#a.schmid|40

[devils-pirate-crew]

Kiyoko trills happily under Dawson's fingers, the chicken tilting her head this way and that to get a better petting experience in. The pilot's mate, for his part, clenches his jaw, trying not to show any more emotional affect. He looks pointedly away from Akira, who's toying awkwardly with a small piece of scrap wood he'd found on the floor, his whittling knife dancing on its surface and carving minute yet intricate designs into the wood.

It takes them a while - Akira tosses away the first piece of wood after he cuts delicate diagonal lines wrapping around all its sides, reaches for another and sets to work drawing flowery paisley curves on this piece with the tip of his pocket knife. Kiyoko settles into position, having found just the right spot, and flaps a wing every now and then when she isn't content with the pace of scritches. Dawson tries to focus in on the present - he holds the hen steady with one hand, runs the palm of his other down her back methodically, presses his left ear into his shoulder and holds his breath, counting up to ten before coughing an exhale. His eyes are trained on the door, as if, at any moment, they'd come knocking, demanding, grabbing at his wrists, dragging him away, taking him from the only home he's got left. Beneath him, the Jersey Devil creaks and whines, as if she's lamenting alongside Dawson, as if his tears were hers, too.

He doesn't realize that he's reeling with the slightly drunken feeling of coming off the adrenaline high until Akira rests a hand on his thigh, shocking Dawson with the coolness of his touch, even through the fabric of his shore clothes. "Hey," he speaks into the quiet of the ship, tone soft. "Are you okay?"

This time, Dawson doesn't bite back the caustic chuckle that pulls itself from his lips. "Do I look okay to you?" He looks down in his lap to where Kiyoko has nestled in, blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around her. The chicken clucks impatiently and Dawson resumes petting her with a fond sigh.

Akira considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know what okay is for you," he settles, flicking the blade of his whittling knife into the handle and pocketing the knife. "You look like you got injured - did you ask John to check it out?"

Dawson's head snaps up again, his pulse quickening once more. "He says I'm fine," he lies, instantly.

The carpenter nods at that. A moment passes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever... got you in that mood."

"I - " Dawson swallows sharply, the words dried up on his tongue. The Voices whisper loudly to each other, speaking in a language he can't understand, but the general consensus is clear - you can't tell anyone about this, ever again. "Not really," he mumbles.

Akira glances at him, then hums in agreement. "I don't think I'd be much help anyways," he apologizes before the room descends into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds the lapping of the waves at the ship's hull and - Dawson furrows his brow, listening a little closer - and presumably Woody vomiting off the side. Just peachy.

[devils-pirate-crew]

"Back so soon?"

Dawson spins around, eyes wide, and backs himself up onto the door of the room, gaze trained on the metal blade looming above. "I-I'm sorry, I just - I needed to - I'm sorry, I'll - " He reaches for the doorknob behind him, hand shaking violently.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Akira rests his adze on the wall, taking a step forward. "You okay?" He raises his eyebrows, nodding at the bandages on Dawson's face.

"Yeah, I'm good, I just - " Dawson gestures in some random direction, trying very hard to ignore that this is his... third breakdown of the day? Wow. That's a record. Arber was probably right that the post office was weird. He should take a nap or something, replenish his energy to be able to flip out more. He almost laughs at that, even as he feels a familiar panic bubbling in his chest that forces him to cough out a breath instead.

The carpenter pauses for a moment, then crosses the two steps that separate them, taking Dawson's trembling hand in his own. "You, uh, want to sit down for a minute or two? Catch your breath?" He pulls the pilot's mate gently along to the other side of the storage room, away from the carpentry equipment, and sits him down on the floor.

Dawson blinks a few times, then nods, pulling his knees to his chest on instinct. He hates this, he hates this so much, he hates relying on other people, doesn't ever want to be a burden, and yet. And yet Akira's taking the time out of his busy late-night schedule (cutting up planks for more permanent repairs to the ship now that they'd have some time at the Cove to take out the temporary plugs) for him. God, he feels so selfish. "'m sorry," he mumbles into his knees, curling his head in. "Think I'm gonna - "

"Going to what?" Akira asks, taking a seat next to him. He runs a hand along the floor, picking up some grains that had spilled, and clicks his tongue a few times. Sure enough, a brown hen soon emerges from... somewhere amidst the tools, strutting over to collect her reward for being a good friend.

