#j.siegenthaler|71

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dougie continues rattling off questions as they walk, mostly about the guy from Santé, how Dawson knew him, and how both of them got injured. Dawson, for his part, keeps on avoiding the questions, throwing back curt responses mostly amounting to "tell you later". In the halls of the ship, they pass Smitty, who ducks quickly out of the way as soon as he spots Dawson, not eager to be yelled at. The pilot shoots a questioning glance forward, which his mate receives and replies to with a shrug.

It doesn't take them long to get to the captain's quarters. Dougie knocks on the door twice and lets himself in, looking between the people inside with a healthy dose of confusion. Siegs lies diagonally on the couch, one arm draped languidly on the headrest. He lifts his head to nod to the pilot as the latter steps into the room but averts his calculating gaze from Dawson as he follows Dougie inside. Marino perches on the chair Dawson had been in, his black coat draped over his lanky frame unceremoniously (and perhaps a size too wide as well, giving the impression of a small child drowning in his father's clothes). He fidgets with the golden cross around his neck. It makes something in Dawson's shoulder hitch, on guard.

And then there's Arber, who leans against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. Arber, who's being quiet, who's watching.

"Quartermaster?" Dougie scratches at the back of his neck. "My apologies for the delay..."

Siegs hums at him, pulling himself up to a sitting position, still sideways on the couch, legs dangling off one of the armrests. "We were just having a nice conversation," he dismisses. "No worries."

He was asking the surgeon about you, the connection crackles as Arber shoots a message through it, the alien pirate tugging his tricorne down on his head again, even as Marino clucks his tongue at him disapprovingly because of the bandages that could be disrupted.

Dawson thinks he's beginning to get the hang of this talking-without-talking thing now. What did he say?

He was pressing the surgeon for details. Asked if he noticed any mental deficiencies. Arber glances down to the floor. His words, not mine. The surgeon - John, I think? - said he noticed you weren't very comfortable at all. Especially at the bloodletting thing. For what it's worth, he said I should as well.

A shiver runs through Dawson's spine at the mention of that. Do your Voices get weird about it too?

Arber sighs through the connection, not responding to that question - he snaps his gaze upwards to Dougie. "I really should be going," he mutters, offering a smile to the room. "I can't thank you enough - and I'll give Suzu your regards and message."

Dougie takes two steps back, through the doorway, allowing Arber to step out. Marino calls after him, "Be sure not to expose it!"

"I won't!" Arber promises back.

And Dawson stands there, stuck between two wrong choices. He can't leave with Dougie and Arber - Siegs wouldn't really be able to say anything right now, but he would definitely get mad at him when he came back. But on the other hand, there's nowhere he'd rather not be than a room with Jonas and Johnny. He glances behind himself - evaluates his options - and thinks the question into the air for the Voices to chew upon. What now?

[devils-pirate-crew]

"I'm sorry," someone pants, jogging painstakingly to catch up with the others. "Quartermaster," he nods to Siegs over Arber's shoulder, "I had to clean up my station before," a breath, "Following. Pardon my inability to keep our guest - entertained."

Dawson freezes as the curly mop of hair comes into focus. Arber glances over and notices the reaction, the raised baseline of emotions reaching him through their connection.

Siegs smiles at Marino, this time more relaxed. "It's not your fault," he dismisses. "I should have asked someone to be in the room with you two to ensure no unbecoming circumstances."

Marino now fidgets to that, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "That - wasn't necessary," he mumbles. "The patient wished to come here after I'd finished to talk to Captain again..."

Arber nods to this. "Could I wait here for your captain?" he asks, pushing the brim of his hat further down on his head. "I wanted to thank him personally for his kindness..."

"He'll be out for a while," Siegs replies, scratching the back of his neck. "Wouldn't it be better to schedule a meeting for a later time? Perhaps at The Electric Eel?"

The gunner considers it. "I worry our schedules won't coincide again," he admits. "Captain Suzu was hoping for a quick turnaround, as he's headed to New York next - there are a few ships we've caught wind of that'll be in the area to pillage."

Apparently, this was the right thing to say - Jonas's eyes glimmer, deep in thought. "We'd wanted to sell some wares in the city as well," he explains. "Perhaps your Captain and ours should discuss that."

Arber nods, taking the invitation hungrily. "I'd be more than delighted to pass the news along, sir."

Before he can get another word in, Siegs turns pointedly to Johnny, who'd been idling in the background, trying not to seem like he was eavesdropping on the conversation at hand. "Is Dougie awake?"

