets to be too much, so that’ll just have to be enough. That’s all he wants from Stede when the reverse happens, anyhow.

“Alright,” Ed promises him, moving to light the fireplace instead. “I won’t go. You still gotta eat something, though, so what do you want? What’ve you got squirreled away in here, love?”

Stede sort of half-shrugs, eyes turning away from Ed’s to fix on the fire instead. He gets like this, sometimes; he won’t even look at the food he’s eating, refuses to discuss it, pretends he doesn’t think about it. Ed’s not sure what happened to him before or what goes on in his head to make it happen, but he wishes he could save him from it.

“I gotcha,” Ed says, and starts searching their cabin for himself.

While he hunts, he just— can’t stop— thinking. His brain is rushing, moving faster. He doesn’t know what it is in Stede that shuts him off, like this. To Ed, it seems like it comes out of nowhere. Suddenly, Stede will just— not eat, or sleep, or do anything to take care of himself. It’s like he doesn’t think of it, or he doesn’t want it, or he doesn’t think he deserves it. Ed’s not sure which one it is, or if it’s all of them, or if it’s something else he can’t even guess at.

If Stede doesn’t think of it, though, Ed will think of it for him. If he doesn’t want to do something that he has to do— something keeps him alive— Ed will help him do it anyway. If he doesn’t think he deserves sleeping, or eating, or caring, or loving, or anything, Ed will remind him that he does, because— he just— fucking does.

Ed finds a stash of sugar cakes Roach made only a few days ago that Stede must have hid away upon receiving his portion. It’s been tucked into a hollow he keeps behind a false door on the bookshelf, disguised by fake books. Tugging on one spine loosens the catch and opens the tiny little door to reveal the treats stowed inside.

“There we are,” he says, drawing the paper package out. When he turns back, Stede’s staring at his own hands, eyes fixed downward. “You’re alright, love. I’ll have ‘em with you.”

Stede nods, still looking down. It’s better than nothing.

Ed closes up the cabinet, grabs one other thing for Stede, then goes to him, setting the package on the dresser beside him. “Hey.”

“Hello,” Stede says to his hands.

“I’ve got something for you,” Ed tells him, and spreads out the nightgown in his hands. “Wanna gimme your clothes?”

Stede actually does lift his head, then, with a furrowed brow and a rose-flush spreading soft across his face. “But it’s daytime.”

“Who cares what time of day it is?” Ed asks. “It’s time to be comfortable. Unless you wanna stay in all that, which— I won’t make you, but. Not the most comfortable thing for laying in bed, is it?”

For a moment, Stede considers the silken clutch of lilac fabric in Ed’s hands. Then, he shakes his head, holding his hands out for the nightgown. Ed exchanges it for his jacket, then his shirt and pants and stockings and shoes, everything coming off of him in short order. He has to wriggle a bit on the bed to do it, but Ed helps him through, and it’s not so difficult, like that.

Slipping on the nightgown is so much easier. He tugs it over his head, pulls it down until he can fit it under himself, over his legs. Ed tucks him into the bed, then, encourages him to bend his knees until he can withdraw the blankets from beneath him. He tucks the covers around him, sits down on the edge of the bed with his good leg folded underneath, just wanting to be near.

“You look comfortable,” Ed comments. He reaches out, strokes his fingers through Stede’s hair, just to touch it. He can’t get enough of how it feels; he loves it, too, when Stede does this to him, strokes his hair and scratches along his scalp and holds him close just because he wants to. “Are you?”

Stede nods. Ed nods, too, curling around the back of his head, the curve of it fitting into his palm. He tilts in and kisses him at the corner of his mouth before withdrawing to pick up the package of sugar cakes again.

“I’ll get you something more later,” Ed tells him, breaking open the end of the package. “We’ve got oranges, still. And I know Roach is planning on actually roasting when we find land. We could find land a little sooner.”

“I don’t want to do—” Stede starts to say. He reconsiders, then tries, “I don’t want to cause problems for other people that would— Or— Cause problems that are like that.”

Ed considers Stede for a long moment. Pulling one of the sugar cakes out, offering it to him from his hand, he’s met with Stede staring downwards without speaking. Then, for a while, he just— does that. Ed doesn’t move, not until he makes the decision himself.

Eventually, he does. He takes the little biscuit in his hand. It takes a couple more minutes of staring before he brings it to his lips and, after a beat of hesitation, bites into it.

