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ofthecaravel · 1 year ago

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Brandy

Chapter One

Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.

Tags: Brotherly shenanigans as always, mentions of parental death, a little squabbling, flirting, minor angst

Words: Lil under 10k (whoops)

A/N: I started this literally a year ago. God help me. Inspired by Brandy by Looking Glass and Sam and Danny being goofuses. I really hope y'all like this because there is so much more to post 😭

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As always, the Kiszka brothers had gotten to work a little earlier than they needed to.

The elder of them, Joshua, had always believed that a clean bar would result in an easygoing night, so they often found themselves slipping in through the back door around 5pm on nights they didn't even open and staying until 8pm to mop the floors and replace anything that had been tarnished in nights previous. Josh and his spritely spirit found it invigorating to fiddle with such things as measuring the level of alcohol in their assortment of kegs and casks, or the arrangement of glasses and the security of the coat hooks. But Sam, the youngest of his siblings and the only other one who tended to the family business on a regular basis, usually found himself walking away from all of the menial chores Josh assigned him. He was annoyed enough that he'd had to start full time as their one and only waiter since their brother Jake had left the family business to his twin and little brother to chase his dream of sailing the high seas three years ago. Since then, Josh and Sam had struggled to manage the popular bar all on their own, stretch their very small budget out between the business and themselves, and not murder each other in the process. Sam thought he deserved a little break before work, and the seemingly pointless tasks that Josh insisted he do to help out were not exactly morale boosters. He was coming up on a year of Josh's least favorite pre-shift ritual of his, which included leaning his head against the window tucked into the corner that faced true north and staring in unblinking, unmoving silence.

It was a clear, early June evening when from his post wiping down the keg spigots, Josh noticed Sam drifting out of the corner of his eye. He sighed when he realized where his younger brother now stood.

"Will you get away from the window? I just cleaned it and you're gonna fog it up again with all your longing sighs."

Sam tossed a sour look over his shoulder at his brother, who stood behind the bar with a rag slung over his shoulder and a judgmental look on his face. Josh pulled the rag down and across the already gleaming wood in front of him and shook his head in near pity, his hand working anxious circles on the surface as it had done every night for nearly 7 years now.

"I'm not fogging it up," Sam argued. "What, I'm not allowed to look out the window of my own bar?"

"Not if you're going to get your fish breath all over my nice, clean glass," Josh shot back with a barely contained smile, looking down amusedly while Sam scoffed.

He rolled his eyes all the way around to look back out the window, his keen eyes trained on the bustle of the harbor town coming alive as the sun slowly sank deeper into the twilight sky. Lamps were starting to blink awake in the windows of the weathered brick buildings surrounding their little bar, casting their amber light on the cobblestone that the fishmongers tread on with their stained aprons still tightly tied as they headed homeward bound. Sam sported a similar apron that he kept hiked up flatteringly around his waist, worn begrudgingly and scattered with its own fair share of stains and stories. But unlike the fishmongers that passed him by without so much as a glance, he was in for the night, his shift starting when the first patron inevitably burst in with a thirst for comradery and the extra strong spirits and liqueurs that Sam and his brothers distilled themselves.

They all specialized in their own kinds, and as their regulars eventually went on to point out, they all suited their specialties very nicely. Josh with his appropriately rosy cheeks and boisterous, people pleasing nature was a natural when it came to bold, sweet wines. Jake had a knack for whipping up a whiskey with a sharp bite and smooth burn, but just like the man himself, those bottles were usually gone from the bar and ran out fast when they were. But Sam was the only one with the patience and palate to tend to the bar's most sought after delicacy: casks of sweet brandy that he laid down in crystal glasses bought off a merchant ship with his private stash of tips. The men that frequented the bar the most had long since stopped referring to him by name, simply raising their hands to catch his eye as he made his rounds and calling out "Brandy!".

Much to his chagrin, his name slowly started to get left at home, and he was soon known solely as "Brandy" to the bar goers of The Caravel Cantina. Only Josh called him Sam at work, knowing it was a surefire way to get his attention as he tended to the mobs of ever parched, low lidded men. Josh called it then, recognizing the mournful look his little brother was casting towards the docks that lay just out of sight of the northern window that his head was lolled against. Sam startled again and fully turned away, pressing his hand briefly to his forehead to feel how his skin had cooled against the pane.

"What?" Sam asked in annoyance, already feeling his ears perk as he thought about the water and its many ships that now lay at his back. As Josh shook his head at him again, he absently wondered if he would be able to recognize the ship he was waiting for by the creak of its sails or how its bow sliced into the dark seawater that pooled around their port. "You wanted something?"

"I want you to get away from my goddamn window and do your job, you hooligan," Josh scolded lightheartedly, tossing his rag with force into Sam's slight chest, who caught it with an audible "oof".

"Nobody's even here yet," Sam pointed out, gesturing dramatically with the cloth out at the warmly lit yet definitely empty sea of cramped tables and chairs with its lone jukebox pressed against the wall.

"Sam," Josh said again, his voice softer this time. He let out an even softer sigh and cocked his head at his brother, giving him a small smile. "They're not coming tonight. You got to give it up, bud."

Sam hesitated, slightly stunned that Josh had been able to read his mind so easily, but after a lifetime of close quarters and shared secrets, he could only be so surprised.

"Jake said they'd be back in the summertime," Sam said carefully, echoing his brother's words of encouragement from the year prior. "The fishermen are starting to bring in albacore and those big, pink shrimps and you know damn well those are only in season when the weather has turned. It is officially summer, thank you very much."

"Hell, you think sailors measure the seasons by the fuckin' fish?" Josh barked out a condescending laugh. "They're not out there to pick salt off of shrimp and clams. You think Jake captains that hunk of junk across the Atlantic to get the ol' pole out and let it fly?"

Sam's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he furrowed his dark brow with a frown, casting his eyes down as he wrung the filthy bar rag between his lithe hands.

