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Scott’s father stared up at him with a sneer across his face, white teeth flashing in the torchlight, blue eyes dark with hatred.
It was not an unfamiliar look, Scott had seen the curled lips and bared teeth of his father’s displeasure before. Had seen the callous disregard, the hatred of anything he dubbed ‘unseemly’, the strive for perfectionism. Most often, it was directed at other people, who stood in the way of his success.
Today, it was directed at Scott.
He knew why. He had seen the same look directed at him over and over again, whenever Scott failed. Whenever he didn’t meet his parents expectations.
Whenever he tried to control his own fate.
You are our son, Scott. Act like it.
They had long since laid out his entire life for him, expectant that he would bring their names to even greater glory.
You will bring prestige to this family’s name. Prestige to me and your mother. Don’t you want that, Scott?
They had long since decided that anything he did outside of their expectations was wrong.
Being a child? Wrong.
Denholm’s don’t play pretend like the commoners. Denholm’s don’t play with toys. Stop acting like a child, Scott.
Showing interest in things that they didn’t specifically tell him to? Wrong.
You do not get to decide to skip your calligraphy lessons! And for what, learning to play the fiddle? Proper pirates do not choose to play such a common instrument. As punishment, since you hate it so much, you will sit and do calligraphy until your fingers bleed.
I do not care how long it takes. Get to work.
Having opinions?
Wrong.
“But I don’t thin-”
“Exactly! You do not think, Scott. We make your decisions for you! As your parents, you listen to us and not some stupid, impulsive opinions you come up with. If we say to jump overboard, you do not point out the fact you don’t know how to swim! You do not comment on how rough the seas are. You just do it because we SAID SO!”
It had gotten so bad once that Scott followed in his siblings' footsteps. Or tried to, at the very least. He didn’t want to be controlled every moment of every day. He didn’t want to bow to the whims of his parents.
He wanted a life of his own.
Scott panted, crashing through the underbrush, trampling delicate flowers and grass underfoot. His shoulder burned, his lungs ached, but still he forced himself forwards.
Behind him, the pirate pursuing him cursed, ten times louder than he was, but also ten times more viscous, ten times more determined to see his blood sprayed across the ground.
He knew why the pirate -the Kite, since any other pirate in any other faction would at least hesitate before trying to kill someone as young as him- was pursuing him. He had seen the bounty up on the bulletin-board before it had been torn down by an angry recruiter.
He had seen the name of the people who had posted it.
He had left his house, his parent’s domain, because he wanted to experience life out from under them. Because he had wanted to explore his options and see what it was like in a world where he didn’t have to worry about being perfect.
But his parents had apparently decided that this was unacceptable. That a second child breaking the mould they had laid out for them was too much.
They had decided to keep their second rebellious son from shaming them any more than he already had. One son running away, joining a faction other than the Herons was already unacceptable.
Two children running away, both of their kids choosing to ignore their parents orders was too far.
Acho had gotten away with it, but it was clear Scott wouldn't.
Case in point, the Kite chasing after him, pursuing a bounty Scott’s own parents had placed on him.
If they couldn't control him alive, then dead was fine too. At least that way, Scott wouldn't be shaming their good name, their successes and feats.
In death, Scott could be whatever they wanted.
His shoulder ached as he crashed against a tree, clipping it in his desperation to get away, and he had to choke back a scream as it tore open the wound on it anew.
Blood ran down his arm, thick and smelling like iron, the bullet that had caused the wound still lodged in it.
Scott kept running.
He had to. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to live, he had to survive this encounter first.
Fortunately, he had gotten away. Fortunately, he had gotten lucky.
A kind Heron, one of the ones he had grown up around that had never approved of his parent’s methods and had helped him whenever possible. They had seen him being chased, and had intervened.
Had saved Scott.
Cleo was, and still is, Scott’s hero for that. She took him in, built him up out of the ruins his parents had created. She shot the Kite, hoisted him up, and had plucked the bullet out of Scott’s arm. She brought him to her house, bandaged him up, and taught him how to be a person and not his parent’s doll.
And when he was old enough, she encouraged him to find a faction he fit into.
She didn’t push him to be a Heron. She told him to join whichever one felt right. Whichever one he thought was best.
Kites.
Scott winced at the suggestion of him joining the violent faction, the memory of the Kite that had chased him with the intent to kill flashing through his mind.
“No. Not the Kites.” He said, and Cleo paused for a moment before an understanding look passed over her face.
Nightingales
The thought of a faction that professed themselves as family made bile rise in Scott’s throat, everything his family had done to him still bright and painful and all too close to the front of his mind.