“Well done,” Ed tells him. “You’re not causing any problems, Stede. This is what we do, man. We’re pirates. We do whatever we want.” His heart is slowing, watching Stede start to actually eat with him. He takes a bite to match his, then continues to do so. They fall into the rhythm of it, in small movements. Small bites, and small passes, and small glances at one another. Small words, in small voices. “You’re doing a great job. Love it.”

Stede huffs a laugh. “I’m not doing anything.”

“The fuck you’re not,” Ed argues. “Look at you, man! It’s not fucking easy, doing what you’re doing. Breaking habits and trying hard and shit.” He knocks him on the shoulder. “Be proud of yourself. I’m fucking impressed.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stede asks.

“Fuck yeah, I am. I’m incredibly fucking impressed by this shit,” Ed tells him. “I don’t know if I could do it.”

Stede’s laughing when he finishes the bite in his hand. Ed tilts in to kiss him on the cheek as a reward.

“I’m sorry—” Stede starts to say, but Ed covers his mouth with his hand, cuts him off.

“You gotta stop apologizing for this,” Ed says. Stede’s brows draw together, eyes fixed up on him with a questioning crinkle to them. “Nothing in this is something to apologize for. I just love you. I wanna help you like you help me. Y’know?”

Stede nods, beneath Ed’s hand. It’s then that Ed removes his fingers, lets Stede draw another sugar cake up to his mouth instead. He gives him sugar cakes, and blackberry wine he retrieves from the stores hidden beneath the floorboards, and kisses him on the cheek with each successful swallow. When Stede’s got healthy color starting to spread through him again, he lets him decide when he’s done, to choose when he’s ready to put everything aside on the dresser and reach for Ed instead.

“You should sleep,” Ed tells him once he’s finished, pushing the last of the sugar cakes aside. He changes into a nightgown of his own, happy to match, before he cleans up their dresser and joins Stede in bed. In this enclosed little space, he draws the curtains in the window, closes the drapes that conceal their bed from the rest of the room.

With the thick fabrics Ed’s hung up in here, it casts them in mostly-darkness, glowing golden with the sunlight rimming the very edges of the window beside them. That shine casts Stede in this faded sort of pastel light that has Ed pushing into him, pulling Stede against him just to feel the sun-warm and healing softness of him beneath his hands and against his body.

“Thank you,” Stede says, this time, rather than apologizing.

Smiling, Ed pushes a kiss into the soft hair at the back of Stede’s hair. It’s got snarls in it, not quite combed all the way.

Inside, Ed has this— sour feeling, this bitter angriness at himself for not realizing that Stede wasn’t eating, sleeping, caring for himself, but he— he knows he can’t— he can’t do— everything. He wants to control the world, and take care of Stede, and fucking— fix shit, but he can’t just do that. Stede’s an adult. He fucked up; he’s asking for help now. Ed will keep a better eye out next time. All they can do is try to be better in the future.

Shoving down that sour feeling until it curls up to nothing in the pit of his stomach and vanishes, for now, Ed kisses the nape of Stede’s neck.

“I love you,” Ed tells him. “No matter what you— you say, or look like, or do, or don’t do. I just want you to be happy. Alright? So— When you’re not. Will you tell me?”

Stede doesn’t hesitate, this time. He nods, clutching Ed’s hands where they’re resting over his belly. His fingers close over his wrists, refusing to release him. Ed strokes his thumb over the soft fabric there, just holding him close.

“Yes,” Stede promises. His grip tightens, a bit. “Would you tell me, too? If you’re not?”

“Any time, any day, love,” Ed promises. He pushes up a bit so he can press a kiss to the back of Stede’s ear, then the hinge of his jaw. Another kiss glances off his chin before he finally gets to his cheek, then his nose, and then the corner of his mouth. By the time he finds himself there, he discovers Stede smiling beneath his lips. “For example, I was kinda sad when you were crying.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stede asks him, warm-faced.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Ed agrees. “Oh, so fucking sad. You had me in tears, babe. It hurt so much.”

Stede frowns a bit. “I’m sorr—”

“No,” Ed cuts him off. “I’m just fucking with you. I mean— Yeah, it does make me sad when you’re sad, but don’t feel bad about it. That’s just what it’s like loving someone, right?”

Beneath Ed where he’s propped up on one elbow, Stede considers this. He actually thinks about it. This is one of the things Ed loves about him, out of the— countless things. He’ll think about what Ed says to him.

“I believe so,” Stede says, “Yes.” He draws one of Ed’s hands up to kiss the back of it. “It makes me sad when you’re sad.”

“It does?” Ed asks, just because he knows it’ll make Stede huff a laugh against his skin. He’s right, too, and it makes him smile when he feels it.