"Jake knows," Sam muttered. "And he promised."

"Because his promises are so reliable," Josh said sarcastically, a genuine hint of bitterness slipping out as he started stacking glasses aggressively. "Something tells me it's not him who made you that promise, Sammy."

"The sun is staying up for longer, too," Sam pointed out, skillfully ignoring Josh's accusation. "He'll notice that the daylight is blazing beautifully on their masts for an hour longer or whatever pretentious garbage sentiment he writes in his journal. Or do they not have the sun out on the sea, wise guy?"

"Sam."

Sam finally met Josh's gaze and felt a guilty curl in his stomach from the glint in his brother's tired, brown eyes.

"Why don't you have a drink and remember how sweet the fruit of your patience can be, hm?"

"Yeah," Sam replied simply, feeling a slight shame that he was only adding to ever growing list of Josh's stressors. "Okay. Might help with the rush tonight."

"Rush?" Josh looked lost for a moment before he gripped the glass in his hand even tighter and spun to look at the bar's beloved Mermaid of the Month calendar. "It's Saturday? I thought it was a fucking Friday, fuck!"

"Oh, and Fridays are any better for us?" Sam laughed, dipping behind the bar with his frazzled brother to grab a glass and pouring himself a shallow drink of golden brandy from its coveted bottle.

Outside, Sam could already hear laughter carrying from down the street that would soon arrive as a pack of rowdy men ready to unwind after a long day by the docks. They surely wouldn't be the last group to swarm their painfully understaffed yet ultimately well loved cantina, and as Sam was throwing back the last of his drink and watching the panic sizzle off of Josh's abundance of curls, the door slammed open and the space filled with thundering voices and cackles.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Josh greeted jovially, his visible anxiety peeling off of him in an instant as men started to take seats at the bar and drag tables together. "What can I do you for?"

"I sure could use a tall, sweet drink of brandy," one of the grizzled regulars purred, giving a sharp toothed grin to Sam, who had already grabbed his tray and slipped from behind the bar and out into the fray. Josh bristled at the man's comment as he skillfully poured him up a glass and watched his brother sidle up to a throng of butchers, who were giving him a look they usually saved for their finest cuts of meat. Josh knew what the men in the bar thought about his brother's feminine features and hospitable grace. He heard what they said about his body and long hair as he slinked through crowds and brushed hands with eager patrons, flashing his wide smile and playing into their little jokes. Of course Sam knew too, and it's not like The Caravel was the kind of place that would let anything like that go by without getting a boot to the ass, but Josh couldn't help but feel protective of him nonetheless.

"Cool it, Caldwell," Josh said with a slight bite in his gravelly voice as he set down the drink in front of the sharp toothed man. "We wouldn't want the missus knowing what you say about my brother after a few of those tall and sweets, now would we?"

"You're no fun, Kiszka," Caldwell mumbled into his drink, his mustache dipping into the liquor as his grubby pals quickly roped him into a conversation and left Josh to his pouring and coin collecting.

Across the bar, the jukebox blared to life, and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound. The jukebox's chronically high volume meant he had an excuse not to hear everybody's little comments to and about him as he dutifully dished out spilling glasses and salty scoops of peanuts. However, as the song stretched out beyond the first 30 seconds of instrumental, the wave inside Sam came crashing down as he recognized the song's bright lyrics and the vocals they danced on. He swallowed an emotion he'd been biting back since he'd first felt the temperature begin to rise, and as he placed a ring of shots on his metal tray with shaking hands that made the metal and glass clatter in time to the beat, Sam relived a burst of last summer for what felt like the hundredth time.

One Year Earlier

Against his will, Sundays had become the designated day for Josh and Sam to come to the bar during the daytime and work on any repairs that couldn't be done in their little interludes before regular nights. The Caravel was closed on Sundays, and despite Sam's consistent protests that that logic should also be applied to its employees, Josh insisted that it was a great opportunity to fix it up for the upcoming week.

Despite the fact that he and Josh hadn't got home until 3am, Sam woke up with the sun that Sunday. As he lay in bed and focused only on the feel of the linen sheets on his bare skin and the distant whistle of the wind outside, he tried to think back on the last time he had gotten a full night's sleep.

He figured it had to be around the time that he'd last seen Jake, right before he had left to join a crew on a merchant ship that he made seem a lot cooler than it probably actually was.

"The captain says we're going to sail to all kinds of places," Jake had told him, perched on the end of Sam's bed with a map so wide it sprawled across their knees and grazed the edge of his pillow. "Not just Europe, but Africa, too. Maybe even Asia."

"I don't even understand what you'll be doing," Sam had mumbled darkly, bitterly watching Jake's fingers trace over imaginary waves in the yellowed sea on the paper, charting routes he was yet to go on. Without them.

"We'll be transporting cargo to ports all across the world," Jake had explained proudly, not understanding the disdain that Sam felt towards his sudden career change. "Not every harbor is as drab as this one. There are really wonderful ones, and I want to see them all."

"It isn't that drab here," Sam had argued weakly, even though he wholeheartedly agreed that their town was the poster child for sad, salty, seasick ports. "Just work on the docks that sail to Canada and Greenland if you want to get on a ship so bad. You could be home for Christmas if you wanted."

There was a moment of silence when Sam leaned back against the wall sullenly, crossing his arms and glaring at Jake. Jake couldn't look him in the eye, instead choosing to slowly roll the map up and secure it with a little slip of ribbon as Sam huffed and bit back any tears that threatened to rise to the surface. The whole house was quiet in that moment, every room empty of noise and joy, Josh having long grown silent since Jake had broke the news over dinner and caused Josh to immediately retreat to his room with a slam of the door. The air had grown thick and cloudy since the words had left Jake's mouth, and as he watched his lanky little brother suddenly shrink very small on the bed he'd slept on since he was a child, Jake fully understood just what his absence was going to do to his family.

