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Where We Will, We'll Roam (Seblaine, 1/1)

Summary: Dread Devon was the scourge of maybe one sea, but all he wanted was a simple pirate's life on blue waters. Then he bought a (suspiciously intelligent) magic goose, and things got complicated. [Days 3/5: Historical/Fantasy; 13k wrds] A03 Warnings: Alcohol use, references to torture, some killing.

“A magic goose.”

“Yes.” The old lady bobbed her head eagerly, two gnarled hands gripping the woven wire of the rusty cage. Inside was a skinny goose, an ill-tempered looking beast with beady eyes and off-white feathers sticking out at odd angles and what appeared to be a blood stain on its neck. Blaine stooped, peering in at it. It didn’t even look worth eating. The goose stared resentfully back, then hissed.

“How, exactly, is it magic?”

“It predicts storms!” The old woman leered at him through the cage, past the goose, that all but rolled its eyes as it let out a huffing sound. “Good when you’re out on the open seas, aye?”

“Only a crown,” the woman bargained. “And you’ll sail clear of any storm.”

“I don’t know …”

“Please, Dread Devon,” she cleared her throat weakly. “I’m just an old woman. I live alone, and my only skill is catching magic animals. That coin will help feed me.”

“That’s a specific skill.” Blaine tried to maintain a stern look, but if there was one fact in life, it was that Blaine Anderson couldn’t say no to the elderly or children. Or anyone else, really. He maybe didn’t inspire as much fear as he could -- nobody would dare pass a probably fake magic goose off on Captain Santana of the Bonecarver. He smiled at her, and she offered a toothless smile back. “Right. I’ll buy your goose.”

He accepted the cage, and then dug into his coin purse for a silver coin to flick at her. She accepted it, tucking it away with a quieter, more mysterious smile. Blaine would have found that odd, except the goose was trying to bite his fingers through the mesh and he had to hold the cage away from him. “Shush, you,” he muttered as the goose hissed at him, angrier.

Clearly, Blaine had his hands full with this animal. He left the port town, taking the time to also pick up a bag of a bag of oats (for the goose) and a bottle of expensive rum (for himself.) Then he was back aboard the Nightbird, smiling in greeting at Tina, who was cursing vividly as Marley sewed up one of the knife wounds she got while bar brawling. The goose gave several short hisses as Tina got particularly creative.

“Don’t laugh, she finds needles fearsome,” Blaine scolded the creature, that shot him a look that said ‘I don’t care’ as clearly as goose could.

“Are you talking to a goose?” Blaine looked over to see his first mate, Sam, standing there with a large barrel of wine under his arm and a bag of onions slung over his other shoulder. His bare, tan chest was rippling in the sun as he held the items up and Blaine ran his eyes over it as he nodded absently. Then his attention was arrested by an elegant drawing on Sam’s bulging bicep, of a beautiful woman smiling, with two swords crossed beneath her. It was unmistakably none other than the captain of the Troubled Tide, Merciless Mercedes Jones. “Sam!”

Sam followed the direction of Blaine’s gaze, visibly confused. “Is this about my arms? I thought I looked good this morning …”

“Sam, what is the Merciless Queen doing on your arm?” Blaine reached out to prod the design, ignoring the goose’s angry hiss. Sam coming back aboard with a tribute to a lady on his body was nothing new; Lady Quinn of Storm’s Peak inhabited his forearm, Santana’s name was on the bone of his hip and her first mate Brittany’s on the other (until, of course, Santana had come at him with a dagger to remove them, nearly gutting Sam and leaving him with a long pink scar across his abdomen) -- he even had Tina’s name on his foot, and Blaine’s name on his wrist, when he declared them blood brothers. Sam had his fair share of ladies and loves, but none had landed the coveted bicep spot.

“Oh, that.” Sam ducked his head, smiling. “You know, you’ve met her, she’s not so merciless.”

“She worked hard for that name, we should respect it,” Blaine said firmly. “But I didn’t realize the two of you were courting each other.”

“Well, uh.” Sam shrugged, setting down his burdens so he could trace the tattoo. “We spent a lot of time in that prison together, we talked a lot. Did you know a king tried to make her his queen once and she told him her freedom was more important? And that she saved that mot, Sugar, who was sentenced to hang for a murder she didn’t even commit? She’s the cream, Blaine!”

A few months ago they had had a run in with the royal navy, and Sam had been captured while sneaking aboard the enemy’s ship to see if he could pilfer anything. Blaine had been a mess of nerves about the torture Sam was probably enduring, worried he’d get his friend back handless or dead, and had raided so many navy bases he had gotten thirty-two new warrants out for his arrest. Imagine his surprise when the Tide had approached with friendly colours up, and their recently rescued captain had handed over Sam with a smile. They had always been friendly from a distance but this took their relationship to the next level. A new alliance was forged that day, and they had celebrated with much grog and music -- but apparently, Blaine had missed a far more personal alliance.

Which stung, a bit. Sam was his first mate, the person Blaine trusted the most on God’s green earth. It was now, months later, that he was learning of this with Sam’s casual tattoo reveal?

“We didn’t get to talk long, but aye, she seems nice.” Blaine fought a pout, reminded himself that it was beneath Dread Devon to hang the jib and Sam was allowed to live his life as he wanted. He was a free man, as they all were. “We’ll have to see about arranging a visit for you two.”

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Don’t be troubled on it, Blaine.”

“I want you to be happy,” Blaine argued right back, but before Sam could respond the goose let out a mighty honk and beat its wings against the cage walls. Blaine looked down. “And what troubles you, friend?”

“Honestly, Blaine, it’s a goose …”

The goose stared resentfully up at Blaine, then jabbed its bill towards the bag of oats Blaine was holding alongside his rum. Blaine laughed. “Oh, I suppose you’re hungry. We’ll talk later, Sam, I have to feed our new magic goose.”

“Magic goose?”

Blaine was already walking off, taking the goose to his cabin. It was probably best not to leave it out on the deck -- he might come out and find it strangled, plucked, and ready to cook. Which would be a real waste of an investment. Into a magic goose. “I better not see another rainy day in my life,” he told it. The goose gave him a disdainful look.

Blaine set the cage down on his desk, and looked around trying to figure out the best way to feed it and avoid any injuries. Blaine hadn’t met a goose or swan yet that wasn’t mean to the bone and ready to sink its tiny angry teeth into something. But there was nothing to be had, and Blaine sighed, reaching for his belt knife so he could slice an opening in the bag and pour a pile of oats onto the bottom of the cage. He’d clean up later.

“There,” Blaine settled into his armchair, kicking his feet up on the desk and considering if they needed a new polish. “You look hungry, friend.”

The goose hissed. Blaine snorted.

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t comment again.” Blaine instead turned his attention to the large map that was pinned to his wall, considering the wax markers for particularly lucrative places, areas where the best smugglers worked, borders of territory that only mattered to people who wanted to cross an ocean without running into any trouble in the form of cannon fire and cutlasses in their ribs. Blaine and his people weren’t the most bloodthirsty of marauders (except Tina, who wasn’t called the Vampire for nothing) and mostly just settled for basic thievery, so they had little interest in tangling with the likes of Santana “Double Barrel” Lopez or Bloodyteeth Karofsky. They were going to set sail from this quiet port town tomorrow morning, and Blaine wanted to have a destination in mind. Planning, after all, was the best way to avoid problems.

Blaine didn't like problems.

A loud honking drew him out of his thoughts. Blaine turned to find the goose hadn’t touched its food, and was jabbing its bill towards the cage door once it realized it had Blaine’s attention. “Do you want out?” Blaine asked, but the goose kept bobbing its head, and Blaine looked over and realized it had been indicating the bottle of rum. “You want … rum?”

The goose’s head began to bob up and down, nodding at Blaine. Blaine looked between the alcohol and the animal. “I can’t give you rum. You’re a bird.”

The goose hissed, then poked its bill into the oats, then back to the rum. Its expression became almost pleading. Apparently, dry oats weren’t appealing to this creature. Blaine could understand that. He deliberated a moment, then decided that if this goose could foretell weather it probably could foretell its ability to handle liquor. Shrugging, Blaine cut the wax seal on the rum, popped the cork, and then pressing his fingers over the mouth of the bottle he let a few drops splash through onto the oats. “There.”

The goose looked happy, for once, diving into the oats and eating them with gusto. Blaine poured himself some of the rum then corked it and tucked it into his desk drawer, taking a sip while he observed the goose. It needed a grooming, more food, and cosier accommodations than a tiny cage. Even if it wasn’t magic, no animal should look so neglected.