The surgeon thinks about it before shaking his head. "Haven't seen the Pilot around today, Quartermaster. I assume he's getting his beauty rest." This is punctuated by a snicker.

"Could you go and try to rouse him, then?" Jonas asks. He casts a glance backwards to Dawson, tilting his head. "Or, better - Dawson, go and fetch Dougie."

The pilot's mate scurries up from his seat, saluting with obedience. He slides through the door, past Johnny and Arber, and begins heading towards the forecastle, where he'd be almost sure to find Dougie.

Kid? Seriously, you okay?

Dawson blinks twice, looking back at where Siegs and Marino have struck up a conversation, keeping the other pirate within reach.

I...

He exhales, pulling his shore coat closer to himself.

I'll be okay. You don't have to worry. Sorry.

The automatic part of their connection fizzles out before the last word - Dawson can tell by how the Voices in his head seem less overburdening and a fair bit quieter - but he adds it in anyway.

Just in case Arber can still hear him.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Siegs blinks at Dawson, still a little surprised that he'd lash out like that. The normally confident and self-assured quartermaster seems - cowed, even. As if his plan had fallen apart at the seams - as if the plan was never intended to go here, to this.

At his core, Jonas is a planner. He doesn't speak unless it benefits him; rarely does he engage in conversation for the sake of it. He wanted something from Dawson coming in here, something to happen. Something that apparently he didn't get.

A knock sounds at the door, pulling the two from their tense stalemate. Dawson raises his eyebrows at Siegs expectantly, who sighs, going to get the door. "Yes?" the quartermaster asks outside.

"Just wanted to check by," a very familiar voice replies. "Uh, your surgeon said that the captain's out running errands, so I should talk to you?"

Dawson's head whirls around; he lifts his right hand in a poor approximation of a wave. "Hey," he breathes out, before realizing he probably shouldn't.

Jonas's eyes flicker from the newcomer to the pilot's mate and back. "You're acquainted," he notes.

"You could say that," Arber agrees, reaching up to his cheek before realizing he probably shouldn't.

Siegs narrows his gaze. "I'd prefer it if you weren't." He crosses his arms. "Full offense, but you tried to kidnap him not a full day ago. You're lucky that Nico's too good."

The gunner nods, understanding the general sentiment and deciding not to start shit right now. "I left your surgeon a little bit of payment for his work. Hope that's not a problem." A tickle in the back of Dawson's brain. All good over here?

He glances back down to his lap, fidgeting with the bandages on his hand. Uh... Yeah, I guess.

Felt something wrong from your area. You sure you're okay?

Dawson doesn't know how to reply to that, so he doesn't.

Siegs, meanwhile, tilts his head in evaluation, a few strands of hair escaping his ponytail as he does. "If it's not anything major, I'll allow it. He's doing a service outside of the ship's necessaries, so it's not under the articles and can be remunerated accordingly."

"Alright," Arber offers a smile, then winces as said smile pulls at his dry suture. Two dressings stripe across his cheek, clinging in place and binding the wound shut with a sewn thread going from bandage to bandage, avoiding having to puncture his cheek. "Uh, I'll get going then?"

The quartermaster's gaze flicks back to Dawson, who's pulled himself to the other armrest of the chair and is curled up against it in thought. Then back again to the foreign pirate. "Why don't you hang around here for a minute?" Siegs proposes, clearly not wanting to leave either of them alone. "And when Dougie wakes up, I'll have him escort you?"

Arber considers the offer. "I did promise Slaf I'd be back for lunch, but..."

Kid? You okay?

"Don't worry about it," Jonas smiles, clapping a hand on Arber's shoulder, even if his expression is icy. "Dougie shouldn't be too long."

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson rocks back in the chair, tugging his jacket further onto himself. "You can't - he can't - " He shakes his head.

"He can't what?" Jonas decides to ask after a long, long moment.

"He can't help me. He can't - he can't help me," the pilot's mate repeats, again. His brain feels like it's spinning in a low, lazy circle, tumbling the same few thoughts over and over, as if another round will finally make them make sense, will finally get things straightened out.

Jonas purses his lips, then. He seems to think about this for a moment. "Can anyone help you?"

On instinct, Dawson shakes his head. Then, he remembers, and he nods. Then he shakes his head again. Nods again. Sighs. "I - it's complicated."

"Why don't you tell me what can help you," Siegs drives the bargain, "And we'll see what we can do."