Sailing the seas, more about the journey than the destination, they claimed. Good friends and good food, travelling together.
He couldn't help but remember the way his parents professed themselves to be family, before trying to kill him.
He didn’t think he could bear a betrayal like that again.
He brushed the suggestion off, instead choosing to lose himself in the noise and sensation of the tavern they were in.
He didn’t think about how Acho was in the Nightingale's faction. He shoved the knowledge that if he joined them, his parents would stop at nothing.
One child was bad enough, but two joining the same ‘enemy’ faction?
They would hunt them both to the ends of the earth.
Kestrels.
Scott actually considered this one, arms behind his head as he stared up at the stars late one night.
The Kestrels cared for money, success, and little else. They were loyal, though.
They wouldn't stand by as his own parents tried to kill him. After all, it was much more costly to stand by, do nothing, and let a fully trained pirate die than to save them.
And Scott knew how to make himself invaluable.
Still, though, the thought of caring about money and fame over everything else…it made him shudder.
His mother had been raised in a family of Kestrels.
He didn’t want to be reminded of her, reminded of her morals and greed every time he interacted with someone else in the faction.
Herons.
The thought of joining the Herons burned, because it was the faction his parents wanted him to join. It was a part of the life his mom had created for him and his dad ensured he followed. It would allow them access to him, might catapult him back into the life of misery he had lived before.
But it was also the faction Cleo was in, and Scott knew she would protect him.
She had looked so furious when she discovered the fact his parents had a bounty on him. She had stormed away, and the next day, the bounty was gone.
Scott had chosen the Herons, when the time came.
And even though he was in the same faction as them, his parents never contacted him. The bounty never went back up, and he was left to live his life.
Except…
They hadn’t, because pinned below Scott’s boot was his father, and below Cleo’s was his mother.
Both of them had struggled, but Scott was bigger now, stronger, and he had more to lose than his parents did.
And of course, Cleo was one scary motherfucker.
They had both seen the guns his parents carried. The knives and rapiers.
They both knew what they were visiting Scott to do.
Yet again, his father squirmed under Scott’s weight, only stilling when Scott pressed down even further on the man's throat with his boot, threatening to crush it.
Cleo shifted behind him, pinning his mother to the ground even further..
His father, under Scott’s weight, snarled.
“Let me up, Scott!” He roared, his eyes molten with rage, his voice dripping with hatred. “I am your father, you will let me up!”
Cleo, off to the side, scoffed.
“You are the bastard that tried to kill him.” She snarled, bending down and sliding a gun out of the holster on his mom’s hip. “And from the looks of it, you aren’t quite done with that routine.”
The bounty poster flapped silently on the bulletin board, a picture of Scott staring silently up from it.
Wanted: Dead, it read.
Reward: 10,000 gold.
Below that, in small letters, were his parent’s names, for bounty collection when the job was complete.
Aurelia Denholm. Hudson Denholm.
“And he deserved it, ignoring everything we did for him!” His mother, this time, screamed.
Scott flinched, minutely, barely listening to the shit spewing from his parents mouths.
He caught a few things, though.
That he was a waste of space. That he didn’t deserve all of the effort that they put into him.
That Scott was better off dead.
They felt silent, eventually, after Cleo had pulled more weapons off of his mother and Scott had put so much weight on his fathers throat he was surprised it wasn’t crushed yet.
Then, and only then, Cleo offered a gun to Scott, already loaded, already cocked.
“It’s your choice.” She said, and that was what made his parents try to start to struggle again.
And it was.
He remembered the way that they had discussed this before. Cleo has asked if he had the chance, would he kill his parents.
“Yes.” Scott said, his face grim. “I don’t think they would ever stop, unless they were dead. They would just keep hunting me, hurting me, and If the opportunity came up I don’t think I would be able to stop myself.”
Cleo nodded, non judgemental.
“That's understandable.”
He accepted the gun, aimed it.
Bang.
Bang.
Twin gunshots echoed, one in his memories and the other in reality, and Scott watched as his father’s face turned slack.
He turned.
Aimed.
Bang.
His mother went limp, and the gun hit the ground.
Cleo wrapped him into a hug.
“They never would have stopped.” She whispered, and it was the truth.
They had hunted Scott ever since he deviated from the life they had laid out for him. Even now, years later, even though he had made a name for himself and was a good pirate, they hadn’t stopped.
It was his life, not his parent’s. They didn’t get to control it.
And now, they would never have the opportunity to. Never again.