"I need to do this, Sammy," Jake had pleaded with his brother, scooting closer to Sam on the bed and putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back before you even care that I'm gone."

"I care now," Sam had whispered, shrugging away from Jake's touch and turning away.

It had been the truth. And it was still the truth two years later, after months of letters that came few and far between, and random parcels that came in the mail containing garments made of soft, dyed fabric that Josh snuck into every outfit and hair oils that had made Sam's awkward, choppy bob grow into glossy, walnut waves that he wove into plaits and loose buns to keep out of his face at work. These little gifts he sent from his travels were nice to have around, but they couldn't make up for Jake's substantial absence in their lives. As he got out of bed and dressed in the hazy peach light streaming through his thin curtains, Sam looked at the map hung crookedly on his wall and wondered where Jake's ship was docked now.

"Jake wouldn't drag me to the bar on a fucking Sunday," Sam murmured to himself in his mirror as he pulled a comb through his hair and twisted it into a loose, wavy ponytail that swung nearly to his lower back. Just a moment too late, he heard his brother's footsteps out in the hall, and hoped in vain he didn't hear what he had said so close to his only partially closed door.

"Yes, he would!" Josh called from right outside the door as he passed by, knocking on it with an enthusiasm that seemed completely unwarranted for the time of day. "Lighten up, Sammy, we only have a few chairs to fix. It'll be nice and easy for you, Mister Cranky."

"You always say that!" Sam called back, smacking the door and hearing Josh's donkey bray of a laugh move into their small kitchen, followed by the familiar clatter of the kettle and the other sounds that Josh put into motion to bring the house back to life for the coming day.

Sam looked back at himself in the mirror, tugging on the lavender skin under his drooping lower lashes and pale waterline, taking only a second to dwell on any thoughts outside of getting through the day before he braced himself and headed out the door.

As predicted, a few chairs to be fixed turned into a couple of barstools that needed tightening, a window pane that needed to be replaced, a floorboard that needed to be hammered back into place, glass shards that somehow went unnoticed from a minor brawl two nights prior needing to be swept up, and Sam being sent on an errand to find a vendor open on Sundays selling oranges. By the time Josh called it quits for the day, the sun was already starting to start its journey back down under the horizon line, much to Sam's dismay. He could barely keep his temper under wraps as Josh circled the bar one last time, letting his honey brown gaze rest a moment longer than necessary on every square inch of the place.

"This is insane, Josh, let's go," Sam hissed, trying not to claw into the doorframe as he attempted not to bolt. "There is absolutely no need for this level of astuteness unless you're expecting the goddamn Queen of England to pop by for a visit."

"You never know when a special guest might grace us," Josh said mysteriously, wiggling his eyebrows while he locked up the maintenance closet.

"Nobody even comes on Monday nights," Sam continued to whine. "You're prepping for three drunks and some mice."

"Maybe I'm just trying to set an example for the level of care this place deserves," Josh explained in his even, oh-so-wise tone that Sam hated. "This place will be yours someday, you know."

"Yes, I know, and your ghost will still find a way to micro manage it."

"I'll be great for business," Josh grinned, finally turning down the lamp and clicking the key into place. "Sailors love a ghost story."

"It was a dark and stormy night when the young master Kiszka broke free of his cruel, domineering eldest brother and slayed him in his sleep," Sam crooned in a spooky voice as he took the lead down the street back to their little house.

"You'd never get the chance," Josh scoffed.

Sam continued on with his dramatic tale of how his brother's ghost went on to curse his bar for all eternity and sent him spiraling into madness, with Josh contributing his own details where he saw fit as he trailed him. Right before it went out of sight, Sam cast a look back at the bar, sitting squat and dark against the lilac sky, wondering if what made him detest it so much might be the same thing that made Josh fuss over it so much.

The following night, Sam's expectation of a slow night was more than lived up to. By the time 9pm rolled around, Caravel had been graced by a whopping 2 patrons, who had only lingered for about an hour before leaving Josh and Sam to awkwardly sit around and flick coins at each other.

Sam was able to read his brother's moods pretty well, and as he watched Josh stacking silver coins in a pyramid at the other end of the bar, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with him. He kept glancing at the door and his usually steady fingers had a slight tremble to them, which caused the coin pyramid to shift and slide to a clattering mess on the wood, making Josh cuss and scoop them back into his palm.

"Hey, brother of mine," Sam prodded gently as Josh occupied himself with spinning a quarter like a top. "How are you?"

Josh tossed him a weird look, laughing slightly as he straightened to admire his growing army of spinning coins.

"I'm peachy, baby," Josh chuckled, knitting his brows. "And yourself?"

"Good, good," Sam said absently. "You know, if something's bothering you, I'm here to talk."

"Sammy, nothing's the matter," Josh insisted as if it was the silliest thing in the world, but he said it a little too fast. "Seriously. All is well in the house of Kiszka."

"I don't believe you," Sam said lazily, resting his face in his hands as he stared his brother down.

"Well, I can't help that, now can I?" Josh teased, rolling one of his coins towards Sam. "Let's see how many of these we can spin at once."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to be able to get anything more out of Josh but still watching him out of the corner of his eye as they worked together to set the glimmering surface of the bar ablaze with a ballet of dancing silver coins.

Around midnight, they had managed to accrue a small group of women in the back corner and a few more men at the bar, keeping them only slightly more busy than they had been in the empty bar. Sam, bored out of his mind, stepped away for a moment to "check inventory". This thorough "check" consisted of Sam slipping out the back door and taking a moment to breathe in the sweet, summery air. The chill coming off the ocean gave it a cold, salty bite, and Sam breathed it in gratefully through his nose as he slipped a cigarette and lighter out of his apron pocket. The cigarette, purchased secretly from the general store's quiet cashier, lit up quickly and was slowly inhaled, the herbs and tobacco mingling deliciously with the night air in Sam's senses. He tipped his head back and let loose a billowy stream of smoke into the dark sky, watching a moth sail through it on its way to the streetlight a few doors down. Josh would absolutely kill Sam if he knew he was smoking, so Sam had to sneak them in his rare moments completely alone. He was going to save it for a busy night when he'd really need it, but Sam couldn't help but give in to temptation. He closed his eyes and took in another long, slow drag, listening to the sizzle of the paper and the unmistakable, jovial noises of a group of sailors making their way down the street in front of the bar.