“So fucking sad,” he says, in a poor imitation of Ed’s voice. The momentary grit and the curse of it have Ed smiling again when he kisses his cheek, though. “I apologize for not—”

“Don’t you dare,” Ed warns him. “If you fucking apologize again, I swear, I will— Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but. I’ll do something good.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Stede agrees. “Well. Thank you, then. For— For allowing me to be— For— Fuck.”

“Take your time,” Ed says, smiling when he pushes backwards to press into him from behind. In his arms, Stede turns over, then settles only when they’re nearly nose-to-nose, a breath apart on their shared pillows. To the new warmth in Stede’s eyes— even as he grows visibly lethargic, finally letting himself feel his mounting exhaustion— he tells him, “I am sorry, though.”

“Oh, so you get to be sorry?” Stede asks.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Ed says. “I should’ve noticed, Stede. I’m sorry I didn’t. I should’ve—”

“It’s not your fault I hide things,” Stede argues. “I shouldn’t hide things.”

“You shouldn’t be able to hide shit like that from me,” Ed says, before he stops himself. “This— Alright, this isn’t helping. I just meant I wanna do better. Can I— Is that alright? If I do better?”

It’s as close to an apology as Stede will let him get. The way Stede looks up at him feels like he’s onto him, but he lets Ed have what he wants.

Before Stede can change his mind, Ed tightens his grip on him, asks him, “Thought of what you wanna thank me for, yet?”

“Nothing good,” Stede assures him, tilting a smile at him. Ed kisses the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take it anyway,” Ed says. “Tell me.”

Stede barely hesitates, this time, when he offers up, “Thank you for helping me take care of myself. I love you. Very much.”

Ed can’t help his returning smile.

“I love you,” Stede repeats, before Ed can even speak.

“I love you, too,” Ed promises him. “I’m always gonna take care of you, man. You’re, like— It. You know? If I’m not loving you, what the fuck else’m I doing?”

He’s not expecting the watery huff of a noise that Stede makes in response to that.

“Oh, fuck,” Ed says, before he can stop himself. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Stede assures him. “I’m actually afraid you’ve done everything entirely too right.” He’s soft in Ed’s hold, melting into him. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ed tightens his grip on him. “You don’t need to say anything,” he tells him, because he doesn’t. There aren’t words that will help Ed better understand how much Stede loves him. He thinks they’ve already used most of them.

In any case, there aren’t many more he can offer tonight. What he can offer are tight embraces, and soft kisses, and dragging touches, and closeness, and love, and intimacy. Stede pours the same back into him, and all the words are wordlessly there. They’re said in the way they hold each other, right now, and the way Stede’s cried to him, and how Ed fed him, and the press of their foreheads when they share the same air, tucked into the same pocket of space, beneath the same blankets.

Thank you and I trust you and I love you and you love me fill the space inside Ed’s chest as clearly as if Stede’s spoken the words aloud to him. They’re even clearer, maybe, because he understands well the language of the way Stede slots them in close until he can push a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He smiles, and Stede falls asleep that way. He’s always so particular, fussing about to get exactly the right bedtime routine so he can rest properly— and yet, here he is now, sleeping with his face smashed into Ed’s, tasting sweet like sugar and blackberries and a sweetness that’s all himself, something warmly indefinable and similarly wordless.

“I love you,” Ed whispers to him while he sleeps, hopes that the hold he has on him and the words he tells him and the love he feels for him will soak into him while he sleeps.

This is what he imagines Stede does for him when he’s sad, while he sleeps. Every time Ed wakes up the next morning and sees the sun rising, it feels like everything will be alright again. Stede must do something while he sleeps, something special that changes things, something that nobody ever did for him before Stede came into his life.

It takes Ed an embarrassingly long time to realize what Stede does for him while he sleeps is— is just— be there. He’s there while Ed falls asleep, and there as he sleeps, and there when he wakes up. He’s there.

That’s what makes the next day feel so much better: he knows Stede’s there to face it with him. He knows he’s not alone anymore. That knowledge makes everything seem brighter, and easier, and warmer. It makes him happier; Stede makes him happier.

“I’m here,” Ed tells him, voice still soft, and Stede shifts against him unconsciously, face dragging up just a bit until the corners of their mouths nearly connect.

Exhaling, keeping him close, Ed doesn’t dare separate them. Instead, he just keeps holding him, smiling as if he can feel the pastel warmth of Stede in the baked-same glow they’re wrapped in, here, safe at last.