Dawson shakes his head, reaching up with his bandaged hand to his bandaged cheek, pressing down hard and hissing as the pain floods his nerves. "Don't let him hurt me," he mutters. "Please don't let him hurt me... please..."

"Mercy, nobody's going to hurt you here," Akira promises, lifting Kiyoko onto his lap - she goes with little fuss, seemingly content to rest like this.

Dawson shakes his head even faster at that. "He's gonna hurt me, Schmiddy, he's gonna hurt me, he's gonna - " A strangled cough. "Hurt me..."

"Nobody's going to hurt you here," he repeats. "You've got to calm down. I can't help you if I don't know what's going on." A pause. "Do you want to hold her?"

The pilot's mate pulls his head up, staring straight at Akira for an uncomfortably long second, before nodding, shifting his position shakily to sit criss-crossed. Akira holds Kiyoko securely, transferring her to Dawson's lap and then letting go. Dawson slides his fingers between the chicken's feathers almost immediately; she looks at Akira, tilting her head in confusion at this betrayal, before settling down to enjoy the massage.

He can't seem to shake the feeling of dread that's roaring at the base of his stomach, making him sweat with fear. He can't let go of the memory of the golden cross shining on Johnny's book as he closed it or the needle hanging from the thread, silvery malice. Or the cross hanging from the thread, the needle lying bloody on top of the cover of the old book.

It's all so much, and the loud chattering of the Voices, trying to tell him to run as fast and as far as he can, is only making his head hurt even more. Dawson presses down on the bandages again, looking for - a sign, a release, something, anything. Just to know he still has a pulse. Just to know he's still alive.

[devils-pirate-crew]

It's getting late, Dawson figures, by the fact that the hen has dozed off in his arms and also by the seeming changing of the guard that walks by the closed door.

Harmonia, he muses, gingerly pulling himself back up and placing the hen back on the shelf where she came from. She opens an eye, chirping at him, more annoyed to lose her source of warmth than anything else. It seems like the perfect time to sneak out without being spotted, so of course Dawson runs into someone the moment he opens the door.

"Heyyy," he tries, drawing out the syllable as he attempts to step past the pirate in his way.

Said pirate, of course, doesn't quite let him. Akira Schmid crosses his arms, following Dawson's lead to engage him in an awkward failed-passing tango for a few steps. "You're in my closet."

"Sorry?" he squeaks out, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Look, I didn't mean anything, really - "

Akira cuts him off with a sigh, glaring at him. Dawson swallows sharply. Then, Akira grins, laughing, and the moment's suddenly so much lighter, Dawson giggling with him.

"You met Kiyoko, then?" He gestures with his head to the hen, who settles back down on her shelf, satisfied.

"Kiyoko?" Dawson echoes. He narrowly stops himself from saying What kind of name is that?

Akira nods, smiling up at the hen. "She escaped the room Vitek was keeping all the chickens in. Ended up here. I take care of her."

"She really didn't want to become dinner, huh?" The pilot's mate chuckles.

To that, the carpenter reaches out to ruffle Dawson's hair. "A survivor," he states. There's an unspoken Just like you that's tacked onto the end of it. There always is. Dawson hates it.

"What time is it?" he asks, to divert the topic.

"Nico's got about half an hour left on his shift."

"Crap," Dawson grits his teeth. "Dougie probably needs me then."

"I'm not stopping you," Akira shrugs. "As long as you're not stealing my adze. You're not, are you?" His eyes narrow.

"The hell would I even use it for?" Dawson gripes back.

"Squaring a beam, smoothing a plank, carving grooves," the carpenter lists off. "I need it. We got a couple small leaks I need to patch."

"We're docking tomorrow."

"Not if the ship takes on too much water. Now go. We've both got stuff to do." Akira waves him off. "And don't tell VV about Kiyoko."

"I'm not gonna tell Vitek about your pet."

"She's not my pet." Dawson levels him with a knowing gaze. Akira rolls his eyes in surrender. "She's a... companion."

"Suuure." Dawson dashes off before Akira can protest any further. He climbs up two sets of stairs and opens the hatch.

As he crosses the deck to find Dougie, Dawson ignores the weight pressing down on his shoulders, ignores the Voices pounding on his skull and talking louder and louder, still not wanting to be heard. What did he do? Did they get offended or something?