'Oh, boy, here we go,' Sam thought begrudgingly, hearing the muffled shouts and laughs enter the bar through the door to his back. Surprisingly, he heard Josh's voice ring out the loudest, making some kind of announcement and laughing. Josh was loud, of course, but he wasn't one to command a room when there were customers just coming in. Sam took a few more hits before dropping the cigarette and crushing it underfoot, putting his ear to the door curiously as he listened further. Josh's voice seemed to layer over itself alongside the unfamiliar voices that had just come in, and Sam furrowed his brow as he tried to figure out what he was hearing.

"SAM!"

"Fuck, shit," Sam whispered to himself, readjusting his apron and swinging around to open the door, stumbling back inside and powerwalking his way through the back and out into the open expanse of the bar.

"There he is," Josh grinned brightly, his face completely alight. He was, for once, out from behind the bar and mixed amongst the sailors cluttering the front of the bar. Sam suddenly questioned if his assumption that they were sailors was even correct, judging from their casual, loose fitting clothes that varied in style. Usually the sailors that passed through their town were decked out in the traditional, matching garb with plain stripes and jaunty hats. But, still, Sam couldn't shake the feeling that these were sailors of some sort of caliber. He approached, turning on his cute waiter charm and flashing a warm smile, only for it to fall a moment later when he caught sight of who exactly Josh was standing with his arm around.

"Got a drink handy for an old seafarer?"

"Jake?" Sam blurted in disbelief, adrenaline seizing his every sense as he tossed his tray haphazardly towards the bar and threw his arms around his brother, who clapped him on the back with a genuine and utterly Jake laugh. "Holy shit, I thought it was Josh I was hearing. What, I mean, oh my God, you're here, what the hell!"

"Good lord, Sam, since when do you swear like a sailor?" Jake exclaimed good-naturedly. "That's supposed to be my sort of thing."

"You should hear the shit he says, I tell you," Josh interjected. He was absolutely beaming, radiating joy from the tips of his curls down to his loafers in a way that should've projected the shimmer of sunlight's pure heat. Sam knew how much he had missed his twin, and now that they were back together again, it felt like something in Josh had slid back into its rightful place. Standing right next to each other, Sam was able to properly assess just how different Jake looked from the last time he had seen him. When he'd left, Jake's hair had curled up boyishly around his ears, but it now fell in sun kissed and wind tossed waves just above his shoulders. He was sturdier in build, with muscles built from lugging cargo on and off ships. He also sported some sparse facial hair and the biggest, ugliest hoop earring Sam had ever seen. Jake was lucky that Sam was too overwhelmed with emotion to make a comment about it, even when they hugged again and Sam felt it brush against his neck, causing him to choke down a giggle as Jake started one of his rambles.

"You wouldn't believe the weather we had to get through to make it here," Jake said, throwing his palms up dramatically. "Rain like knives the whole way. I thought it was gonna cut through the sails but thanks to some expert direction from yours truly, we made it in record time."

"So, what, you're a captain now?" Sam asked, slightly in awe.

"Sure am," Jake announced, pride dripping off him as he tipped his chin up and smoothed down his shirt. "A lot has happened since I've been out to sea."

"And you never thought to mention it in any of your letters?"

"Didn't seem fair to brag."

"Oh, get over yourself," Sam scoffed with a smile. "We've been pretty damn successful here without you. We're the talk of the town."

"Really? I didn't hear anything when I was showing the boys around town tonight, did we, boys?" Jake spoke to the crowd around them, and Sam startled slightly at their muddled replies and laughs as he remembered that it wasn't just him and his brothers alone in this space they had grown up in.

"When we had dinner tonight, did any of you hear about the ol' Caravel?" Jake teased, slinging an arm around Sam and pulling him down to his height, mussing his hair. "Any talk of sweet Brandy?"

"Shut up!" Sam cried, trying to wiggle out of Jake's surprisingly strong grip, his face flushing as the men around them erupted into raucous laughter and whistles. He finally released him, Sam immediately straightening and brushing his hair out with his fingers with a huff as Josh covered a smile with his hand and Jake laughed.

"You're the worst," Sam declared in true youngest sibling fashion. "You can make your own drinks tonight, how about that?"

"It would be my pleasure," Jake invited warmly, and from the genuine twinkle in his eye, Sam could tell he meant it.

"Don't you fuck up my bar, Jacob," Josh said seriously, jabbing his finger at his twin as Jake happily made his way behind the counter. "We did all this cleaning and organizing for you, you know."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam exclaimed, putting the pieces together as he glared down Josh, who immediately turned sheepish under Sam's sharp gaze. "You knew he was coming back? That's why you were being so weird? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought it would be a fun surprise," Josh explained meekly. "I still think it was."

"You're unbelievable," Sam sneered, secretly very touched by the gesture. "If I had known it was just Jake, I would've left some of that glass out on the floor."

"Cruel!" Jake cried from his spot behind the bar, where he was now dutifully pouring drinks for his crew, who were only now starting to settle. "It's not just me, it's my men, too. Wouldn't want them getting hurt, now would we?"

Sam didn't reply, simply smiling innocently and turning back to grab his tray to tend to the sailors who had taken seats at tables. He didn't remember exactly where it had ended up landing in his tackling of Jake. He looked around the shoulders of the burly men who had conveniently gathered around the spot on the bar he figured he must have set it down, but didn't see it anywhere.

