Chapter Text
The sun had long since set by the time Ivan pulled off the highway.
In the backseat, Ed tipped his head against the cool window glass, watching the night drift past outside. He always forgot how dark it was, out here—beyond the highway, long past the reach of the city lights. Every now and again they’d pass a house or a barn with its windows lit in that warm amber glow, but there were long stretches of black in between—everyone had more space out here, on the outskirts of town. Ivan slowed around each twist and bend in the road, watchful for deer.
Ed was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He’d packed in a mad scramble early this morning, was pretty sure he’d forgotten his phone charger, and then there was the flight itself—all the way from LA. Long, and boring, and his airpods were being weirdly glitchy trying to connect to his phone, and his comfort TV show wasn’t comforting enough to keep his mind off what he was running from.
Nevermind what he was running towards…
The car rounded another curve, and Ed forced himself to sit up a little in his seat. Because there it was, lit in spotlight: the old wooden sign with its peeling blue and gold paint.
SILKWATER SHORES
EST. 1727 POPULATION: 3,143
Welcome home, Ed Teach.
They drove through the quiet streets towards the heart of town, and Ed almost felt like their car was alone at the end of the world—the sidewalks empty, everyone tucked up cozy in their homes. Someone had strung a banner across Main Street, advertising the annual Late Spring Merperson Festival & Parade that had happened last week. Apparently they hadn’t taken the banner down yet.
Fuck. It felt surreal being back here, already, even in the dark. Around every corner lay another jumpscare, another monument to ill-fated young love.
There was the nursery where they’d bought the magnolia tree they’d planted in their front yard. And there, the diner—lit up icy fluorescent blue—where they always went after they’d driven into the city for a concert, chucking greasy hot fries into each other’s mouths, shouting at each other from across the table because their ears were still ringing. There was the tiny movie theater where they’d necked in the last row, the one that mostly showed 90s romcoms. The purple velvet loveseat on the back left had a wooden arm that was probably still carved with E + S 4EVA inside a crude, lopsided heart.
How was it possible to be gone so long, and still have a place feel like home?
Ed’s phone buzzed where it sat on the seat next to him.
Gabe : Let me know when you get in. Take all the time you need, just want to know you’re safe ❤️
Ed stared at the screen for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard—flitting through different responses.
Instead, he locked the phone and set it down. Went back to looking out the window.
The car rolled to a stop outside his mother’s house. She’d moved out here a couple years after Ed, wanting to be closer to him and—
Well.
She’d rented the little craftsman bungalow, and never moved since. The place had been re-painted since he’d last been home, though. Gone was the ancient, dingy white siding, replaced by a bright, rich egg yolk yellow. The weird maroon trim that she’d always hated was now a soft cream, her front door a powdery blue. Ed had bought this house for her with the proceeds from his first album sales, so she could paint the place any damn color she liked.
He sat there, unmoving, for a long minute. Just staring into the hazy glow of the porch light, lost.
Ivan twisted around in his seat to peer at Ed in the dark. “All right then?”
“Yeah, course. Just…weird being back.”
Ivan clucked his tongue sympathetically. “Know the feeling, bruv. Haven’t been home to see Mum in…fuck me, got to be years now.”
Ed felt a pang about that. Was he giving his staff enough time off? It was one thing to work himself to death, but Ivan deserved time to go home, get his cheeks pinched by the aunties.
Ed made a note to talk to Izzy about it, and shook it off. Add it to the list of shit that was probably his fault. He swung the door open and heaved his exhausted body out of the car.
Ivan moved to get out too, but Ed waved him off. “I got it mate.”
Ivan frowned. “You sure?”
Ed scoffed. “Mum sees me letting someone cart my bags around for me like some kind of princess, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Ivan chuckled under his breath, but settled back in his seat. “You got it, boss.”
Dragging his suitcase behind him, Ed let himself through the garden gate and made his way up the front walk. He paused on the porch, collecting himself. It was late spring, balmy and warm, but with the faintest whiff of cool damp on the breeze to remind you that the snow and the rain weren’t long gone just yet, and the night was alive with a chorus of peepers. Ed tipped his chin back and took a deep breath. Fuck, but there were a lot of stars out here. He’d been in LA so long.
He reached into his pocket, dug out a key he hadn’t used in seventeen years, and let himself inside.
The house was dark. It was late, most of the lamps had been turned off, but there was a faint flicker of blue light coming from down the hall, the soft murmur of the television turned down low.
“Mum?” Ed called softly as he slipped off his shoes. No response.