Dawson looks down at the floor again. The captain's room has a nice rug in it, albeit worn from years and years of feet walking on it. Faintly, Dawson recalls Nico telling the crew the history of their ship - the terror the Devil wrought upon the seas for years with its loyal members, how she sailed around the coasts of the world doing as she pleased. And he remembers, too, how the Devil fell from heaven - at the hands of a former friend.

Dawson scuffs the rug with the toe of his boot, chewing on the inside of his lip. It's already puffy and unhappy, and he really should stop aggravating it, but he's never been smart, especially when it comes to self-preservation. "I don't want to talk about it," he decides.

Jonas exhales, somewhat puzzled, before leaning in. "Mercer, we can't help you if you don't tell us how." His expression softens into one of paternal instinct. "I won't tell Nico, or anyone who doesn't absolutely need to know. I'm your quartermaster, remember? You can trust me."

"Yeah," Dawson tosses out sarcastically, "And five minutes ago you were threatening to abandon me." Taking advantage of the quartermaster being stunned into silence, he continues. "Maybe I am fucking crazy, Siegs. Maybe I'm just batshit fucking insane. Maybe I'm a fucking lunatic who needs to be restrained before I hurt anyone else." He pulls his knees up to his chest, the soles of his boots dirtying the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. Ordinarily, Dawson figures, Siegs would be chastising him for it, but right now, he just looks tired and lost.

Jonas blinks at him a few times. "Are you really..?"

"Really what?" he snaps back. "Really fucked up? Really tired of your shit? Really want a place to sleep and not to be fucking bothered all the time by people asking questions they don't want the answers to?" He breathes heavily as he finishes his diatribe, falling further back into the soft material of the chair. "You won't get it even if I told you. Which I won't. Because I know better than to do that."

For his part, Siegs's expression morphs into one of equal parts confusion, hurt, betrayal, and sadness. "...I'm sorry I'm not... trustworthy enough, for you," he adds in after he's sure Dawson's stopped talking. "I just don't know how - "

"You can't." He clicks his tongue, dismissive. "So stop acting like you care."

[devils-pirate-crew]

Jonas continues watching Dawson through narrowed eyes as the latter continues mumbling apologies, almost indistinguishable from each other, some sort of sick and twisted prayer to a God that's forsaken him long ago. The words taste like a house abandoned against itself, like sulfur and salt.

Siegs clears his throat awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. "The articles you signed say that you're bound to this journey until we get back to Prudence. When we're back at our home port, then you're free to go if you so desire." He sighs, reaching behind himself to pull on a starchy white ruffled shirt, his tone shifted from predatory and harsh to soft, even conciliatory. "Mercer, please don't lie to me. Do you want to leave?"

And Dawson would be a liar if he said he'd never considered it - but where would he go? He's not good at anything. He's too old to learn a real trade now, especially with how his left side still fails him some days. He doesn't have a home to go back to either; no dinner awaits him on the table, no lullaby to sing him off to sleep. Those bridges collapsed years ago, under the weight of thousands of gallons of water and the might of the British Empire.

Oh, Dawson hopes they're doing better now that he's gone. He was only causing problems, making everything worse for everyone. When he closes his eyes, he can almost picture it - a drawing of a family with a mom, a dad, a sister, and a brother, and a white space to the side, where the oldest brother had been erased out. Maybe - hopefully - they'd forgotten about him entirely. All the clothes tailored to a younger size, the only thing left scattered memories of a boy who disappeared.

He hopes, for their sake, that they've moved on from ever knowing him, chalked him up as dead. He wouldn't wish the burden of his memory on them or anyone else. He died on a burning ship in a blaze of cannonfire and glory, and that's the end of his story. Anything past that is just wishful thinking.

Dawson Mercer died long ago, as far as the Crown and everyone else is concerned. The only people that know he's still breathing are here, on this ship. Why would he ever let them go?

"No," his voice cracks and breaks on the single syllable as he looks up, locking eyes with Siegs's. "I don't want to go. Please don't - please don't make me - please don't leave me..."

The quartermaster considers this for a moment, then nods. "You have to tell me what's going on, though," he compromises, scooting to the edge of his seat, leaning across the table and taking Dawson's hands in his own. "I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. I want to help you."

But Dawson - Dawson pulls back again. He shakes his head, pressing his palms to his knees, as if they were infected, contaminated, crazy. "You can't help me." He maintains the eye contact, almost eerie, even as Siegs's eyes wander, trying not to look. "Nobody here can help me."

Jonas furrows his brow. "Marino's great at what he does - really, one of the best surgeons we could ask for - "

"He can't help me," Dawson interrupts. "He wants to hurt me. He can't help me."