Behind him, the jukebox started up, a high instrumental starting to swing out over the crowd inside the Caravel. Sam turned towards the sound instinctually, and blinked in shock when he saw his tray resting atop the jukebox, sitting casually beside the tall man facing the jukebox. Sam approached the tray thief, sidling around his strong frame and preparing himself to have to argue with whoever this kleptomaniac was. Instead, Sam found himself freezing up when he caught sight of the man's profile.

His eyes, cast down and shadowed by dark, stern brows and long lashes, tracked the song listings as his long, calloused fingers ghosted the dials. His hair was as long as Jake's and fell in smoky ringlets that swayed against his broad shoulders. His nose was handsomely aquiline, and Sam realized that he was close enough to see a peppering of freckles across it. He swallowed thickly and prayed that he hadn't been standing there too long, suddenly unaware of how much time had passed since he had first started looking at the stranger. Sam decided to break himself out of his brief funk by reaching up and snatching the tray off of the jukebox, the flimsy metal making a racket that made the jukebox man jump slightly and turn to Sam with wide eyes.

"That's my tray," Sam announced, staring him down. There was a short pause, a smile creeping onto the man's face as his gaze softened.

"You're Brandy," he finally said, his small smile stretching into a full, charming smile that was crooked in the way Sam had only ever read about. Sam flushed, his ears going hot as he gripped the tray tightly and curled his lip.

"It's Sam, actually," Sam snapped, wondering why his flustered state was translating as frustration.

"Oh, well, my apologies," the man said sincerely, dipping his head slightly in apology. "That's what the captain called you. I'm Daniel."

"Your captain is my brother, so I wouldn't take anything he says about me at face value," Sam explained, pushing away the thought of what the hell Jake told his crew he was like, if he talked about him and Josh at all. He must have. He was too much of a sap not to.

Daniel laughed, and Sam flinched at the sound. He didn't know why, it was a nice laugh.

"Don't worry, he speaks very highly of you," Daniel affirmed, and Sam was annoyed to find himself physically relaxing. Did he really care what a bunch of sailors thought of him? "You don't look how I pictured, though."

"Oh?" Sam barked out an awkward laugh. "What did you think I'd look like?"

Daniel shrugged, his hair shifting enough to reveal hoops in his ears similar to Jake's. He did a dramatic look up and down of Sam, which made him go hot in the face again as Daniel's eyes finally rested on his own.

"He always described you as, I don't know, like a squirrely little brother," Daniel remarked, gesturing vaguely at Sam. "Messy hair, snotty nose. Which is definitely not you."

"You're strange," Sam replied, meaning it.

"You're pretty."

Sam froze as he had when he had first approached Daniel, every muscle tensing up as his mouth snapped shut. Daniel stood there smiling at him like he hadn't said a word.

"I'm working," Sam countered nervously, turning away and then turning back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Daniel echoed, looking back down at the jukebox. "Brandy."

Sam tossed a silent glare at him before hurrying away, quickly distracting himself with fetching rounds for the nearby tables occupied by Daniel's crewmates.

'What the fuck was that?' Sam kept thinking to himself as he bustled around for the next hour, far too aware that Daniel was still somewhere in this space with him. It wasn't that he had made Sam uncomfortable...it was something else entirely. He couldn't put words to it, and it frustrated him.

"You're a pistol tonight, Sammy," Jake commented as Sam came sailing back to the bar for the 3rd time in the past 10 minutes, clearing his tray and stocking it with a fresh round of clean glasses. "I knew me being here would renew your zest for work."

"You're a hoot, Jakers," Sam said dryly, both of them exchanging mocking faces as Jake poured up Sam's new round. "Your friends are something else."

"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" Jake responded proudly, casting a look out over the bar at his men. "Make any friends yet? I talk about you and Joshy every chance I get, you should know. These boys all think you two are the bees knees. Brother of the Year goes to me, thank you."

"Daniel told me about that," Sam replied coolly. "The talking about us, not you being Brother of the Year. Not sure you've earned that one, Mr. Runaway."

"Ah, Daniel," Jake smirked, shaking his head with a mysterious smile. "I love that guy. Damn good when it comes to heavy lifting and rigging. Did you get a look at those tree trunk arms of his?"

"I can't say I did," Sam muttered, lying.

"He's a strong fellow. His talents are much appreciated. He also happens to be a complete sweetheart. If you're gonna actually try and befriend any of these fuckers, he's probably your best bet."

"Noted," Sam replied quickly as Jake poured the last drink. "I'll be back in a second."

"Take your time!" Jake encouraged, pushing Sam back out into the fray. "Go say hi to Daniel for me!"

Sam didn't honor Jake's request until after 3am, when Josh had finally taken back control of the bar and insisted Jake and his crewmates get moving so they could clean up.

"Tell me they're not staying in our house," Josh muttered to Jake as the three of them huddled behind the bar, pretending to be busy as the sailors all gathered up their coats and drunkenly stumbled their way to the entrance. "You promised. We only have the three rooms and our living room is certainly not up to code for sailor folk."

"I've booked them week-long stays at the inn, don't even worry about it," Jake insisted in a whisper. "I sure hope I'm allowed the privilege to sleep in my own bed."

"Of course, idiot," Josh smiled, smacking Jake's arm. "Your bed is still how you left it."

"You're only here for a week?" Sam questioned, his stomach sinking as reality shook the seeming eternity of this odd night.

"I'm afraid so, pipsqueak," Jake affirmed, his tone weak but his voice far too laced with whiskey to effectively communicate any kind of genuine sadness.

Sam stared into the glass he was halfheartedly wiping and held back everything he wanted to say. He wished he could say anything about how it wasn't fair to the family for Jake to leave for so long, or how the almost complete lack of communication was even less fair, or how much easier it would be for him to just stay. But Jake was drunk, and it was late, and it just wasn't worth it, so Sam just mumbled an "okay" and stacked the glass.

"You know," Sam started to say, faltering slightly when both of them looked at him expectantly. "Josh, why don't you just go back with Jake and I'll finish up here. I don't think he can make it back by himself, and I doubt he's kept hold of his house key since leaving."