He padded into the living room, where he found his mother passed out cold on the couch in front of an SVU rerun.
Ed stood there a moment, taking in the sight of her with a pang of bittersweet fondness. Her right hand was tucked under her chin, her knuckles pressed to her jaw—the exact same position Ed often slept in. She looked softer, more fragile in sleep, in a way that brought all the little signs of aging into sharper focus. Ed had last seen her only a few months ago, flown her out to LA for the holidays, but he swore there were new lines bracketing her mouth, and the thin skin under her eyes seemed nearly translucent. She’d been gray for ages—the silver coming in quite young, same as Ed—but by now her hair was nearly white, shining pearl-like in the light from the TV.
“Mum,” he whispered again. Still nothing.
“Mum!”
She startled awake with a shriek like a tea kettle, nearly falling off the couch in the process.
Ed waved a frantic hand to quiet her. “Shhh! It’s me! It’s just me!”
Anne Teach stared at him with wild eyes—chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath. “Eddie?” She was blinking at him rapidly, like she wasn’t totally sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You scared the living daylights out of me! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d visit,” Ed said weakly.
His mother smoothed her hair back from her face, slowly coming more alert. Her gaze began to sharpen, taking on that shrewd, calculating look that Ed knew all too well.
Ed shoved his hands in his pockets and tried his best not to fidget.
He’d never been able to lie to her. Not when he was five, stealing sweets, or when he was thirteen and figuring out that maybe he wasn’t entirely straight, or when he was twenty-one and running away to marry the boy in the fancy house at the end of the lane.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” she announced, “and you can tell me what’s happened.” She patted her hands on her knees twice and stood, moving briskly down the hall.
Ed trailed after her into the kitchen. “Who said something happened?”
His mother snorted and tossed him a wry glance over her shoulder. “Eddie. You haven’t been home in nearly two decades. I assume you haven’t dropped in just for a cup of tea?”
Ed huffed under his breath. “Yeah, okay.”
They were mostly quiet as she prepared their tea, apart from a few idle questions about the flight (fine), about how long he planned to stay in town (he wasn’t sure, hadn’t thought that far ahead), about how work was going (meh, he had meetings some time next week with his label, which meant he only had a few days to think up a way to reassure them that this album he was meant to be working on really definitely existed in some capacity).
At last, his mother took a seat across from him at the ancient wooden table. She nudged his tea towards him, and Ed tried not to look too hard at the cup she’d chosen, with its pattern of yellow roses. Part of an antique set he’d chosen for her, on a long ago trip up the cape with…
“Well then,” she said with a weary sigh, “out with it.”
Ed could feel something sullen and teenager-ish within him trying to raise its hackles, but he pushed that down.
He traced his middle finger around the rim of his teacup, stalling.
“I’m seeing someone,” he said eventually, without looking up, tracing the edge around and around.
His mother said nothing.
“His name’s Gabe, he was in that Marvel movie. The one with the cute robot.”
“Think I saw the trailer,” his mother said—tone entirely even, giving away nothing.
Ed shrugged one shoulder. Still circling, circling the edge with his finger. “‘Getting pretty serious.”
This time, he risked a glance at her. Anne Teach only sipped her tea, dark eyes unreadable.
Ed chewed on the side of his tongue. “He proposed.”
At that, finally, his mother let out a soft tut. Her nose wrinkled with what could only be called withering disappointment.
“What?” Ed could hear the defensiveness in his own voice, immediately on edge.
But his mother remained infuriatingly placid. “Nothing.” Long pause. Ed took a sip of tea to wait her out, and immediately regretted it—too hot, burned his mouth, and not nearly sweet enough.
“It’s only,” his mother began—right on cue, “I think you might want to get your ducks in a row before you go saying yes to any new marriage proposals.”
Ed scowled at her. “Obviously.” He picked at the fraying edge of a placement—a faded red gingham that his mother had embroidered with a border of yellow daisies. “Told him I had to think about it,” he muttered. “S’why I’m here. So I can think about it. And…you know. Get my affairs in order.”
He risked a peek up at her. Anne was staring at him again, keen and eagle-eyed, but her expression was studiously neutral, and she didn’t say another word.
Ed wasn’t about to admit it, but part of him wanted her to bring it up. To say something about…him.
She’d learned her lesson about that a long time ago, though.
“Well, no need to solve everything tonight,” was all she said. “Just changed the guest bedroom sheets yesterday, so they should be all set for you. Let’s get some sleep. You look tired, Eddie.”