The door swung open without a knock, and Tina entered, dropping herself into the seat across from Blaine’s desk. She immediately pulled out a small boot knife and began playing with it. She was his Quartermaster and in charge of rations and punishment, and made sure people aboard gave her necessary respect. It had taken work, but it was little moments like this that reminded you how she had gotten all her scars and her status.

“Is that dinner?” She pointed to the goose with her knife; it had finished scarfing down its oats, and now hissed at her before turning its attention to yanking out a stray feather in its tail.

“That’s a magic goose, to help us avoid storms.” Blaine watched as it kept grooming itself. Tina scoffed. “Well, you never know. And the old woman would have starved …”

“On any other ship there’d be another elect for captain, by now,” she told him, then gave him a soft look. “But we like that your heart is as golden as your song.”

The goose gave Blaine a look, head cocked. Blaine ducked his head, laughing. “Thank you, Tina.”

“And if it ever did come to a vote …”

“Mine would go to you,” Blaine promised. He’d heard it muttered that Tina was a bit too wild for that position, but she’d shown the most initiative of anyone on board and had the strength of will to keep the ship going. (Luckily for him, she very much liked her current position.) The goose, however, made a doubtful huffing noise before spitting out a feather. Tina glared at it.

“So when do we set sail?”

“Tomorrow, at dawn,” Blaine ordered. “We’re going to see if we can’t find a little treasure.”

--

They set sail. Blaine was instantly more relaxed, and he thought the goose might be too. He ordered Ryder, ship’s carpenter, to build a little bed for the goose. Ryder obliged, announcing that the goose was “better than cracking Jenny’s tea cup!” and proceeded to build a low box filled with fresh hay gathered from beddings. The goose was pleased with all this, settling into its new accommodations, though most mornings Blaine woke up to find it sleeping on him.

And though it earned him one or two bites, Blaine took the time to bathe the goose until its feathers shown a soft white. The wound on its neck wasn’t the only injury it had -- its leg was sprained. Blaine, with, advisement from Marley, wrapped both of these up. As the weeks passed the goose grew to a healthy (“delicious” said Cook Artie) weight and the bandages came off to reveal a happy goose. It started following Blaine around, flapping around the decks wherever Blaine went. It was like a pet, which wasn’t something Blaine had ever had before -- he wasn’t like Santana, who had come back from one of her travels with a parrot that she taught to heckle King’s men and privateers. (It also had a name for Blaine, because he was apparently just that special.) He didn’t really know about the term pet, though, because he swore the goose was even smarter than a parrot, in a very human way. He also wasn’t the only one to think this.

“It’s got a look in its eyes,” said Boatswain Jake, as they watched the goose groom its feathers on the bowsprit. “It laughed when I dropped my knife in the scuttle.”

“It is magic,” Blaine said, but he knew Jake was right. Magic goose or not, it was a little eerie that the goose could honk at just the right places to sound like he was responding to Blaine talking to himself, or know when Blaine wanted a kind touch and precariously balance on his shoulder to run its bill through his hair, or consume far too much rum for a creature its size. He decided to ask it, feeling that as foolish as it was, if the goose was really just a goose then there would be no problem.

“Are you cursed?” Blaine asked it, leaning against the ship’s rail, the goose sitting next to him on the broad length. It continued to eat the small pile of salted fish Blaine had cut up for it and didn’t respond. Blaine sighed, reaching out and petting it. He could say this: they hadn’t seen a single piece of bad weather since setting sail. The goose hadn’t warned them of anything, but the stretch of sunny skies and clear nights they were having could only be unearthly. That, or Unique -- already a treasure as the ship’s Sailing Master and one the best navigators Blaine had ever met -- was surpassing herself.

“I can’t say anything, love,” Unique said, checking her sextant and scribbling a calculation down. “I’m good, but your magic bird might be something real.”

Blaine could have worried more, but he had a ship to run. There were able seamen to direct and mates to help and musical nights to organize. Off the coast of Spain they had a bit of a scuffle with the navy, and Blaine had had to take the ship to a private little cove for repairs from the cannon fire and so his injured crew could recuperate. Ryder was as cheerful about repairs as he was about everything else, and watching him scramble up and down the ship with tools and men at his employ was a soothing sight. Then they were out at sea again, running a trade with a fellow buccaneer, and having another battle with some smugglers. At one point they spotted the Tide miles away, and Sam had borrowed Blaine’s spyglass and clambered up to the crow’s nest so he could watch his lover’s ship sail away.

“I’m worried about him,” Blaine told Kitty, Tina, and the goose one night. The snorting sound they all made was nigh-identical, and Blaine decided to find a more sympathetic ear, tracking Marley and Unique down. They spent a fun night playing bilge dice and trying to drink each other under the table, and when Blaine finally sloppily kissed their hands goodnight, and stumbled into his own quarters, he was feeling loaded to the gunwalls.

The goose was waiting in his hammock. Blaine sighed, picking up its sleeping form, before falling into his bed and letting the goose settle on his belly. He fell asleep to the warm weight and the boat’s rhythmic rocking, mind warm and woolen like he had burrowed his head against a sheep. His dreams were disjointed drink ones, but Blaine slept deeply, not noticing the growing movement of the ship.

He was woken up by a violent toss which sent him flailing out of bed onto the deck, the goose making a squawking honk as it followed. Blaine struggled to catch his breath, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat, the clench of his stomach like it was trying to reach up and punch that heart out. “Shiver me …” he groaned, sitting up, swallowing down the rest at another surge of nausea. The ship was rocking like it was doing its best to upset him, and now that he was awake, Blaine could hear the howling winds outside trying to get inside. Blaine looked over at the goose, which was ruffling its feathers unhappily.

“That’s a storm,” Blaine said slowly. The goose stared back, then looked away, almost shame-faced. Blaine got to his feet, stumbling to the door. Were the deadlights secured? What were the sails like? Why had nobody woken him? “SAM!” He roared once he was outside, hanging onto the door and squinting out across the deck through the torrential downpour that was hammering down like it planned to pummel his ship into the waves.

“Aye,” Sam appeared, hair plastered to his head, lips almost blue from the cold.

“Status?” Blaine’s own hair, normally a bit more resistant to water than Sam’s golden locks, was seeping down to wrap tendrils around his forehead. Blaine pushed it back, clearing his vision again. Past Sam, the ship looked in disarray, sails bulging and twisting in the wind, rigging straining, and his crew rushing to keep her from careening.

“Not good,” Sam said grimly, and grabbed for the door as well when a large wave of water crashed over the side to wash across the deck. His crew were displaced, even Jake, who had the best sea legs of anyone there. “We jumped on it smart, but …” Sam made a helpless gesture. “This one’s a ship-killer.”

Blaine refused to hear those words. The Nightbird was his most prized possession; as long as he had her, he was free, and there was no greater freedom to be found anywhere.

“Scupper that!” Blaine pointed, as another wave broke over the deck, sea foam whipped up by the wind . “We need to reef those sails!” With the way the sails were fighting their ropes, it was a real danger that they would snap the masts with the force of it; they needed to be furled. Sam saluted, and ran off across the ocean-washed deck, grabbing Jake and a few other hands to help him. Blaine was about to race off to help, when he remembered his goose. He looked over his shoulder, to find it hiding under his desk.

“Stay safe,” he told it, before running out, knowing he had more than an animal that could both swim and fly to worry about. For example, himself and his crew, who couldn’t fly and had some who couldn’t even swim. Blaine stopped to assist Tina, who was tying up one of their cannons to the rail so it didn’t go flying across the deck. The rain was relentless, and away from the shelter of his cabin doorway, Blaine couldn't even hear what Tina was shouting at him over the wind.

All the while, he kept an eye on the ocean, which was a angry steel colour and moving with the force of a blade swinging for their heads, rising up and down, each reach for the heavens a little bit bolder, each fall down to Davy Jones’ locker a little steeper. Lightning flashed starkly to grab the scene and arrest it, the thunder lost among the other sounds of the storm, and as the skies grew darker and the clouds pressed down harder, it soon became the only illumination. Blaine moved around the deck by memory, the fear of capsizing on his tongue. He moved to the prow, where a few crates were tied down, and stared out past the bow of his ship. His hand was probably growing black from how hard he clung to the tar-slicked rope by his head, trying to see if there was any break in the storm, any way they could sail to escape it.

The ship dipped into a valley in the waves, and Blaine looked up, swearing as he saw the wall that was going to greet them. He froze, not sure what to do, not sure if there was anything to do. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of white illuminated by the lightning. Turning, he saw the goose flying his way, strong wings barely able to maintain course against the wind. Blaine reached out, worried if the beast was trying to escape straight into the wave that was seconds away from crashing down on them, and the goose abruptly turned course. Just as another bolt sparked the sky, Blaine found himself with an armful of wet, shivering goose. He groped for a crate, trying to tug himself and the goose into the shelter between the boxes.