"Aw, Sammy, you don't have to," Josh pushed back, putting an appreciative hand on Sam's slight shoulder. "I think he can make his way."

"I'm standing right here," Jake interjected, swaying only slightly as he leaned forward. "I can give input. My input is I'm completely fine to walk the 5 minutes home."

"And you have your key?"

Jake paused, his glassy eyes darting around in space as he thought, gently moving to pat his pockets.

"He does not," Josh said to Sam alone, his tired features raising in devilish amusement.

"No, he does not," Sam agreed as they watched Jake turn away slightly to dig in his pockets some more.

"Still here," Jake piped up again, finally giving up on his key search. "But, yes, it would seem I've misplaced them. But I can wait outside. It's not even that cold and I got some fire in my belly to keep me warm."

"People are going to think you're a vagrant, Jake, no," Sam argued, waving his brothers away. "Josh, take him home. Both of you, get some sleep for once. I'll lock up and see you in the morning."

"Are you sure, Sammy?" Josh asked again, looking at him with a little too much concern. "I'm not saying I don't think you can, I'm just-"

"Get out!" Sam insisted, grabbing both of them by the shoulder and spinning them to face away from him. "And stay out! Follow the crowd, little fish, swim away. I'll be fine, I can handle putting up chairs and mopping."

"Fine, fine, sheesh," Josh giggled, wrestling Sam away from him and slinging a rough arm around Jake, hauling him towards the last few men trailing out the door. "You take care of my baby! And get home quick!"

"Bite me!" Sam replied cheerfully, waving them away with his rag like he was waving off a ship.

"Good to see you again, Sam! I love you!" Jake called loudly, despite being only a few feet away.

"I love you too, you drunk!"

"Aw!" Jake blew him a kiss, causing Josh to cackle and start up an unheard conversation as they opened the door in identical hand slaps and slipped out into the cool, dark night.

Sam turned his back to the door, slinging the rag in his hand over the spigot of the sink and sliding the tub of dirty dishes into the basin, letting the water run from cool to warm to soak them. He looked into the full length mirror that Josh had tipped sideways in front of the sink and just under the first shelf of bottles, grimacing slightly at the dark circles continuing to grow under his eyes and the state of the flyaways that had fallen from the ponytail he'd thrown up around 1am. Sam leaned in closer, pulling the ribbon from his hair and letting it fall in a shiny curtain, smoothing it back with his damp fingers. Something fluttered in the mirror, causing Sam to squint and look into the slightly warped and smudged glass, catching sight of something dark behind him. He straightened with a jolt and spun on his heel, brandishing the silk ribbon as if it could do anything to protect him against an intruder.

Instead, he found Daniel wandering around by the door, watching him with that same gentle smile he'd given him before. Sam's heart had raced when he'd seen something behind him, but now it was just about ready to slam a gory hole through his chest and escape.

"Oh, my God," Sam wheezed, clutching his chest to hold his heart in. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't mean to," Daniel said with a chuckle, his long legs delivering him to the bar. "I was worried we got off on the wrong foot and wanted to rectify that."

"And you figured waiting in the corner like a silent specter until I was alone was the perfect solution to starting up a jolly ol' friendship?" Sam teased, annoyance lacing his voice with no real venom behind it. "I stand behind when I said you were strange."

"And I stand behind what I said after you said that," Daniel doubled down, leaning onto the bar and meeting Sam's eye, which Sam tried to hold with a nervous swallow.

"Oh, is that why you stayed?" Sam laughed weakly, turning away from Daniel to start on properly washing the dishes. "I don't know what kind of guy you think I am, but I'm not like that."

"No, no, that's not..." Daniel sighed, and Sam watched him lean his head against his hand in the mirror for a brief moment before looking up again, watching the back of Sam's head. "I'm fucking blowing this, huh?"

"Pretty much," Sam agreed with a smile, his cheeks warming. "You really haven't talked to anybody outside of your crewmates for a while, hm?"

"No," Daniel mumbled dejectedly, and Sam bit his lip to prevent a giggle from escaping.

"I can tell."

There was a minute of quiet between them, the only sound being the motion of the water in the sink and the dishes clinking together as Sam rinsed them and wiped them down haphazardly.

"Do you want help? I can dry."

Sam looked over his shoulder in surprise at the offer. Daniel looked sincere, so Sam nodded slightly and motioned for him to join him behind the bar. Now that they were standing right next to each other, Daniel's towering height and body heat were dizzying in Sam's peripheral as he struggled to keep his hands steady in the soapy water. Daniel dutifully took the ratty drying towel and gently dried off the glasses and plates as Sam handed them to him, both of them working in tense silence. Sam's mind spun as they fell into rhythm, wondering once again just what the hell was going on tonight.

They were done in a quick 10 minutes, with Daniel drying the last dish with a flourish and training his blinding smile on Sam, who returned it with much less fervor.

"What next?" Daniel asked brightly. Sam just looked at him for a second, squinting his eyes in confusion as he stared up at the kindly giant who was apparently more than ready for chores.

"Dude, we're closed," Sam explained. "And you don't work here. You're lucky I let you stay this long. You don't have to be here."

"I know, but I want to be," Daniel explained right back. "And you're lucky to have some company. So, what's next?"

"Uh," Sam stuttered, utterly flummoxed by Daniel. "Well, I was going to put the chairs up so I can mop."

"Okay, why don't you get the mopping stuff and I'll put the chairs up?"

"Well-"

It was too late for any kind of response because Daniel had already started shimmying out from behind the bar and making his way over to the sea of tables that had been knocked around and moved all night, straightening them up and effortlessly lifting chairs with a single hand and sitting them gently on the wood. Sam hesitated for only a minute, watching Daniel work to a tune he had started humming, absently wringing his cold hands before wiping them on his apron and shuffling off to the maintenance closet to pull out the mop and bucket. By the time he had wrangled them out, Daniel had managed to get every chair off the ground, allowing Sam to flop the old mop onto the hardwood and start pushing clean water across it.