She was doing it again. Looking at him too closely. Every bit of brains and cleverness Ed had, he’d gotten from her.
Was really fucking inconvenient sometimes.
Ed averted his gaze. “Yeah. Long trip.”
She let it go at that, for now at least.
They said their goodnights, and his mother pulled him into a tight embrace outside his bedroom door. She didn’t let him go for a long moment, just squeezed him and rocked him gently side to side. Ed closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar coconut and honey scent of her shampoo. Finally, she kissed him on the cheek and slipped away down the hall.
Alone again, Ed showered off the plane and dressed for bed, curled up under the covers.
It felt weird, being here—in this town—and sleeping in his mother’s guest room. Ed had helped her buy most of the furniture in here. Had assembled the bed frame himself…with a little help from—
But he’d never actually slept in here.
There was an itch in the soles of his feet, a pull. Nudging him to walk out the front door and across the main square, to seek out a bed he hadn’t slept in for seventeen years. Maybe the sheets were still the most expensive thing in the house, softer than their owner could actually afford. Maybe they still smelled of lavender detergent.
Ed shut those thoughts down quickly. He’d left his key on the kitchen table when he’d skipped town, and anyway who even knew who lived in that house now? Ed had assumed that St- that he was still living in town, but he’d never actually checked, and no one had dared mention his name in Ed’s presence for years. Not even his mother—not after that awful fight they’d had, Ed’s first year in LA, when he’d flown her out for her birthday. She’d tried to make him see reason, but Ed was still a raw, festering wound—open and bleeding. He’d never shouted like that at his mother, before or since.
These days, probably the old cottage was home to some family he’d never met, with two kids and a goldendoodle named Daisy. Or maybe someone had torn the place down altogether, replaced it with one of those shiny, aggressively rectangular mini-mansions that went straight to the very edge of the property line and looked like it was built in the Sims.
Maybe his old life only existed in his memories, anymore.
Ed shut those thoughts down, too. Tried to ignore the pit they inspired in his gut.
The last thing he did before bed was pull his phone out. He ignored the dozen-plus missed calls and texts from Izzy, and instead opened his text thread with Gabe.
He stared at the blinking cursor for a good long while.
Hey, made it here safe, he typed out—then paused again. His eyes felt gritty with sleep, and now that he was horizontal he was having a hard time keeping them open.
Heading straight to bed. I’ll call in a few days, just need to get my head on straight
Ed paused again. Why was he hesitating? Why did things feel weird, all of a sudden?
Love you 💜
He fired off the text and set his phone to do not disturb before he could get any more lost in his thoughts.
Ed snuggled under the ancient, laundry-soft covers and immediately began to drift. There was something about being here…even as overwrought as he felt after all the drama of the last few days, the proposal, coming home for the first time in years…some small part of him felt like it could finally exhale. The window was ajar, letting in a bit of that cool, damp breeze, and the lullaby of the peepers, and the feeling of home.
Ed was out like a light before he could think too hard about what tomorrow might bring.
*
Ed nuzzled his face into his pillow, groaning a little as he tried to slip back into sleep. He’d been having a good dream. The details were fuzzy, but he remembered being warm. The scent of something…familiar.
The light in his room was all wrong, though—way brighter than it should’ve been, with his fancy blackout curtains. He blinked himself awake, and experienced that brief moment of panic when you wake up somewhere unfamiliar.
Right. His mother’s house. Guest bedroom. Gabe proposing and Ed running. Coming home for the first time in decades.
Ed needed some fucking coffee, that was for sure.
From down the hall, he caught the faint strains of people talking. No, music. A synth-y, driving pop beat.
Wait. That was his music??
It was sweet that his mom wanted to listen to his work, but seemed like a bit of overkill, what with him sleeping down the hall. Also this song was like fifteen years old, way too fucking peppy for this early in the morning, and the subject matter seemed a little fucking on the nose considering the circumstances.
Ed stumbled out of bed and shuffled down the hall. The music got louder.
You’re a fuckin’ lunatic
Freak show sicko, I’m lovin’ it
Felt weird, hearing those lyrics again in this house—this town.
“Mum, could you turn it down?” he grumbled as he made his way towards the kitchen.
You make me crazy too
Get so bored without you
But just as he was rounding the corner, Ed caught the soft sounds of someone singing along. They were quiet, half-humming it to themselves, but Ed would recognize that voice anywhere.
He froze in the doorway, staring.
Because there, standing at his mother’s stove, stirring bacon and swishing his hips as he sang along to the radio, was Ed’s husband.
Stede Bonnet.