The wave hit them. Blaine was weightless for a few moments, the ship flying up and everyone on deck doing the same, but Blaine clung to the crate. There was a squealing sound, and Blaine didn’t know if it was a distant scream, everything awash in the ocean, including his ears. Then they were crashing back down, literally crashing, the sound of wood splintering piercing the blanket of the storm. Blaine really was flying then, squeezing the goose against his chest as the crate exploded in his hands and he was sent head over heels.

Pain hit him much like the crate blowing to pieces, like a cannon ball right through the chest, and Blaine was dimly aware of the ocean swallowing him whole as his hands locked tight in rigor. He fought to keep his lips sealed, to get himself on top of the crate lid so it could maybe float him up, but darkness was grabbing for him. The last thing he saw was the shape of his ship through the water’s surface, illuminated in a flash of lightning.

It was okay. She was still afloat.

--

Blaine came to with the distinct feeling that he had been buried alive in sand. Groaning, he pushed himself up, then winced as whatever he was lying across wobbled precariously. He coughed, salt water painting his tongue, and spat it out. Then, knowing he wasn’t about to see anything good, opened his eyes.

There was only ocean around him.

Blaine was on top of the crate lid, and his only companion was the goose, which was sitting by his head and peering at him anxiously. Blaine licked his lips, wincing at the taste. The sun was beating down on him, and it must have stolen the water away to leave only the salt. He looked behind him, to confirm his belief, but the ocean was relatively calm and past the usual dips and swells he could see no sign of the Nightbird or any of her crew, or even land. Despair welled up in him, and he fiercely tramped it down. Dread Devon couldn’t get emotional over a little thing like being sentenced to death on the waters. It was practically what he’d signed up for.

The goose honked quietly, extending its long neck so it could run its bill over Blaine’s eyebrow. It came away with blood, and Blaine became faintly aware of the stinging there as salt mixed into the wound. Honestly, everywhere hurt, or he would have noticed earlier.

“This is what I get for believing in magic geese,” Blaine said, swallowing down any further comments. It wasn’t the goose’s fault if Blaine was a fool who’d been crimped by an old lady.

The goose honked in offense anyway, pulling back. Blaine reached out, patting its neck in apology, right by the faint change in feathers which indicated the scar from its old wound. The goose was mollified, twisting its neck so it could press its head against Blaine’s palm. Blaine felt it might be a little too much like courting Death to tell it they had little hope left. He was also a too selfish, and privately scared of the idea of being alone, to tell it to fly off -- it would probably leave once it realized Blaine couldn’t feed it, anyway.

The first day passed slowly, as Blaine kept pulling himself up and straining for sight of help. The heat was suffocating, and Blaine sweat off necessary liquids as he wished for his hat. He had a flask of rum on him, but knew he should conserve it, so he had a small sip when the sun was at its highest (and pouring a little into his palm for the goose to have) before tucking it away. Also on his person was his knife, and the pouch of dice from last night’s game. At least he had passed out drunk, or he would have none of these, would be in his bedclothes. Still, none of the items were exactly useful at the moment. Blaine fell asleep at dusk, exhausted from holding onto the crate and kicking in any direction that seemed remotely possible of supporting life, trying to push away worry about his crew.

The second was much the same. The goose started to take dips into the water, swimming around, but it was disgruntled by the amount of salt. “Don’t drink it,” Blaine warned. “It’ll drive you mad.” As mad as Blaine felt, talking to a non-magic goose. It still seemed intelligent though, and Blaine gave into the madness and played a few rounds of dice with the goose, which would honk and tap with its bill to indicate its choices. That night, a light rain fell, and the goose kept its wing over Blaine’s head to shelter him. A third day passed, Blaine distressed to realize his flask was far emptier than he’d first thought. He still shared with the goose, which eyed him as it drank. Blaine’s throat felt like sandpaper and he couldn’t speak to reassure it, only pray that a cloud would appear to cover the sun, sure that his skin that normally stood the test of the sun and was browned with exposure was starting to burn. He passed out, waking up briefly at the goose’s loud honk when he started slipping into the water, arms weak as soft wax. Blaine slept fitfully that night.

The fourth day, he woke up alone. Blaine looked around, waited anxiously, but his goose friend did not reappear. Its self-preservations instincts must have finally kicked in. Blaine wished it luck, and drank the last of the rum. It wasn’t more than a mouthful, but the relief was astounding. He briefly pondered why he was still bothering to cling to the crate now that his drink was gone, but Blaine wasn’t one to give up. He fell asleep after hauling himself further up the wood, now that he no longer had to share.

He woke up to an intrusive honk and a tugging on his hair. Blaine opened his eyes slowly to find the goose next to him. The joy that hit him was startling in its intensity, but what was more interesting was how the goose started to flap away, then return, tugging on Blaine, always in the same direction. If he could, he would have said “Why not?” but instead he shrugged before he started to kick in the direction indicated. His goose’s reappearance filled him with new energy, and Blaine worked tirelessly, the empty clenching of his stomach and searing pain of his dry throat nothing to the hope of that bird.

If he wasn’t dried out as a date Blaine would have cried when he saw land. Instead, he pushed onwards, leg trembling when he finally hit the sandy bottom. He got to his feet, boots sinking into the sand, then fell over. Grin cracking his face, Blaine slowly got back up and dragged his lid up on the beach. Then he took the final steps to drag himself over to the shade of a group of palms, the sand like the softest bed in a king’s palace when he hit it. He held out a thankful hand to the goose, and when it came over, bill running over Blaine’s fingers like he was making sure a shark hadn’t taken a bite, Blaine pulled it in and kissed the side of its head.

“Thank you,” he croaked, before the day’s hard work yanked him off to sleep.

--

Waking up was infinitely more pleasant this time. There was soft land beneath him, and the smell of cooking fish, and a cooling breeze whipping over his face -- wait. Cooking fish? Blaine sat up too fast, a dizzy rush sweeping over him, and turned to find a fire that indeed had two fat fish cooking on a rudimentary spit. Either Blaine had done something amazing in his sleep, or there was somebody else on this landmass.

Blaine reached for his knife, warily looking around him, but it was missing. Blaine knew he should run for it, but that fish looked good, and he didn’t have the strength. He settled for picking up the halved cocoa-nut shell that sat by his head. He figured nobody would poison him in so strange a way, and drank the milk-juice eagerly, almost moaning at the relief. Then, figuring they looked cooked enough, he grabbed one of the fish and tore into it. By the time he was finished he was refreshed but nowhere near sated, but still, possible captor or no, it seemed a little rude to eat the other fish.

(Honestly, it really was things like this which made people think they could sell fake magic geese to him.)

A noise from the jungle behind him startled Blaine, and he rose up on his knees. Out of the trees came -- Blaine blinked. That was a very pale, very tall, very naked man. Well. That was unexpected.

“Eat,” the man said, pointing to the fish, and tossing Blaine's dagger down into the sand like a peace offering. “Those were impossible to catch, don’t waste them.”

Blaine didn’t need to be told twice, but he kept his eye on the stranger as he grabbed the fish and his knife. He was handsome enough, with chestnut hair and green eyes, and a strong body that moved with precision and grace. The lilt with which he spoke was like cultivated French and nothing about this made sense, so Blaine would be best to keep his guard up. The man settled across from him, careless in his nudity, and offered another cocoa-nut shell that contained water.

“Who are you?” Blaine asked, when he had finished the fish and the water.

“Sebastian.” He gestured to himself, smirking. It was a devilish kind of look, but only increased his handsomeness. “You don’t recognize me?”

“I think I’d remember meeting you,” Blaine said, and the man’s smirk widened. “Where are we?”

“Haven’t a clue.” Sebastian shrugged. “All I can say is that it’s an island. Are you sure I don’t seem familiar?”

“Aye.” Blaine squinted suspiciously. “You’re not a navy general, are you?” Blaine had had enough run-ins with those to lose track of specific faces.

“No,” Sebastian said, exasperated, but everything with an amused, fond edge. “I’m your goose.”

Blaine stared, then let out a startled laugh. At least whoever this Sebastian was, he had a sense of humour. His laughter grew quieter as Sebastian only raised distinct eyebrows up and waited for him to finish. A wiseacre would have joined in on the laughter by now. “You’re mad.”

“You bought me off that old hag for a coin -- I’ll inform you I’m worth much more. You put rum in my oats, which, many thanks. You like to sing me lullabies and I think you’re a little in love with that first mate of yours, Sam, the one with the mouth.” Sebastian cocked his head to the side. “Satisfied?”