"Careful or I'm going to mop you into a corner," Sam threatened, starting towards Daniel with the mop. Daniel yelped in mock fear, backing away dramatically with his hands up. Sam let his front fall for a moment at seeing Daniel play along so easily, smiling as he lifted the mop off the ground and held it out towards Daniel, swinging a spray of floor water towards the sailor. Daniel yelped for real then, laughing as he tip toed his way back towards the bar, perching on one of the bolted down stools as Sam snickered to himself, continuing his mopping route.

"You're a beast with that thing," Daniel encouraged, kicking his leg up onto the stool and resting his cheek against his knee. "How long have you been a mopping prodigy?"

"Well, I've been the designated mopper since I was 12, so about 10 years now," Sam said, and Daniel let out a low whistle.

"I'm surprised they started you on it that late. Did you do any work here before that?"

"Some," Sam offered, redipping the mop. "More cleaning stuff. I couldn't serve until after we inherited it, so I had sort of a late start on that front."

"Jake told us about that." Daniel paused. "I'm sorry about your parents."

"It's alright," Sam answered immediately, the response mechanical after so many years of sentiments. He couldn't even begin to delve back into the emotions their accident brought. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Another lull, save for the sound of water.

"My folks bit it, too."

Sam's grip on the mop shifted and he had to fight it from falling over, looking over to Daniel at the bar, whose face was still chipper despite his statement.

"Same thing too, actually," Daniel continued, his hand tracing the motion of waves. "Spot of bad weather on a trip and down they went. The sea is a merciless mistress."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that," Sam stammered, shocked at how blasé Daniel was about such a trauma, especially considering how much he could relate.

"As you said, it's alright, and thank you," Daniel grinned, nuzzling his cheek into his knee further. "I forgave her."

"Her?"

"The sea," Daniel explained, his eyes twinkling slightly. "She can't help but do what she does. Sometimes it means getting a little rough and taking a few of our own. She can't stop it, and neither can I. All I can do is try and bend to her ever changing will."

"Sounds like you two have a complicated relationship," Sam joked as he mopped himself back towards the maintenance closet. Daniel laughed and he nearly bowed under the weight of it, instead gripping the sweat slick handle of the mop a little tighter.

"Maybe we do," Daniel laughed, watching Sam with a fierce grin. "But I love it. She's my life, my lover, my lady."

"Is that so?" Sam leaned the mop back inside the closet, taking advantage of the door shielding him from seeing Daniel for a second. "Then what are you doing here with a landlubber like me?"

There was no reply, forcing Sam to close the door and make eye contact with Daniel again, who was still staring at him with that frustratingly ever present smile ghosting his rosy lips.

"Because I'm going to need someone to hang out with while I'm here," Daniel said simply. "And Jake told me you're my best bet."

Sam couldn't help but let an inappropriately timed laugh escape then, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and crossing his arms.

"Jake, you bitch," he spoke to the sky. "He said the same damn thing to me tonight."

"Ha! He's never struck me as the matchmaker type," Danny chuckled. "What a sly dog."

"I wouldn't call it matchmaking," Sam protested, bending to lift the mop bucket and struggling to get it off the ground, flushing in embarrassment. In a flash, Daniel was on his feet and in front of Sam, taking the bucket from him and carrying it like it was a glass of water.

"I would," Daniel argued back. "Where do you need this?"

"Uh, the sink," Sam replied meekly, waving towards the sink. "If you get it there, I can dump it."

"Don't bother, I got it," Daniel insisted, strolling over to the sink and tipping the gray, foamy water down the drain. "Come on, you're not going to let me take you out?"

"I already told you, I'm not that kind of guy," Sam doubled down, tucking hair behind his ear as he watched Daniel shake the last of the water out. "Gimme that."

"I suppose you'll want this back too?"

Daniel held the bucket aloft and in his same curled hand, Sam's silk hair ribbon hung down, the longest bit of lilac thread nearly grazing the inside of the bucket. Sam let an involuntary quiet gasp fly, feeling his cheeks flush once again as he stomped towards Daniel, reaching out for the bucket and ribbon. Daniel held it even higher then, giggling down at Sam as he stood on his tiptoes and struggled for his things.

"You're a fucking kleptomaniac, you know that, right?" Sam hissed in frustration. "It's a disease, and buddy, you have it tenfold."

"One date, that's all I ask," Daniel cooed. "Jake said you'd be tough, so I came prepared to wear you down."

"Jake said what?!"

"He saaaaid,'' Daniel began, lifting the bucket and ribbon even higher when Sam made a springing jump for them, grabbing desperately. "That his little brother was a sweetheart pretending to be a real tough cookie and in desperate need of a date."

"Lies and slander," Sam seethed. "Jake was lying through his teeth to prank you. You've been pranked. Now bite the bullet and give me my things back, please!"

"Mm, no, see, he said you'd say something like that," Daniel hummed, backing up against the bar as Sam stalked closer. "He said there were few things you'd be unable to resist and that I had the most of those qualifications out of our crew. Therefore, I was deemed the lucky fellow tasked with treating you right."

"Oh, really? And what are these alleged traits I find so irresistible?"

"He said you were a sucker for dark hair," Daniel smiled, cocking his head so his glossy curls swung around his flushed face. "Especially curly hair. He said you like freckles, and green eyes, but most of all you like someone who can handle your attitude."

Sam stood there silently, his heart pounding in his ears as he attempted to glare a hole through the center of Daniel's head.

"You don't have green eyes," Sam pointed out, his voice still dark with frustration. "And I can barely see your freckles."

"But you admit I'm doing a good job of handling your attitude."

"Stop putting fucking words in my mouth!"

"Stop fighting me and admit you're enjoying yourself!" Daniel crowed, the bucket swinging happily over his head. "You already like having me around. I'm charming, and I'm useful, and I'll pay for your dinner."