Siegs merely stares, not sure what else he can even do. And Dawson stares back, some shade of bewilderment in his eyes, carrying a pain he can never confess out loud. The pilot's mate shivers at the thought, at the cold. It was so cold there. He can't go back. He can't.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson swallows sharply. He fidgets with the bandages on his left hand, toying with the knot at the base of his palm.

"You're well aware that malingering on this ship isn't tolerated," Siegs states. "It's in the articles you signed. If you're not doing your part, you won't be getting your share. And if you're not doing your part, trying to get sick just to get out of work, well. You're seriously ill." He taps his head to convey the point across - crazy, crazy, crazy.

Dawson nods, accepting the fact at this point. It's what he is, after all. He can't lie about that, too. His eyes dart to the exit. There's a storm brewing in his chest. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here.

"I don't know what's caused this," the quartermaster gestures with a general hand outwards, tracking Dawson's line of sight with a frown, "Recent change. You've been so much more flighty in the past few weeks. A couple of crewmembers have noticed."

"Who," Dawson finds himself spitting out before he registers it.

"That's not important," Jonas dismisses; then, the corner of his lip curls up in an almost-sadistic smirk. "Unless it is, to you. I wonder why. Angry you've been found out?"

"I - " the pilot's mate grits his teeth, staring into his lap. Despite how loud the Voices are, Siegs's words cut straight through all the noise, a sword pointed at Dawson's heart.

"Is that it?" Siegs's tone drips with false concern. "You need to be the center of attention? This isn't enough for you? So you've devised this whole plan to try to hurt yourself, get yourself good and infected again, and have us all jump around you because you miss being coddled?"

"No, it's not - " Dawson squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, before he's cut off.

"Or is it that you just don't want to be here anymore?" Siegs rails on. "You're done?" He furrows his brow. "Someone told me you want to go back to the Navy. Turn us all in. Is that it? Is that what you want? You're going to forget - you're going to forget how we practically raised you? How Dougie taught you how to read, to write, to calculate distances and track currents? How Sevo showed you the ropes and how to rig them? How Nate - "

"Don't you fucking talk about Nate - or Mikey, either." Dawson's chest burns with something indescribable. "Don't you dare bring them up." His voice wavers.

"Did they give you the idea?" the quartermaster fires back. "And say they're only trying to protect you?"

"No, they - no. No. Don't bring them into this." He balls a fist around the fabric of his shore jacket, letting the fibers scratch his palm. "They did nothing wrong."

"And you did?" Jonas lifts his chin, having found his opening.

Dawson blinks at Siegs for a few moments, and - and a better man than him would speak up about it. Or punch his quartermaster in the face. Or something. Anything. But Dawson - Dawson's not a better man. He's barely a man at all, really. So he just chews on his lip, staring at the doorway. "...I'm sorry."

I'm sorry I wasn't good enough of a son, a brother, a worker, a crewmate, a friend. I'm sorry for these demons that refuse to leave me alone. I'm sorry I wasn't worth the effort to save me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Jonas quirks an eyebrow wordlessly. Dawson's pretty sure he wants him to keep talking, keep apologizing, but he doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," he repeats, as if that'll help the constricting feeling binding his ribcage, squeezing in, or the snippy insults the Voices keep throwing at him - or, at least, he's pretty sure they're insults. What else would they be?

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson pushes himself off the wall, taking a moment to figure out about where he is on the ship before making his way towards the back. The captain's quarters, on the contrary to the sailors' quarters, is located under the quarterdeck, not the forecastle; Dawson figures he'll have a good chance of running into somebody who'll give him something to do if he goes there.

As he reaches the door to the bedroom and raises his hand to knock, the door swings open. Siegs stands there, shirtless, running a comb through his hair. He blinks twice at Dawson before silently stepping back, inviting the pilot's mate inside. Dawson, for his part, sits on one of the rather comfortable chairs close to the entrance, unable to stop himself from spreading out and leaning back into the chair's embrace. Jonas looks at him and rolls his eyes before falling onto the couch across from Dawson, still tugging the comb through his hair.

A moment of quiet passes between the two of them before Siegs speaks. "Tell me the truth, Mercer. What actually happened?"