Blaine’s eyes were drawn to the sculpted neck, and locked onto the long white scar that traced the side of it.

“Sink me,” Blaine breathed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You were magic!”

“Cursed,” Sebastian corrected. “Which you asked me once, but unfortunately, there was a clause of silence about that in the spell. Annoyingly thorough, she was.”

“This is …” Blaine shook his head. “Why’d she curse you?”

“Something about breaking her grandson’s heart.” Sebastian huffed. “Which I may have done, but to be fair, I had no idea what he wanted.”

“He …” Blaine stared more. He was used to how that sort of thing among pirates (and had partaken plenty of times himself) but one thing was for sure -- the man in front of him was a landlubber. Moneyed, too, by the sound of it. “You’re odd.”

“All the best men are,” Sebastian said. “Which I’d be glad to prove to you.” The look he sent was the sort of one you found in houses of ill repute. Blaine felt a faint prickle of arousal, but mostly, he was trying to wrap his head around all this.

“I bought you in a cage. Once we get past that, maybe.” Blaine scratched his chin, pulling a face at the salt that came away under his fingernails. Sebastian snorted.

“There’s a spring where you can go wash,” Sebastian said, standing up. Blaine followed, stretching out his stiff arms. “You look like a ghost right now. I feel like I need a priest.”

Blaine laughed, and allowed Sebastian to guide him into the palm forest. The ground became steadily more like soil beneath their feet, other trees mixed in, and then there was a pond that was set in cool green moss. Blaine pinched himself to make sure this wasn’t all a mirage, handsome naked man included, then immediately started stripping. When he stepped in, the cool water was an aching relief, and Blaine sank deeper, scrubbing his face and then taking several long drinks. Sebastian (his goose) hadn’t left him, but rather had taken Blaine’s clothes and rinsed them off before hanging them over a branch to dry.

“Join me,” Blaine called out impulsively. Sebastian smiled, and lowered himself into the water, swimming over. He had excellent form, and moved like a creature intent on its prey. Blaine’s expression turned mischievous and he splashed Sebastian, laughing at the spluttering results, trying his best look of innocence when Sebastian's gaze met his.

“If only they could see the Dread Devon now,” Sebastian said, shaking himself off with a smile. “Killer of General Haufield, on the run his whole life, old Double Barrel's rival … playing like a child.”

“I’m not Santana’s rival.” Blaine snorted. “I have no idea how that got spread around. And as for Haufield, that was a mercy killing, he deserved to hang for the things he did.”

“Right, absolutely. Killer,” Sebastian said, and held up his hands when Blaine splashed him again. “Don’t worry, I believe you. You’re sweet, for a buccaneer.”

“I went on account because the laws aren’t fair to workers and my dad did it,” Blaine said, relaxing back into the water and floating a little. “My crew and I aren’t out to hurt anyone. Just get by.” Worry about his crew hit again, and Blaine shook it off before it could grab him. The ship had still been afloat. If she had broken down with him, Blaine would have seen the wreckage on the same ocean paths as his. It was fine. They would come looking for him.

“I know law-abiding citizens with less of a moral code.” Sebastian dragged his fingers through the water. “I think you have the right idea.”

Blaine smiled slowly at that, really taking Sebastian in. He had spent months with this man as a goose and he’d been a friend -- it was nice to know it wasn’t a disappointment when he gained the ability to speak. It was also a boon that if he was marooned, he had somebody to share it with. “Thanks,” Blaine said, then yelped when Sebastian’s hand suddenly sent a huge splash at him.

“Show me why people are afraid of you,” Sebastian purred. “Maybe I’ll let you live.”

“You’re looking for a black mark!” Blaine retaliated, and they passed a warm afternoon in the water until they decided they were hungry. They spent an evening catching the fish, which as Sebastian said, was near impossible. Then it was back to their campsite to eat, and sitting on the sand to watch the brilliant, multi-hued sunset. Blaine was as aware of Sebastian's presence as he'd been of the lightning in the storm, each exhalation like a strike and each inhalation dragging Blaine's eyes in to the display, Sebastian's face calm in as he looked out at the water. When he felt Blaine's gaze, apparently not the only one who was aware, he looked over at Blaine in a way which made him aware of his nudity once again. Blaine flushed as he stirred in interest, and Sebastian reached over, dragging a finger along the rim of Blaine's ear. It was a sensitive place and a danger to random grabs and knife cuts, but Blaine knew he could trust Sebastian, in a strange, innate way that let him tilt his head into Sebastian's touch. Sebastian tugged on his earring a little, a brief smile flicking across his mouth (which looked very soft, not at all chapped).

"Are you past the cage problem?" Sebastian asked cautiously.

"The what problem?" Blaine couldn't remember so far back, right then.

Sebastian cupped his jaw, and leaned in, kissing Blaine on the mouth. Blaine gasped, lips parting, and twisted his body so he was kneeling, able to push in and kiss Sebastian back. The touch rocked him like the storm, the magnetic lightning of their attraction flashing hot, and the power of thunder making him tremble a little. When they pulled apart, Blaine fought to refocus his dazed mind and eyes.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Sebastian said roughly, rubbing his palms against the beard growth Blaine had already accumulated. Blaine let out a startled chuckle.

"Imagine if you'd done that as a goose."

"You probably would have thought I was out to eat your tongue," Sebastian said, and leaned in again, lips grazing Blaine's. "Now, we can find many more uses for that."

"Oh?" Blaine kissed him smackingly, then continued to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. "I can think of one, right now."

Sebastian laced his fingers through Blaine's hair, and Blaine continued his journey south, mind as hot as his body was as he wrapped his mouth around Sebastian's length. He was on fire for Sebastian, a heat that curled and teased and yanked like Sebastian's hand in his hair, and Blaine surrendered himself to it. He wasn't absolutely certain his ship was safe. He didn't know where they were, or how long they would be stuck there. He didn't know if he was imagining this connection to his goose-man because they were the only ones around, and Blaine needed some wreckage to cling to. All he knew was that Sebastian was there, a living, breathing man who in the hours they had been able to speak been nothing short of perfect and in the months they had known each other been Blaine's constant companion.

Blaine sucked him off, made him come and curse and say his name in a breathless Blaine, and all the while he felt settled.

His future may be uncertain, but this, Sebastian? It wasn't.

--

Blaine gave up counting their time on the island after seventeen days. On the second day, Blaine did a tour of it. It was large, but not mistakable for land. After coming to the other side, he decided it would be in their best interest to stay there -- it had a cave for protection from harsher weather, and the reef which stood out about a mile away was recognizable. “That’s Neptune’s Altar,” Blaine told Sebastian, pointing to the three tall spires of rock that stuck out near the head of it. “They say if you sacrifice someone there at low tide your ship is blessed on the seas. A lot ships visit it, so I suppose it works.”

“And you wasted your time on a goose,” Sebastian said, nudging Blaine.

“I can’t say I’m sorry I did,” Blaine replied, and Sebastian swooped down to kiss him.

The reef was a good sign, because it meant a ship might come by for them. Blaine started preparing a large pile of palm fronds for just this purpose, but otherwise, there wasn’t much to do but but explore the island, build up their shelter, see if he couldn’t use his knife to shave off the worst of his fast-growing beard, and talk. Sebastian was indeed noble, and his renditions of court life were so colourful Blaine could picture the French palace in his mind’s eye. The stories were raunchy and the actors vivid. The story of the stableman and the King's Advisor had been particularly thrilling. Sebastian also talked of quieter moments, less court gossip and just taking strolls through the gardens and grounds with his mother, or taking a rowboat out to the middle of the lake and sleeping there among the swans, or playing tennis with the Dauphin, or going horseback riding with his friends throughout the extensive woods.

“Why did you leave?” Blaine asked, because most nobles would kill to keep that privilege. Sebastian drew lines in the sand and explained that I knew somebody else would live my life better, because it was twisting me. I don’t like to be shaped. Blaine knew there was more to the story, but he left Sebastian his privacy, respecting that freedom came in many forms. Instead they talked about Blaine, how his mother was from the island named after Phillip II and she had fallen for his pirate father and run away with him, even though they couldn’t understand each other. How he only ever wanted the sea, and very few things (he looked to Sebastian here) could even put a hint of doubt into that. Stories of high seas adventures, and mermaids, and how he had once escaped a chase by navigating through a dangerous chasm. How he hadn’t always been, wasn’t always, so moral, how he kept sailing on because demons lurked in every port.