They stared each other down, inches apart, Sam's already burnt out brain churning desperately to make sense of the situation and figure out how to proceed with such a relentless prick holding him up like this. Finally, he dropped back down to the balls of his feet and let his arms rest at his side, letting out a furious huff through his nose and walking away from Daniel.

"Keep them, I could give a fuck," Sam declared. "I'm going the fuck home. Get the fuck out."

Daniel laughed again, and Sam could've strangled him for it. He heard the clank of the bucket hitting the floor and then the soft tread of Daniel's footsteps approaching. He drew in a sharp breath when Daniel's arm came around his side and extended the ribbon to him, his palm up as if in surrender.

"At least let me walk you home," Daniel maintained, his voice low and velvet soft. "I don't want any criminals snatching you up on your way."

Sam's hand came up and gently took the ribbon from Daniel, the tips of his finger grazing the warm roughness of his hand and then retreating just as quickly, tucking the ribbon into his pocket. He sighed deeply and looked over his shoulder, trying not to startle physically when he realized how close Daniel was, the front of his dark linen top nearly grazing the curve of Sam's back.

"Get your coat," Sam muttered, stepping out of the near embrace and making his way to the back door. "And stay away from the register."

Daniel laughed as he went back for his corduroy jacket, sneaking a look at the back of Sam's head and graceful figure.

"You really think I'm a lowdown dirty thief, don't you?" Daniel accused, catching up to Sam and opening the door before he got the chance, a gesture which Sam begrudgingly accepted as he stepped out for the second time that night.

"Yes, I do," Sam agreed, all but yanking Daniel out the door and locking the door with a firm click that soothed his soul a little, certain the craziness of the night was locked away with it.

"You have no idea," Daniel murmured mysteriously, dipping down to hum it in Sam's ear. The feeling of his hot breath ghosting the cold shell of his ear sent chills down Sam's neck that made him involuntarily speed up his pace as they walked down the dim, quiet alleyway.

This walk usually took about 10 minutes when he walked with Josh, slowing his speed ever so slightly to account for the gangly legs that Josh simply did not possess. However, with Daniel beside him, Sam arrived at his door in record time, not needing to check the time to know it had been about half his usual time. Daniel had tried a few times to strike up a conversation, but Sam had chosen to satiate him only with simple replies and looks, far too worn out to put up with his relentless cheer any longer.

"Well, this is me," Sam said with finality, pulling his keys out again and giving Daniel a polite smile. "Thank you for walking me home, it was nice to meet you."

"Of course," Daniel replied, his eyes tracing over Sam's face as Sam quietly slid the key into the lock and opened the door a crack. Before Sam could get inside and finally wind down for the night, Daniel reached out and grasped his arm with gentle force, turning Sam ever so slightly towards him.

"Listen, before I go," Daniel began, his perky expression fading ever so slightly into a calmer look Sam couldn't quite read, his features softened by the hazy moonlight. "I know I've been a lot, and I know you probably don't care for me very much, but I really would like to take you to dinner tomorrow."

Sam let out a long, heavy sigh, looking longingly towards the door. Once inside, he would be able to fall into his nice, warm, comfy bed and just sleep. He could even sleep in if he wanted to, and then in the morning, he would get to hang out with his brother, whom he hadn't seen in 2 full years. But here he was, being tugged on by an aggressively cheerful sailor, who was also aggressively into him. Standing on worn, tired legs, in the cold, in the dead of night. There was only one thing standing between him and that sleep he was fantasizing about.

"Sure," Sam finally agreed, shifting awkwardly to accommodate the grin that burst onto Daniel's face at the affirmation. "If it'll get you off my doorstep."

"Wonderful," Daniel said, his smile bleeding into his voice. "Meet me at the pub by the inn at 5 tomorrow. I'll have you back before your shift starts."

"How do you know when-"

"Have a good night," Daniel cut him off, patting Sam's shoulder before spinning on his heel and setting off towards the inn, whistling the jukebox tune he'd played earlier in the night as Sam watched his dark form bounce away.

Sam waited until he was out of sight to release the tension he'd been holding in his chest in the form of a fast, hot huff of breath, bracing himself against the doorway as he took in another drink of cool air and tried to stave off the perplexing dizzying feeling that overcame him. He entered his house as quietly as he could and shut the door firmly behind him, his fingertips shaking from the adrenaline that had overcome him and seized every bodily motion with uncomfortable velocity. Clenching and unclenching his fists in an attempt to get it out of his system, Sam silently padded by Josh's room, listening only for a second before he heard the soft and unmistakable rattle of the snoring his brother claimed not to do. Next, he stopped in front of Jake's door, finding it ajar and peeking in to see him curled up on top of the blanket and sheets, one of his comically large wide brimmed hats sat crookedly on his head and tipped over his face. Sam went to shut the door but stopped halfway, recalling a memory of Jake tossing a shoe at his head when they were much younger, bitching to keep the door open because he "needed the air". Sam left it open, and retreated to his room.

Sam immediately collapsed on the edge of his bed, slipping his shoes off and ridding himself of his shirt and pants in a flurry of motion, rolling over with a grunt and taking the blanket with him. He faced the wall for a few minutes, trying to steady his breathing so he could dip into the sleep he so desperately craved, but his eyes didn't close and his mind didn't slow to allow unconsciousness. He turned so he was laying on his back, pulling the covers over his bare chest and staring up at the blank ceiling, trying to clear his mind.

It was around 5am when Sam finally got his shut eye, sinking back into his thin pillow with his lips parted, the darkness outside starting to lift with the first flickers of morning light. It had only taken an hour of tossing, turning, and indulging in the relentless parade of images flickering against his eyelids, counting the freckles on the strange sailor's nose until he drifted away.

~~~

#this is my baby fr #shes been screaming at me to get out of my damn google docs #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #myart #karoufiction #greta van fleet fanfiction

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