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Boy Blue

Summary:

A rewrite of the scene where Chauncey tries to kill Stede.

Notes:

Hello! I cried while writing this. Anyway, I wanted to say that this is something I'm really proud of. Stede resonates with me a lot as a character and because of that, I really wanted to write what I thought he felt in this scene. This is based on my Tumblr post (my username is xaviqrs if you wanna check it out). I wanted to expand on what I meant in that post when I said that Stede doesn't know how to be wanted since he has never been wanted before. My heart feels so heavy after writing this.

Enjoy!

Work Text:

Stede gasps as he steps back, trying to keep some distance between himself and Chauncey. His heart is ramming against his ribs wildly, and cold sweat coats every inch of his face. The quiver of his lips is impossible to ignore, what, with his shuddering breath and teary eyes. 

“You’re a monster. A plague. You defile beautiful things.” 

Every word Chauncey says plunges through his heart like a blade—hurts like a musket to the mouth. A sob jumps from his throat and comes out as a strangled noise. The ache in his chest seems to tighten with each sharp inhale. He isn’t getting nearly enough air in his lungs, resulting in a dizzy sort of feeling pulling at his vision. Stede still isn’t entirely sure if any of this is real.

“My dear brother,” Chauncey lists. “Your own family. You’ve even managed to bring history’s greatest pirate to ruin.” 

Ed flashes through his mind. Oh, Ed. He’d been well before the evening they’d met. Ambitious, strategic, Blackbeard-like. It stands true that Ed’s altered his ways a little bit, but it had seemed so good for him. When Stede saw him smile, truly, for the first time, by God he might have died and come back all at once. He felt Ed’s elation through his smile and that is all Stede wanted to do: make him smile. 

Chauncey’s statement about Ed is a strike to the face. He remembers Izzy’s words about how Blackbeard had gone away, or gone soft. He remembers Ed himself admitting he was supposed to kill Stede—admitting he couldn’t. Could it be true, what they say? Has Stede hurt Ed? It feels like this version of Ed is happier, but it could all just be a fuckery. Perhaps Ed felt bad for him. 

“And here you are… unscathed. God’s perfect little rich boy.” 

And that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t Mary’s fault they’d been forced to marry, yet Stede left her and the children with only a letter to remember him by. Or to not remember him. 

He was never good enough for his father. He had one job, and it was to take after him and carry on the fortune with Mary’s family. He couldn’t even do that for him. A weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered rich boy

God, and the crew. Stede had been in denial for so long. He figured that if he just proved himself a good captain, then the mutiny attempts would stop. He wanted them to like him so badly that he’d ended up missing the real point: Stede Bonnet is a defiler of beautiful things. Stede Bonnet is a weak-hearted, soft-handed, lily-livered rich boy. Stede Bonnet is a fool. 

His face crumples and the tears finally break. “I think you’re right,” he cries, his voice raspy through his sobs. “In fact, I completely agree.” 

Chauncey stares at him, his eyes angry and hazy. Then he brings his gun up and Stede is staring right down the barrel. 

“You don’t fool me.” Chauncey snarls as he starts to move forward clumsily. 

Stede finds that his legs no longer work. He is stuck in place, his body frozen from fear and something else. Some part of him says he deserves whatever happens here. Whatever Chauncey decides to do with him, he deserves it. 

“The Stede Bonnet reign of terror ends toni—” Bang

He can’t open his eyes. Surely, he’s been shot. Stede waits for the pain to come, but it doesn’t. No bloody warmth soaking his undershirt, no bullet wounds. When he cracks his eyes open, he sees Chauncey lying face down in the dirt with a bullet through his head. A shout escapes his mouth before he can fully process the scene. He’s grasping at his beating heart as if to physically make it stop. 

The gun lies in Chauncey’s limp hand. Stede is overly aware of its presence. 

Chauncey is dead. Because of him. Chauncey is dead just like Nigel who was killed by his hand, the hands that are now stained with the blood of both brothers and—

Stede throws up. 

There is nothing in his stomach to vomit, yet he wretches and clutches his belly. The acidic taste that burns his mouth and throat is sobering. Stede isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing when he backs away from Chauncey’s body, his mind and vision are blurred beyond anything comprehensive and all he knows how to do is run. 

He runs like he did when he abandoned Mary and his children on that fateful day. He runs like he did when Izzy, Fang and Ivan stole their captives. He runs like he did when the boys at school wanted to tie him to a row boat and toss stones at him. He runs because that is all Stede Bonnet is good for. Chauncey was right. 

He’d left Mary and escaped unscathed. They have been the ones suffering, while he’s been off living what is supposed to be his dream. Stede knows what he has to do, but he is unsure of whether or not he can do it. To stay with Ed and escape one last time, unscathed, is to be weak. He has to pay for what he’s done. He has to make things right. 

If he doesn’t, what does that make him? Everything Chauncey says he is? Nigel and Chauncey’s deaths would be in vain, and what does that make Stede? A murderer, as Chauncey said? 

Selfish

To stay with Ed and ruin him is selfish. To leave Mary for his dream is selfish. To take not one, but two men’s lives—selfish, selfish, selfish. 

Stede can’t let it happen. So, he continues to run. He runs until he finds a boat. He rows until he finds the land. He runs once more until he finds his old home. He enters and wanders until he finds Mary. 

He can make this right. He can forget his old-new life. This is what needs to be done. It is the only way to make things right. 

“Darling,” Stede says, his mouth pulled into a weak smile.

Mary stands, her teacup in hand. Her mouth gapes open and her arm begins to shake. Stede can barely hear over the sound of this breathing, the rush of blood in his ears, the beat of his heart. This is what he should want. This is what is right. 

“I’m home.”