Not all the conversation was heavy. Sebastian made him laugh, and Blaine made him laugh in turn, and for a noble boy Sebastian was a fair hand in survival skills so they competed on who could fish the most or spark a fire faster. The invented about sixteen new games of dice, many of which involved the betting of reef coral. And of course, the most fun they had was by swiving each other silly. They were astoundingly creative to make up for any limitations of the location, and Blaine was sure it didn’t get much better than swimming out into the warm ocean late at night with Sebastian and slowly moving together in time with the push and pull of the waves.

One such night, afterwards, they simply floated back and stared up at the dizzying array of stars. Blaine had seen many night skies, and constellations all over the known world, but they seemed just that much brighter off the coast of this island with Sebastian lightly floating next to him. He pointed out the constellations he knew, and Sebastian shared some meanings from classical texts he had read, and Blaine let his hand fall back down into the water so he lace his fingers together with Sebastian. Sebastian gripped him back, and Blaine closed his eyes as he listened to the wind rustle the palms and the water lap up against the shore and Sebastian’s even breathing.

“The old woman told me,” Sebastian suddenly began, the silence not really shattering, but reflecting his voice. “That only an act of love could break the curse.”

Blaine considered this, eyes darting to a brief glimpse of a shooting star. Sebastian’s hand was warm in his, like the wash of feeling that had overcome him on seeing his goose had come back for him.

“I know you don’t like her,” Blaine said carefully. “But I think she knew what she was doing.”

“She did.” Sebastian squeezed Blaine’s hand, and Blaine returned the grip, and for once there wasn’t even the faintest worry about what people would think if they could see the Dread Devon right then.

--

“Blaine!”

“Hmm?” Blaine yawned, sitting up as Sebastian shook his shoulder. “What is it?”

“A ship, on the horizon, come on, shake a leg!”

Blaine’s eyes flew open, and he scrambled to his feet. “Set fire to the palm fronds.”

“Already did it,” Sebastian’s green eyes were vivid with excitement. “I think they may have seen us.”

Sebastian returned to the fire. Blaine grabbed his clothes, which they had been using as pillows, and hastily yanked them on. Any ship that would come by here would be a pirate one, likely, and Blaine wanted to be respectable for his peers. Then, making sure he had everything, he followed Sebastian out on the beach. Sure enough, a large, elegant ship was in the distance, and Blaine joined Sebastian in fanning the flames and throwing more greenery on to create a smoky fire. They watched and waited in tense anticipation, sweat trickling down from the heat of the fire and coughing up the smoke (Sebastian getting the worse of it as it was attracted to his tall form, twining around him like a cat), and then just as it seemed the ship would ignore them it slowly turned. Once it was closer there was a flurry of movement above deck as sailors prepped a longboat, and Blaine felt a burst of excitement as he recognized the ship.

He was still smiling when they were ushered onto a longboat by a familiar face, and when they were aboard the main ship, he accepted a loud, enthusiastic hug from Sugar “Death Quill” Motta. “Dev,” she squealed, and he lifted her up in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

The nights their ships had spent celebrating the Brethren-hood between the Nightbird and the Troubled Tide had involved, among many other things, Sugar braiding bits of his hair and declaring him the cutest little pirate she had ever seen. Blaine had returned the sentiment, and it was wonderful that after months apart and him sadly sober things were the same.

“Dread Devon,” that rich voice was Mercedes’, and Blaine pulled back from Sugar to see her standing there, resplendent as always. Blaine smiled in greeting, holding out his hand so they could exchange a forearm clasp. “I didn't expect to find you on the other side of that smoke, but I'm happy it was. Welcome aboard, Captain.”

“Thank you, Captain."

"I'll tell you, we ran into the Nightbird a week ago, child. They're looking for you." Mercedes shook her head. "You've got Sam and Tina worried sick."

"It wasn't my intention," Blaine assured her, bubbling over in delight at the confirmation that his ship and crew were safe. Sebastian was smiling too. "We're hoping to get back to them soon."

"Yes, 'we.'" Mercedes flicked her gaze to Sebastian, keeping her eyes above his waist. “Welcome aboard to you too ... cabin boy?”

“Cabin man,” Sebastian said, hands on his hips, before he grinned. “Wait, is that an actual position? I’d volunteer myself."

“I’m sure you’d volunteer yourself for a lot of positions, leggy strumpet.” That was not any member of Mercedes’ crew, and Blaine turned to see Santana standing there, an evil smile curling her ruby red lips and the eye not covered with an eyepatch sparkling in mirth. So familiar a face was a kindness to see, and if Blaine didn't value his soft bits, he would have hugged her.

“Santana,” he greeted her instead, startled. “What brings you aboard the Tide?” It was where Santana had gotten her start, but she was always destined for captaincy of her own and left years ago. It wasn’t unusual to see two of the most reputable female pirates in all seven seas together, but still notable. Santana’s mirth faded, lips pressing into a bitter line.

“My ship and my crew were taken by the navy, gilipollas they are,” Santana said. “I only got out because Britt knocked me out and put me on a dingy. Mercedes picked me up.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said sincerely, and the expression on her face meant she knew he was being genuine and judged him for it. “How can we help?”

“We’re sailing for the French port where they’re being kept,” Mercedes said. “I wouldn’t turn away two extra firing arms.” She looked to Sebastian. “You can fire a pistol, right, cabin boy?”

“I’ve had practise.” Sebastian shrugged. Blaine glanced sidelong. Shooting pigeons wasn’t quite the same thing as shooting people, and he didn’t want Sebastian to be dragged along into anything he wasn’t prepared for. Sebastian’s expression was unbothered, however. When he caught Blaine looking, he smiled warmly.

Sugar suddenly spoke up, peering at Sebastian. “You look familiar.”

“Maybe you met me when I was a goose.”

Everyone looked to Blaine, who explained, “Magic goose. Actually cursed. I can tell you all about it over some real food.”

“I’ve never heard Devon so impolite,” Santana teased. “We better stuff him full of meat, and whatever else the sodomites like.” Blaine rolled his eyes, pretending the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching in amusement. You never realized how much you missed Santana until you were with her again.

Sugar giggled, linking arms with Blaine. “C’mon, Dev, we’ve got claps of thunder that’ll knock you silly, and Mercedes is going to sing tonight, and you have tell us all about how you and Sebastian ended up on that island …”

Blaine allowed himself to be pulled along, looking over his shoulder to see Mercedes coming up to Sebastian and saying, “Long as you're on my ship: pants.” Blaine relaxed; Sebastian would be okay in her capable hands, and if they were lucky they’d find some private corner later to celebrate their rescue with their own capable hands.

--

The trip to the French port was a week, and the reason for the detour by Neptune’s Altar became clear when a nearby island was revealed to contain one of Santana’s caches. She came back aboard armed to the teeth, with enough gold to bribe most guards, and a load of tobacco. “It’s good for you,” she said, showing them how to roll it. Blaine wasn’t very fond of the taste but Sebastian could be found smoking cigars with Santana on the aft while they chatted. Blaine spent a lot of time with Mercedes and Sugar, giving Mercedes news on Sam in their months apart (she was flustered and shy when he brought up the tattoo, which made Blaine's day.) She asked if Sam had said anything to him about his “plans” and when Blaine said he hadn’t, she refused to divulge any further -- “It’s his business.” With Sugar, it was allowing her to dress him up in the variety of strange jewellery she’d stolen from around the world, and having play swordfights with the both of them. They also spent many nights singing -- the crew of the Troubled Tide was a talented one (and Sugar tried very hard), and it turned out Sebastian could sing as well, which made Blaine stare moonily and recall with fondness when all Sebastian could do was honk.

Most of their time, however, was devoted to planning their entrance strategy. This was where things fell apart, disagreement sparking as it always did with three leaders in one place. Blaine was the most cautious of them all, feeling they should rely on sneaking and bribery. “We don’t want the ship or crew to get injured!” Santana cut that idea off. “The only reason my crew is still alive is because they think it will draw me out. They’ll be ready for sneaking. We need to go in and kill every last one of them, cannons blasting.” Mercedes was a mediator, leaning to Blaine’s non-violent approach, but saying that there was a difference between dreams and reality. “We’ve got to fight. It’s the only way. Cannons are a poor plan though, nene.” Sebastian and Sugar were invited to these meetings but mostly observed. Sugar had been put off when Santana told her to shut her mouth or she’d add Sugar’s teeth to her strung necklace of them after her last idea. Sebastian occasionally opened his mouth as if to comment, but in rare fashion for him, bit his tongue.

