Chapter Text
It's all Izzy's own fault.
Between the dreary cell and having to swap clothes in a rush, one of the straps on the hoof had pulled loose. He knew the pants were a bad idea. He kept Banes in front of him, but his hobbling was getting too much. He'd need to stop, but stopping wasn't an option. His crew needed to keep moving.
Fuck, he thinks. I'm going to trip. The possibility was there. Going face-first into the mud. The pompous fuck-off hostage making a break for it. Pitying looks from the crew. His eyes dart around, as though someone might've already noticed.
Someone had. Black Pete. He moves forward, looking ridiculous in pants he didn't bother to change. The smile he gives Izzy is soft. He's a soft man.
"Hey, can I take the hostage?" Pete asks. He manages to sound hopeful, like Izzy could be allowing him some great responsibility. He would be--this hostage is their ticket out of this suicide mission of Bonnet's. But as Izzy squints at him, he sees Pete glance down at the hoof. It doesn't look like pity.
That's the only reason he accepts.
What else could it have been? He'd obsess over that thought, later. But right then, it gives him the precious time to step aside and pull his wooden hunk of agony back into stability. Other members of the crew move past him as he does so, and he tries to make quick work. He looks up to check. Pete is looking back and giving a thumbs up. He looks so excited, even as he gets hit with a leafy branch. What a moron.
He pulls the strap one more time, moving forward again. If he can catch back up, he can be behind the hostage before they--
They break the bush line. Izzy can't get forward without it seeming suspicious. He hovers, trying to keep the left side of his body hidden behind Ed. British soldiers don't tend to have hooves.
"Hello. The operation is over now, so we're just going to head back to the ships, please."
That strikes Izzy as immediately wrong. No leader speaks like that, not ever. He sounds weaker than Bonnet once had. Izzy didn't think that was possible.
The pregnant pause is loud.
"THEY ARE PIRATES!"
The shot is louder. Izzy ducks by instinct. He doesn't feel hit, so he springs into action. The crew in the bush take out the stragglers, but he and Ed take the brunt of the force in front of them. Zheng is an admittedly good fighter, and he even finds himself briefly impressed with Bonnet's ability to shut off his brain and fight. Izzy takes a moment to be thankful he did get a chance to tighten the hoof. Eating shit would've certainly been on the table if he hadn't.
When the soldiers are dead, Izzy spares a look to Black Pete—always eager to fight, but not the most skilled by far--only to look again. The man looks pale, holding a hand tight to his side. Ice sparks down Izzy's spine.
"Hey! C'mon, we have to move," he says to Pete, like the man is only winded. Only winded. That isn't blood leaking from his fingers. No one else has noticed. Ed, Zheng, and Stede have already moved forward to meet with the rest of the crew. It's a run to the beaches now, to the dinghies, to the Revenge.
"I don't, think I can walk," Pete replies. There's a wheeze in his voice. He's just winded.
"Me either, you'll have to help me." Izzy moves closer, putting his shoulder under Pete's right arm. His left keeps pressing his gut (He's winded, and bloody, and it's fine--) and together they hobble after the group. They're behind. They get captured and being a little tired won't matter at all, will it?
The beach is in front of them. Most everyone is already running. There's gunfire from the trees. Ed checks behind, and sees Izzy and Pete. Izzy calls out for him to help. But it isn't him that makes it over fast enough.
The boy is there, he'd surely been waiting to see his boyfriend (Fiancé, his mind corrects. They are binding themselves together soon.) before he ran to the dinghy, to safety. Now he's taken Pete's other side. The man between them whines in pain, pressing the hand holding his blood in tighter to the wound.
"Babe? Babe what happened?!" There's blood on the boy's borrowed British clothes now.
"It's nothin' babe, don't worry," the bastard has the gall to say. Of course it's nothing, he's just. Winded. The soft man can't bother to run or fight a little bit without keeling over.
The worst five-legged, one-hooved creature ever created before God are the last to the boats. Pete rests his head in Lucius' lap. Izzy finds himself having taken over holding in the blood with his fuck-off blue woolen coat, though he doesn't remember deciding that. Roach rows, but Izzy sees him grimacing. The other crew in the boat with them are watching the shore--what if the British come? Izzy should be doing the same. He doesn't look away from Pete's sweat, and his strained smile as he looks up at Lucius like the boy is everything keeping him to this world.
Pete makes groans no man should ever have to make as they lay him on the deck. He's pale, too pale. The dumb hat has been pulled off of him, at least.
"You're okay, you're okay," the boy is saying, running his hands in the air, uncertain of touch. He ultimately rests them on Pete's cheeks. He turns to the crew, all gathered around and gawking like lemmings. "We need help!"
Izzy has to look away.
"Bandages!" Stede half-commands. "Roach, let's get bandages."
"Yes, Captain."
Bonnet, taking charge. Now he's definitely fucked, Izzy thinks hysterically.
"S-Stop, babe, wait," Pete is saying. "Just sit with me."
"I'm not going anywhere," Lucius says back softly. Izzy imagines the boy's hands stroke pale cheeks like they're the most precious of stones. Like no amount of gold could compare. He can't look to find out. He can't even give Pete that dignity. And it would be dignity. Bonnet and Roach haven't gone for bandages.
"It's okay, babe... You know I love you."
"I love you, too! You're going to be okay—!"
"Babe, don't... don't let this take away from living."
"Pete...!" There's tears in that voice. Clear as anything. The sound of a man losing his happy ending. And still Izzy can't look.
"I'll always love you, just like I have, from the beginning. Don't think that stops with me here, okay? You... you need to keep living, and loving, too."
"I can't..."
"You can, babe. You'll be okay. There's... too much love... in your heart... You have to keep it going."
"Pete... Babe... Pete!"
In Izzy's many years, there are a few sounds that tear into even the hardest of hearts. The wail of a mother holding her dead child. The moans of a battlefield where no one comes to end their suffering. To that list, Izzy now adds the sound of Pete's name called by his lover as he exhales for the last time.
Slowly, the crew starts to break. Ed and Bonnet sit with the boy and his dead lover until he's ready to wrap him away. They'll need to bury him, Izzy thinks blankly as he stumbles away. There's no emotion attached to the thought. Pirates are buried at sea all the time. He's hidden behind the foremast now, sat like a lemon, unwilling (or unable) to help. It feels wrong.
A long time ago, he remembers telling Edward he wanted to be buried in the ground in a white shroud like his mother. He didn't entertain thoughts of being gently washed by loving and grieving hands, passing on into the arms of the Lord. He was going to Hell, surely as the sea is infinite. Black Pete didn't deserve Hell.
That's what it comes down to: Pete didn't deserve Hell, Izzy did. Pete had love, and a life, and a crew full of people that actually cared. He cared enough to step in when he saw Izzy struggling, knew well enough not to bring up the reason, and just try to ease the burden. And he was punished for that.
Izzy runs his ungloved hand down his face. He can't stand, not yet. He can't clean his clothes of Pete's blood, not yet. His hand catches on his neck, on his ring. He lets it sit there.
Fuck. It should have been me.