The pilot's mate leans forward to stop the ringing of the Voices taunting him in his ears. "What do you want me to say?" he asks. Siegs fixes him with an unamused stare; Dawson raises his hands in an innocent gesture. "Okay, okay, look - whatever Arber and Juraj said, they weren't lying." The quartermaster raises an eyebrow and Dawson feels compelled to continue. "Uh, they did find me, a little bit hurt, and took me back to Santé to wrap the stuff up. I kind of fell asleep for a bit, but when I was asleep, apparently their captain - Suzu? - came by and they told him I wasn't there even though I was. They, uh, probably thought they'd get into trouble if they told the truth... So, uh, when I woke up, Arber and Juraj were going to take me back to Jersey Devil and, you know, be done with it, but we stumbled across Woody and Smitty on our way back, and, uh, Woody was drunk and thought they were stealing me... and yeah," Dawson finishes, rather lamely. "They weren't lying, I swear."

Siegs pulls the comb through his hair one last time before tying it in a ponytail, several strands falling out and framing his face. He considers Dawson's story for a bit, then nods. "I see." The quartermaster takes a moment to consider things, then asks, "How did you get hurt?"

"I fell," Dawson glances down at his boots.

"They didn't do anything to you?"

"No."

"You fell?" Jonas repeats.

"Yeah," he nods.

"And you busted up the left side of your face and your left hand?"

"...Yeah," he nods again.

"Marino said the other injury to your face looked like scratches, and repeated. Like you'd been either rubbing your face on rocks... or you'd been purposely irritating your scars."

Dawson looks off to the side. "It wasn't - "

"He says you weren't very cooperative when he was stitching up the cutlass wound, and that you refused further treatment as well." The quartermaster stretches his arms backwards.

"Well, I - "

Siegs lifts an eyebrow, ready to pounce. "Are you trying to get yourself sick so that you won't have to work, Mercer? Is that what it is? Or do you just need to be the center of attention all the time?"

[devils-pirate-crew]

The group eventually arrives at the Jersey Devil, the familiar ship creaking softly in the water. Siegs looks at Woody, who's leaning on his shoulder, only half-conscious; with a sigh, he lifts the gunner bridal-style, heading up the plank connecting the dock to the main deck. Dawson follows two steps behind them, with Smith scurrying aboard some fifteen seconds later and making a break for the forecastle (and sailors' quarters) before the quartermaster can stop him. Siegs notes this with a disapproving roll of his eyes. "Guess I'll deal with both these fucks tomorrow," he mutters, depositing Miles on the deck close to one of the railings. Said fuck merely groans before closing his eyes again and passing out.

"At least he hasn't vomited on you," Dawson points out, still picking at the bandages on his left hand subconsciously.

"And thank God for that," Jonas agrees. "Speaking of God - "

"Marino. Right." The pilot's mate clenches his jaw.

"Let's go." Siegs opens the hatch and gestures into the ship with his head before going down inside. Dawson follows - there's not much he can do but follow - and walks behind Jonas as he breezes through the hallway, stopping at a door close to the stern of the ship and knocking. "Johnny!"

The man in question inside groans, clearly not amused at having been interrupted. "Come in," he sighs.

Dawson pushes the door open, ignoring how his hand shakes. It's fine, he tries to tell himself. It's just like asking him for a compress for a mild headache. Nothing is wrong. "Hey," he scuffs a boot in the doorway. "Uh, got hurt."

John Marino, the surgeon for the Jersey Devil, looks at him with narrowed eyes. He sits at a table in the corner of the medical room, reading a book, glasses on. "You got hurt," he repeats slowly, prompting for more information.

"Uh, yeah," Dawson nods, spotting Siegs's unamused stare and realizing he can't lie his way out of this. "Got cut. Cutlass, actually." He turns his head so the surgeon can see the wound.

Johnny glances at the cut, then sighs again. "Well, come on in," he relents, closing his book - the shiny gold leaf marking a cross glints into Dawson's eyes for a moment. "How did you get that?"

"Got caught in the middle of a fight," the pilot's mate admits, slowly crossing over to the other side of the room.

Nodding in approval, Jonas waves a goodbye to Marino, who echoes the gesture curtly.

Several planks had been nailed into the corner by Akira to make a low, flat table attached to the walls, on top of which Johnny had tossed a blanket and a pillow, creating a makeshift bed for his patients. Cabinets litter the other walls of the room, filled with medical supplies and more books. Dawson perches on the edge of the bed, wary.

"You?" Johnny hums with derision. "Didn't take you to be a drunkard like the rest of them." He takes Dawson's head in his hands and tilts it, examining the wound. "Fine piece of work someone did to you. You're lucky that's not much deeper - or longer."

Dawson doesn't question it. He watches as Marino turns around, rummaging through his cabinets and mumbling to himself about what he should do for this. Small vials and several needles end up on the table with the book, along with a length of thread and more bandages.