Sebastian and Sugar must have bonded while silently watching on, but Sugar still eyed him oddly at times. Once, she pulled Blaine aside and asked how much money Sebastian had. “You’re not going to rob him?” Blaine asked drily. Sugar shook her head. It was just, as she explained, that she swore she knew Sebastian from somewhere, and she’d married into nobility in a former life. Her husband had been a very important man and when he'd turned up dead she was pinned for the crime, "So la-di-lah I ran away with Mercedes," but it hadn't been so long ago she didn't remember fellow nobles. Sebastian's blue blood wasn’t surprising news, but he couldn’t imagine why Sugar was so interested, and why Sebastian didn’t just clarify -- he dodged both Sugar’s questions and Blaine’s.

“Ah, killer,” Sebastian said, and it was amazing how what would have been a condemnation on anyone else’s lips sounded fond here. “How should I know? She’s some Italian, I doubt we ever met.”

“She just seems so sure …” Blaine shrugged, and Sebastian slid a hand up the back of his neck to pull him into a hot kiss. Blaine went, gripping Sebastian’s arms and feeling the flex of muscle, the skin so much more tan now than it had been before their marooning, and warmth pooled low in his stomach. He allowed Sebastian to distract him very thoroughly that night, before Mercedes and Santana found him and said they were coming up the Port de Marseille and needed to decide now.

In the end, they agreed that Santana would stay aboard the Tide and let them think the Merciless Queen was attacking to draw the navy away and distract attention from Blaine, Mercedes, Sugar, Celeste, and Gavroche (one of the few men aboard) sneaking into the bay via dingy at night. “Oh, you brought the Nightbird?” Santana asked scathingly at this point of the plan. She wasn’t very happy about being left behind, but understood that if they failed and the navy got the whole set, she, her lover, and her crew would be dancing the hempen jig. The group as is would get in, free the crew from their cells, and once they were out see if retrieving the Bonecarver was a possibility.

--

“The navy is incompetent,” Sebastian marvelled, as they rowed by a large galleon that was sailing out to handle the Tide, which was firing warning shots at the fort at the harbour’s entrance. The pirates all laughed.

“How do you think thousands of us still exist?” Mercedes patted his knee.

Blaine tapped his forearm, where they was a series of scars. “This is from the navy. They can’t even whip you properly.”

“I once met the most adorable sailor,” Sugar sighed. “Then he tried to kill me, so I cut his pillock off.” She giggled, and exchanged a hand clasp of success with Celeste. Sebastian eyed her uncertainly.

They quieted as they advanced further. They all knew how sound travelled over water, even if the cannon fire was probably distracting most right then. They slipped in before the great chain which guarded the harbour mouth could be put back into place, and from there rowed quickly, until they got to a mussel-ridden quay. They pulled up underneath it, navigating the swarm of beams carefully. Then they tied the boat off, and quietly climbed the slippery rocks until they got to a barred gate set deep into the dirt, half-filled with water. “This leads to a canal, towards the Abbey.”

“They were worried about it being razed again,” Sebastian offered. "Wanted an escape." Blaine nodded.

“But it also leads to the fort. Seems they liked having a bolt hole and didn’t realize anyone would figure it out.”

“But you did?”

“I, uh, may have tried stealing some books from the Abbey,” Blaine said.

“A place of God? Really, Devon?” Mercedes clucked her tongue. Blaine held up his hands.

“I don’t know about God, but I felt bad and stopped when I saw how poor they were.” Blaine reached up and grabbed the gate bars, and with a twist, muscles straining for a moment (he knew Sebastian was watching), showed that they were weren’t fully connected as they snapped off. “We’ll get in through here.”

“You first, heathen,” Mercedes said, grinning quickly when she caught Blaine’s eye, and he grinned back. He broke off a few more bars so the entry was entirely open, then slipped into the water and started wading. The bottom was slimy with years of mud and things that had washed in from the sea, and it smelled to boot, so Blaine held his breath and pressed his hands against the side of the tunnel, curls brushing the ceiling. Behind him, Mercedes lit a lantern, which he accepted before moving deeper. The others followed him, splashing indicating their passage. At one point Blaine looked back and had to bite back a laugh -- while he and the women were all short enough to get by, Gavroche was ducking his head and Sebastian had to stoop. When he caught Blaine looking, he made a rude hand gesture, and Blaine mouthed Love you back.

“Stop with the eyes,” Mercedes grumbled affectionately. “Not while my man’s at sea.”

“I can’t help but look,” said Sugar, who was right behind Blaine. “It’s right in front of me!”

“We’re nearly there,” Blaine promised hastily. Which wasn’t technically true, but you had to keep crew’s spirits up. After twenty minutes of slow slogging, Blaine stopped in front of a barely-visible dip in the wall. He held the lantern up, revealing that it was a passage. They started down that, and from there it was an extra half hour until the fort. It was also on a decline, and the water started filling up more and more, until at the final bit it swamped the passage entirely. They had to swim. “Wait two minutes, then follow me,” Blaine ordered the rest, finding a rock protruding above the waterline to leave the lantern on. He then took a deep breath, and dived.

The water was cold and brought back unpleasant memories of nearly drowning, but Blaine pushed on, swimming the final few feet. It wasn’t long before he reached a grate set into the ceiling. The bars were functional here, but Blaine reached into his belt and came out with a file. The bars were old and rusted and didn’t provide much of a challenge, but there was enough of them to cause problem. Blaine’s lungs started burning, and he was only halfway done. It didn’t seem possible, but he sawed faster. Three quarters done. He was starting to feel lightheaded, and though he could hold his breath for a very long time (a skill useful in many respects) he was starting to feel it in his limbs. Dread Devon can’t survive a near-drowning in the ocean to die in a tunnel, he told himself, as black spots danced in front of his vision and he filed the last bar through. Then he was grabbing them all, yanking them down so they snapped on the other side, and pulling himself up into the open air. He rolled onto the slate floor beside it, breathing deeply.

The rest soon followed, Blaine helping them up. “Have I mentioned how good you look wet?” Sebastian asked once he was next to Blaine, brushing a curl back from his forehead.

“Many times,” Blaine replied, eyes sliding over Sebastian’s high cheekbones, the dark freckles matched with droplets of water. “I don’t mind the sight myself.”

“Should we have left him back on the ship?” Gavroche asked Celeste, pointing to Sebastian, and they sniggered when he sent them a dangerous look in return.

“Come now children,” Mercedes said, once they were all up. They were in an old prison cell that was now filled with crates, a stack of paintings that were half-covered in a drape, buckets and mops, and a collection of rusty swords. “Where do we go from here?”

“I only hit this base once,” Blaine said. “The prison cells are right down this hall. They’re fully equipped. The prisoners who were there …” Blaine trailed off, and the pirates touched their chests. Sebastian watched curiously. “We’ll find our people.”

“But in what shape?” Celeste asked quietly, and they shared dark looks before moving to leave. Mercedes peeked out into the hall first, and upon confirming it was empty, waved them through. Blaine was about to follow, when he hesitated.

“I’m going to grab some swords,” Blaine said. “We should arm them, quickly as possible.”

“Aye.” Mercedes nodded, then left him alone. Blaine went over to the swords, hefting one and giving it an experimental wave, before stabbing it through the portrait. The sword didn’t crumble in his hands, and he retrieved it from the fabric and collected the others. As we was doing this, the disturbed drape slowly slid down. Blaine paid it little mind until he straightened, swords tucked into his belt, and found himself staring at Sebastian.

He started, almost thinking Sebastian had come back for a second -- the portrait was tall, and that was his lover, paler than he looked now and wearing ruffled silks, but the resemblance was unmistakable. Blaine stared. What was this doing here?

There was a sound from the hall, something clinking and hushed murmurs, and Blaine shook himself. He didn’t have time to wonder about this. He hurried out into the hall, down a bend, and found his companions working on picking the locks on the two large cages which were stuffed with Santana’s crew. A few faces he recognized nodded at him or bared their teeth, depending on their mood and opinion on his piracy skills.

“Blaine,” Brittany whispered, head perking up. She was pressed up against the cage door, and Blaine winced when he saw the human skull she was cradling in her arms. Knowing Brittany, she could have collected that herself or picked it up off the ground. Neither seemed ideal. “Captain of the birds.”

“Hello, my heartie.” Blaine reached through the cage door, grasping her fingers, not getting in the way of Gavroche who was picking the lock. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“A little.” Brittany sighed. “They’re not very nice.”

“No they’re not, love,” Mercedes said sympathetically. Blaine squeezed her fingers. Brittany had been on his crew, once upon a time, before Santana had wooed her back. It was when she and Sam had lain together, and when Santana had created a black mark of vengeance on his first mate. It was that which kept their crews apart, though Santana didn’t hate him. (Which was an affectionate statement from her.)