Oh God. This isn't going to be fun.

[devils-pirate-crew]

"How did it go?" Smitty perks up from his sedentary position, noticing Siegs returning to their group. He casts a glance sideways at Nico and Nick as they walk back up the street to The Electric Eel, the former talking warmly to the latter, who's still a little stiff in demeanor. "Seems all's well that ends well? We can forget about everything?"

Jonas checks to make sure he's out of earshot, then stoops down to Brendan's level. "Look, you moron," he whispers through gritted teeth, loud enough that it rouses Woody from his slumber, "You're fucking lucky I saved us from having to pay Suzuki out the ass. You had one fucking job, Smith, and you blew it."

"Who's Smitty blowing?" Miles announces (from his spot with his head in Smith's lap) a little too loudly for the quartermaster's liking, who silences him with a swift whack to the top of the skull.

"Nobody," Siegs groans. "I'm going to be talking to you tomorrow when you can actually think straight. Come on, we're going back to the ship." He pulls himself up again, opening one arm to support Wood's weight as Smith hoists his drunken crewmate off him, seemingly not wanting much to do with him after the entire debacle a few minutes prior. "Dawson, we'll get Marino to look at that for you?"

"Yeah," the pilot's mate agrees, despite wanting absolutely nothing to do with Marino - but he supposes it is medically necessary, right now. It still doesn't help the waves of chills that settle over his shoulders, one by one, or the way Dawson's heart rate picks up at the idea of the surgeon, with all his instincts telling him to run, run before and run unless and run.

But that's not important, is it? It's stupid. He should get over it.

He should get over it.

Arber's just like him, right? And they didn't - he's still -

Dawson takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and biting down hard on his lip to ground himself. "Uh, should we get going?"

Siegs adjusts the drunken gunner on his side, then nods. "Let's."

They thus set off for the Jersey Devil, Jonas with Miles leaning on his right shoulder, Dawson tagging along a step behind and to the left, and Smith taking the rear as far away as he can be that still looks like he's possibly part of the group. Dawson shoves his right hand into his pocket, finding his share still tucked neatly away. His stomach turns, and it's not just because of the new cut he's got (although the bandages Juraj had put on earlier were doing great work in absorbing the blood from that, so his shore wear luckily hadn't been stained).

The Voices in his ears have reduced to soft muttering around the edges of his consciousness, someone died for you again, someone died because of you again, you should have been the one, this is not enough. The pilot's mate swallows sharply, picking at the bandages on his left palm to try to distract himself from them, try to distract himself from how he sees a hole in a dead man's head every time he closes his eyes, framing the water of the Cove behind him.

Just making up stories. That's all it is. Hell, maybe Smith was right - maybe Dawson dreamed all of this up, the kindness he'd been shown, the connection Arber had placed, the warmth of Juraj's soup, all of it. Maybe they were trying to kidnap him after all. Maybe the Voices were lying. He doesn't quite know what to think anymore, it's all so confusing.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson merely stands there for a good, long minute, trying to comprehend what his quartermaster had just said to him. Said quartermaster joins the group at the middle.

Nico and Nick shake hands, formal, before they get down to business.

"So," Nico leads in.

"So," Nick echoes before the two share a laugh. They'd been swapping stories over beer in a corner of The Electric Eel not ten minutes before while watching their crewmates' drunken antics, and now this.

"From what I understood, we have one dead and one wounded?" Hischier beckons for Siegs to give him a small notebook and a pencil; when the quartermaster procures these from one of his pockets, the captain takes them and begins to scribble down notes for himself. "My crew is saying one of yours is dead and one of ours is wounded."

"One of ours is wounded as well," Suzuki adds, Nico writing that information down. "It's facial."

"Same with ours," the other captain replies. He spins the pencil between his fingers, his demeanor considerably icier. "I was informed by my crew that your crew was trying to abduct one of mine."

Nick shakes his head almost immediately. "Not at all, I promise. On my good honor, and that of Santé, we would never."

Nico's eyebrows rise. "We were told that your men took Mercer - our pilot's mate - and were taking him back to their ship. When our men found them, one of yours, the one with the cutlass, I didn't get a name - "

"Xhekaj," Gallagher chips in from where he stands next to Suzuki.

"How do you even spell that?" Siegenthaler mumbles.

"No idea," Gally shrugs. "We just call him X."

"X threatened our men, Woody and Smitty, to stay out of it or they would kill Mercer," Nico continues. "When Woody attacked, it was with the sole purpose of retrieving Mercer - X was surprised and lost control of his cutlass, cutting Mercer's face. The two then began to fight. When Smitty shot at X and the second crewmate - name, please?"

"Slafkovsky, Slaf for short," Gally supplies.

"X and Slaf, it was for the sole purpose of repulsing them. This shot was the one that unfortunately killed your crewmate..."

"Nattinen," Suzuki cuts in. "And, unfortunately, the code of pirate's honor seems not to apply to your men. What a shame, I'd have thought this sort of behavior would come from Holy Roller or Sea Serpent, but not the storied Devil," he adds, tone acidic.

"You call my men liars?" Hischier shoots back.

"I do," Nick crosses his arms. "Slaf and X informed us that they had no intentions of kidnapping Dawson."

"Then what were they doing?" Nico challenges.

"They informed us that they found Dawson injured and administered first aid appropriately. They were in the process of delivering him back to Jersey Devil when they encountered Wood and Smith. Wood was highly intoxicated and falsely believed that our men were kidnapping Dawson. He was agitated at this, took Smith's pistol, and shot at Slaf. The bullet grazed and wounded X on the cheek, then traveled on and struck Nattinen in the head, killing him, a completely innocent bystander with nothing to do with this, instantly. This was when X began to attack Wood. When Dawson moved to stop the fighting, he, perhaps foolishly, stepped in between two pirates with swords and thusly got hurt." Nick takes a deep breath as he finishes his retelling of the events at hand. "Our crew is not at all at fault for this," he gestures at the area, "Mess. And we demand restitution for our fallen comrade."

Siegs considers this telling of the events, then hums to himself. "If I may?" he interjects. Nico gives his quartermaster a nod, still writing in his notepad. "You said your crew found Dawson injured. What were his injuries from?"

"They said they encountered him having fallen down a hill, with minor scratches and bruising," Suzuki replies. "As such, they took him to Santé to make sure he was alright - pirate's honor, which lacks in your men. Slaf reported that he applied a salve of fenugreek to the injuries, then bandaged them."

Jonas's eyes glimmer in the moonlight, a cat having found the opportunity to pounce. "At the tavern, about an hour ago, you mentioned you found Slaf and X on Santé and informed them that Dawson was missing. They told you they had not seen him then, but they would inform you when they did. The incident in question occurred perhaps twenty minutes ago. Do you expect us to believe that, in the span of forty minutes, Slaf and X left your ship, happened upon Dawson, took him back to Santé, administered the proper first aid, and then were returning him to Jersey Devil?" The quartermaster chuckles dryly. "In fact, Suzu, I don't believe they even "found" Dawson injured as you claim they did, at the bottom of a hill. There aren't any hills in the Cove, after all. Your entire story is bullshit, from top to bottom."

"Explain the bandages, then," Gally challenges, cocking an eyebrow at Jonas. "How did Dawson get them, if not for the care he received from our crew?"

Siegs merely smirks back. "He was treated for whatever injuries he did receive before your crew even found him. Our surgeon took care of him. He was released back into the Cove, where your men - Slaf, X, and Nattinen - found him and attempted to abduct him, only for their plans to be thwarted by Woody and Smitty. Speaking of, that's another hole in your story - you claim Woody shot the bullet that killed Nattinen. It was Smitty, who was the person carrying the pistol. Woody used his dagger to attack; he would have had no need to take Smitty's gun. I find it sickening, frankly, that you would make such egregious claims against us and our crew." Jonas's lips split into a grin now. "Either your men or you - or both - are breaking that code of pirate's honor that you so desperately cling to, Suzuki. Or perhaps you were the one that orchestrated this entire fiasco?"

Nick shakes his head. "I had nothing to do with this, I promise to you. I would never."

"But there was a this after all?" Siegs hums. "Interesting."

Nico now swoops in to take over, tucking his notebook and pencil away. "Clearly, Suzuki, your side is lying about the circumstances of this incident. This leads me to believe that what my crew has reported to me is indeed true." He smiles, the soft smile of a man who knows he holds all the cards right now. "I could be trying to extract payments from you for this mess, but I feel we're very good friends, don't you agree? And as friends, we don't work against each other. So here's what I propose: We forget about everything that happened tonight. You and I, and Jonas and Gallagher, will go back to the tavern and drink and tell stories and laugh at our crew being stupid. Woody, Smitty, and Dawson will go back to Jersey Devil, X and Slaf to Santé. I'll ask Marino to help with X's wound as well - he's one of the best at his trade - as a gesture of my sincere goodwill. All I ask in return is that you punish your crew appropriately and inform them that the next time they try such a harebrained scheme against my ship, they will be dealt with by Jonas personally - and I'm sure he would be delighted to help you in this regard. Furthermore, we insist that your crewmembers are not to be seen around Mercer. Do we make ourselves clear?"