“There!” Gavroche rocked back triumphantly as he did the first lock, before moving onto the second. Blaine pulled the door open and accepted a hug from Brittany, the skull squashed between them. Then he handed out his collected swords, arming the best swordswomen there. Once everyone was free, they headed back to the room with the grate, the healthiest among them supporting those who were weak and injured from their imprisonment. There were bloody calves from manacles, and whip marks, and a few missing fingers and toes. The rescue team shared matching dark looks.

They were nearly to the storage room when, of course, a door slammed upstairs. “Idiotes!” Someone shouted. “Le navire, c’est une distraction--!”

“We’ve been found,” Sebastian said grimly, looking between the tall pirate with flaming red hair he was supporting and the stairs, which were only ten feet behind them. Blaine ushered him on, handing him Brittany, who had been holding Blaine's hand while limping.

“Get everyone to safety.” Blaine pulled his pistol out, and his sword, and was joined by Mercedes, Celeste, and a woman Blaine recognized as Santana’s Sailing Master, Dani. Sebastian lingered for a moment, but at Blaine’s look, sighed and followed the rest of the group. The soldiers clattered down the stairs and appeared bearing swords, freezing at the sight of three pistols levelled at them.

Of course, they had just swam and the gunpowder was useless, but these soldiers didn’t need to know that quite yet. When Celeste shouted a French curse, drawing their attention, that was the time. Blaine threw his pistol, making them stumble back in surprise. Mercedes and Celeste followed his lead before they were diving in, swords clashing in a loud, clamouring fury of sparks. The space was narrow, and all they had to do was be a wall -- if the soldiers couldn’t get past them, they could save everyone behind them.

Dani came up beside him, her sword flashing like a silver butterfly as she cut down at the men bearing down on them. Blaine ducked a swipe at his head then brought his sword up, slicing the soldier's uniform and leaving a splash of blood in its wake. He followed this up with a reverse cut which sent the man to his knees. Blaine only just met the attack of the man’s friend, coming in to defend him. Mercedes shouted something next to him, but he focused only on the steady clanging of their blades which kept tempo with his clear breathing. This soldier was strong, built like an ox, and bore down, forcing Blaine back. He went a step, then another, watching his companions do the same, wincing as a cut was sliced into his arm.

They had to buy more time. Santana had a sizable ship and a sizable crew, at least twenty two. They would take outwards ten minutes to get through that tunnel. Blaine threw himself forward, ignoring a cut to his cheek that nearly decapitated him, and drove his sword into one of the big soldier. He yanked it free viciously, sending a nod of thanks at Celeste who blocked a sword aimed for him, then warned, “Behind you!” Their line was breaking down. Blaine stabbed his sword over her shoulder, getting the man’s chest, but not deep enough. There was a bite of pain in his leg, and he turned on the soldier attacking him, their swords meeting with a grinding sound. Next to him, Dani swore, her rusty sword cut clean in two, before twisting like a cat as she dived at the soldier who cut it and using it as a dagger to stab him through the throat.

Blaine’s feet slipped in blood as he rounded on someone else, watching Mercedes execute a graceful crescent move, blood on her face. This was not the pretty side of piracy, and Blaine sliced down a man behind the knees with a useless apology set into the line of his lips. Celeste delivered the killing blow. Finally, the battle was in their favour -- there was only two men left, and Dani killed one, before the other dropped his sword in surrender. “Épargner-moi,” he begged, and Blaine sighed, reaching down to tear a belt from one of the dead soldiers to tie him up with, Mercedes stuffing another in his mouth.

They ran down the hall to join their group. The prison room was empty except for Sebastian, who must have waited for them. Blaine startled as Sebastian advanced on him, running quick hands over his body, skimming past the open wounds and making Blaine hiss. “Still together?”

“‘M fine,” Blaine promised, grabbing Sebastian’s hands (red with Blaine's blood) and bringing them to his mouth to kiss the familiar fingers. “We need to go.”

The others had already started dropping down into the grate with a splash, swimming out of sight. A not-far-enough distance away, he heard more soldiers' footsteps on the stairs. Blaine guided Sebastian over. The adrenaline of the fight was still pumping through his veins and he hoped it lasted through the swim. Right before he dropped in, he looked to the portrait in the corner. Somebody had covered it with a drape again.

Blaine took a deep breath, and jumped in.

--

The others hadn’t turned left, back to the harbour. They waited in the main tunnel, in the dark. To Blaine’s surprise, Brittany was there. “It’s no good,” Dani said. “The soldiers are at the front, waiting for us to come out. We heard them laughing like idiots.”

“Did the others escape?”

“We think so.” Mercedes looked grim. “We hope so.”

“Let’s go out through the Abbey.” Blaine pointed, and they resumed their single file, hastening down the tunnel. Brittany was still limping but pushed through it, keeping up with them, her skull in hand. They emerged somewhere in a crypt in the Abbey and quickly snuck through it and out of the building, finding themselves on the streets.

“This way.” Sebastian pointed, and they began a steady trot towards the harbour. When Brittany’s leg gave out and she hit the cobblestones with a cry, Sebastian stooped to pick her up, carrying her on his back.

“You smell nice,” she told him, nuzzling his hair. “Kind of like a goose. Can we kiss?”

Blaine snorted. Sebastian patted her calf. “In another life, chérie.”

The streets weren’t empty, and they got some odd looks, but it was late enough at night that most people were too busy carousing and drunk to care. Sebastian led them down through the warren like he knew it well, and Blaine reminded himself, he probably did. He eventually guided them out of the city, around the fort, into the land which spread out from Marseille. Blaine and his fellow injured others had to stop at one point to tear off fabric and wrap their wounds, so they no longer left bloody footprints in their wake. It was a long walk with broken jogging in between, before they came to the ocean again.

“Ahoy!” Celeste gasped, pointing out. They beamed at what they saw -- it was the Bonecarver, her blood-red sails in full bloom in the moonlight as she easily outstripped the navy ship that was chasing it. Blaine recognized it as the same one which had gone after the Tide. Which meant she had gotten away, and they were bound for the rendezvous point.

With a sigh, they started walking again.

--

It was dawn, Blaine’s various wounds were throbbing in desperate pain, and they finally reached the inlet where a boat was waiting ashore. They climbed in, and took the oars (Blaine rowing one-handed, as his other arm hurt too much) and a few miles out they found the Tide, which was flying plague colours to scare other ships away. “Ahoy!” Blaine shouted up, and a ladder was tossed down after a sailor looked over the rail and recognized them. They all clambered up, and before Blaine could catch his breath he was knocked aside by Santana rushing forward to grab Brittany into a tight hug. A steady stream of loving Spanish followed, before she tugged Dani into the hug as well.

Sebastian wrapped an arm around Blaine’s shoulders, tugging him aside. “Let’s get you patched up.”

“Aye.” Blaine leaned into him. “Let’s.”

Everyone was sewn and bandaged up, they ate and drank, and Blaine poured a little rum for the dead soldiers -- torturous regime they may have been part of, but still human. They all turned to bed early that evening, saying sleepy goodnights as the crew who hadn't been on the rescue mission continued to take the ship far out of French waters. That night, as Sebastian and Blaine wrapped around each other in a hammock below deck, a highly impractical but very comfortable idea, Blaine sleepily asked, “What did you think when you saw me, first time we met?”

“‘If I was human, I’d be on you like an animal.’” Sebastian chuckled. “Those curls and your arms and the earring …” Sebastian flicked said item. “What did you think when you saw me? ‘That’s good eating?’”

“You were too skinny for that,” Blaine said, poking his side. “I thought, ‘This thing has an attitude but if it’s real it’s more than worth the price.’”

“Good to know nothing has changed on either side.”

More laughter. From a nearby hammock, Dani groaned out a, “Go to sleep.”

They did so, Blaine ensconced in both Sebastian's presence and the knowledge that his own crew was out there, somewhere safe, waiting for him.

--

They reunited with the Bonecarver, Santana, Brittany, and Dani saying their goodbyes as they rejoined their crew, and Sugar coming back on with many enthusiastic hugs for all. “‘Till I see your little Nightshame next,” Santana told him at their parting. “Tell Evans that I’m clearing his black mark. Which is a waste of your favour, but the prettiest little pirate needs his friends, I gather.”

“Good tidings, Santana.” Blaine clasped arms with her, and with a final smile and a kiss from Brittany and respectful nod from Dani, they were gone. Mercedes seemed to know exactly where the Nightbird was -- she and Sam must have shared navigation charts -- and that was their next destination. The trip was long enough that Blaine’s wounds had started to heal, he and Sebastian fully regained the weight they had lost on the island, and he was finally feeling recovered. Once or twice he caught Sebastian looking at him pensively, but it was Sugar who pulled him aside to talk.

“I knew it, Dev,” she said, satisfaction gleaming in her eye. “I knew I recognized him! There was this portrait, at the fort …”

“I saw it,” Blaine said. “He’s a noble. I knew that already.”

“Blaine, didn’t you see his seal? Don’t be a swab!” Sugar shook her head, hair flying. “It was the fleur de lys!"

Blaine ran a hand through his hair. He brought portrait to mind and made a choked sound. It made no sense, but at the same time, it made perfect sense. He had heard the stories. He had never thought to connect them to the man who told off-colour jokes and touched him like he was planning on memorizing the dips and rises Blaine’s body on his fingertips. Looking across at Sebastian, who was getting a lesson on sailor’s knots from one of Mercedes’ men, he laughed disbelievingly.

“I bought the crown prince of France for a coin.”

--

They met up with the Nightbird. Blaine had heard from Mercedes that she was okay, but to see her in full glory, all repairs from the storm done -- it made his heart swell up against his ribcage. He belonged on the sea however he could, but this was his home, and he clung to the rigging and watched it approach with a smile that crinkled his eyes and made his cheeks burn. When they were close enough, he shouted across to them, just a wordless, joyful sound to declare his return, and he got echoing hollers and cheers in return. Once they were close enough, he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead climbing higher on the mast and grabbing a rope to swing himself over.

He landed and was immediately beset by a group hug from Tina and Sam, who were both crying a little as they rubbed their faces against his, possibly cracking his ribs with how tightly they were holding him and pulling on his wounds. “I missed you two,” he said, kissing somewhere between Tina’s forehead and Sam’s jaw.

“Never do that again!” Tina scolded, pulling back and lightly slapping his cheek.

“Fall off a boat in a ship-killer storm?” Blaine asked, and was yanked into another hug. Sam ruffled his hair. Blaine would have said more, but the rest of the crew was tired of waiting for the Captain to finish reuniting with his close friends and rushed him, gathering him up in a large, excited mass which left Blaine as happy as anything had. The gangplank was set, their two ships anchored and connected, and a celebration naturally followed. Amidst the revelry, Sam peeled off to a private corner with Mercedes. Blaine, inspired, went to find Sebastian and found him in Blaine's quarters, crouching next to his old bed.

“I don't think you'd fit any more,” Blaine told him, shutting the door behind him. Sebastian looked over his shoulder.

“I have much better ideas of where to sleep,” Sebastian told him, then smiled fondly. “Not many men would build a bed for a goose.”

“Ryder built it,” Blaine said, shrugging. Sebastian looked ready to argue this, when a knock came at the door. Blaine opened the door, revealing Sam, who was twisting his hands together. “What is it, Sam?”

“Uh, Blaine …” he swallowed. “Could we talk? Alone?”

Blaine looked at Sebastian apologetically and Sebastian got to his feet, stretching easily. “We'll finish this later,” he told Blaine, voice heavy with promise, before he left. Blaine urged Sam in, but Sam didn't move much further past the door, standing stiffly.

“What is it?” Blaine asked, staring at him curiously. “You don't look shipshape.”

“It’s about Mercedes,” Sam blurted out, like the cork popping from a wine barrel. “And me. And … us. All of us. See, I didn’t lie, I did, when I was telling you that we had fallen in love. And she said, ‘I wish we could be together.’ And I said we could.” His attention was fixed on Blaine, begging Blaine to listen. “I was going to talk with you earlier but then you were marooned and life is so short Blaine, but I can’t leave, I just got you back, I shoudn't be bothering you now, she said we could wait, but she's here … ignore me.”

“Sam, becalm yourself.” Blaine grabbed his hand, turning it over so Sam could see Blaine on his wrist. “You’re the dearest friend I’ve ever had. And any captain could have you keelhauled for mutiny for talking about jumping ships.”

“I’m sorry!” Sam grabbed his hand, eyes wide and pleading. “I won’t leave, I promise.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Blaine shook Sam’s hand, catching his attention. “You’re my best friend, and when you got this --” he tapped the tattoo “--you promised we were brothers. We shook on it with our blood. You’re my family, and I’m not going to lose you, and you aren’t going to lose me, wherever you go.”

Sam pulled Blaine into a hug, burying his face into Blaine’s hair. “You’re a good man, Blaine. The best.”

“You’re a good man yourself.” Blaine pulled back, clapping Sam’s back and blinking rapidly, then was struck with a wonderful idea. “Can you be married on this ship? Mercedes can’t perform her own marriage.”

“Aye! That would be incredible!” Sam’s attention suddenly strayed, turning around at the sound of a loud, happy laugh. He peered through the open door. “Who’s that tall fellow you were talking with?” There was a note of jealousy. Blaine looked around him to see that Sebastian was engaging Mercedes in conversation, them both amused by whatever was being said.

“That,” Blaine said, “is my magic goose.”

“Oh.” Sam squinted. “Ah. Good investment?”

Blaine didn’t think of portraits or seals. Just Sebastian kissing him on that island, the palms around them and Sebastian's fingers on him, the ocean washing up on the beach.

“The very best.”

--

Blaine married Sam and Mercedes. Tina, Marley, and Ryder cried at their wedding, and they said goodbyes after a long celebration on a nearby island while they careened their ships for care and drank rum and danced in the sand. Blaine knew he would miss Sam fiercely, but he also knew he would see Sam again, and that he would be godfather to any children they might have, which was comfort enough. Sam’s departure left the first mate position open, and Tina was the obvious choice. Surprisingly, she didn’t want it. “I like bossing the ship around during the day and when you’re off. Quartermaster has most power, next to the Captain,” Tina said, shrugging. “Everyone else likes their positions. We’re not a big crew, so why don’t you give it to your goose.”

Blaine gathered Sebastian into his quarters, sitting them both on the desk; Blaine was thinking it was time he got a bed. (Sleeping two to a hammock was fun once in a while, but really was impractical in the long run.) He made his offer with all the solemnity a captain should, while tickling Sebastian's wristbone.

Sebastian accepted the offer with a startled grin, kissing Blaine. “The privileges I’m afforded stun me, but you should know, I’ve never been very good in a position of authority.”

“You might surprise yourself.”

“We'll see.”

“Second in command on a ship is a step down from a whole country, I feel,” Blaine said, figuring Why the hell not. If Sebastian was going to help him run his ship, the least they could do was ease away some of those final secrets. Sebastian pulled back, words frozen on his lips, before realization dawned on him alongside a shake of his head.

“You saw the portrait, didn’t you? Stupid things.”

“I did.” Blaine considered Sebastian, still finding it hard to imagine him done up in cloaks and crowns. They said the Dauphin had run away because he was an irresponsible lout, presumed dead because he’d never be able to survive on his own, maybe kept secret prisoner by the English. This was years and years ago; the younger prince had already taken the throne, to great fanfare in a country that preferred him vastly. “As far as kings go, your brother isn’t so bad."

“He isn’t.” Sebastian’s smile was a little bittersweet, but he shrugged it off. “He was a good boy. I knew he would fit into ruling better than me -- I liked the freedom or life a little too much.”

“There’s nowhere freer than the seas,” Blaine told him, and he had to admit, any lingering worries that Sebastian might want to return to his old life were soothed. “And we can go all over them, together.”

“I’d much rather have my killer captain than all the treasures of France.” Sebastian kissed him again, slightly parted mouth darting down along his jaw. “So I think this’ll work out. Though, mind you, I can tell you where a lot of those treasures are to plunder.”

“I’ll remember that.” Blaine kissed him back, drawing this one out a little, pulling away with a smile and Sebastian leaning in to follow slightly. Blaine stopped him with a finger to his lips. “A prince turned into a goose, only love able to turn him back … isn’t that a fairy's tale, about a frog?”

“Actually, she throws him against the wall,” Sebastian said. “I’d be thankful if you didn’t do that to me.”

“I won’t.” Blaine slid off his desk and Sebastian did the same, and Blaine tugged lightly at the hem of Sebastian's shirt. “C'mon, my goose prince … I want to see you do that Wake knot again. We’ve got to make a proper sailor of you before you do any pirating.”

That lesson went well, and all the others. Sebastian took to sea life like a duck (or goose) to water, and watching him Dread Devon, possible scourge of one sea, rediscovered everything he loved about the ocean. Blaine would take Sebastian everywhere, and they fought off the navy side by side, met new cultures and people, and found their treasures and turned the waves into their own. They even bought a bed to share. The Nightbird never gained a reputation like the Bonecarver and Blaine continued to be the sort of pirate you could sell a fake magic goose to, but they were happy as long as their feet were on that rocking deck and the endless possibility of the ocean kept pulling them on together.

There was no greater life for them.

the yo ho ho end

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