Nick nods, defeated. "You do, Hischier. And I apologize sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for any issues this has caused."

Nico chuckles, swinging an arm around Nick's shoulder. "Save it, Suzu. The night's young yet. Let's enjoy it, hm? Jonas, Gally, can you escort the crew home and then meet us at the tavern?"

Dawson zips back to Wood and Smith, not eager to have Siegs know he was eavesdropping on their conversation.

Both quartermasters nod to Nico's command as the two captains start up the road again, chatting warmly. Gallagher heads out towards Juraj and Arber, while Jonas turns and walks to his crewmates.

And through it all, that unwelcome emotion eats away at Dawson's chest, making a home there. He feels like absolute shit - and not for the first time, he's wishing that bullet struck him between the eyes instead.

[devils-pirate-crew]

Dawson, please tell Nico and Jonas that Brendan was lying. Arber and Juraj don't deserve to take the fall for something they never did. Miles shouldn't be allowed to get away with shooting and killing someone, however accidental. Tell them the truth

Dawson pauses, looking at Arber and Juraj again as he considers what the Voice is saying, then nods to himself, that unwelcome emotion still flaring in his stomach. "...Okay," he agrees softly, scampering forward to intercept the captain and his quartermaster. "Nico! Siegs!"

The two exchange a look - Jonas bumps Nico's shoulder and the captain moves ahead to meet Suzu and Gally in the middle. Siegs turns around, face carefully neutral. "Are they causing you any problems?" he asks, glancing over Dawson's shoulder to the other two Jersey Devil crewmates.

"I - no," he shakes his head. "It's just - "

"The wound?" Siegs gestures to the left side of his own face. "Don't worry about it, we'll get Johnny to look at it later, unless it's urgent?"

The pilot's mate shakes his head no again. "Not that either."

"So?" Jonas tucks his thumbs in his pockets, gaze unrelenting. "What is it?"

"Smitty's lying to you," he mumbles, just a touch intimidated. "Arber and Juraj - "

Siegs breaks him off by clearing his throat. "Tell me later. We've got business to do now."

"But he's..." Dawson waves a hand backwards, making a vague noise of frustration. "He's not telling you the truth. They were only - "

The quartermaster takes a step closer, almost chest-to-chest with Dawson. Quietly, but with finality, he states, "It doesn't matter what the truth is. All that matters is what they think it is." He tilts his head backwards to where Nico's now reached Suzu and Gally at the midpoint between the crews of Jersey Devil and Santé, the captains shaking hands. "I've got to go help Nico. Tell me later."

With that, he turns and strides away, leaving Dawson bewildered behind him.

[devils-pirate-crew]

The group merely stands there for several minutes, Juraj clinging to Arber and mumbling in Slovak into his shoulder to decrease the chance of senseless violence, Dawson blocking the duo from Miles, and Miles sitting up on the ground, still clearly disoriented from everything going on. Dawson closes his eyes for a moment, pointedly ignoring the searing sensation around his ear, ignoring the slick feeling blooming at the base of his jaw. It's not the time to be hurt, right now. He takes a deep breath, hoping for Smith to get back here sooner rather than later, and fixes his gaze right on Arber's cheek, where the graze wound seethes with soft strands of pink, almost like smoke. Weirdly enough, Arber seems barely fazed by it, instead staring wide-eyed at Dawson.

He knows.

And Dawson's pretty sure he hears an echo when the Voices confirm it.

Smith doesn't return soon enough, in Dawson's opinion. But he does, eventually, with two captains and two quartermasters in tow. Siegs sticks by Nico's side in much the way Gallagher presses himself to Suzuki's shoulder, the captains on the outsides with the quartermasters between them. In front, Smitty walks backwards, gesturing wildly as he leads the way, talking in words that disappear to the sound of the lapping of the waves and the Voices' frenetic mumbling. When he realizes he's within earshot, he falls quiet, seeming to believe the situation would reveal itself.

As soon as the five reach the four, everyone starts shouting, peddling their own versions of the truth. Dawson can't distinguish any of it through his rising, pounding headache. Suzu and Gally corral Arber and Juraj away towards Nattinen while Nico and Siegs tug Dawson over to Woody, Smith following on their heels.

"What the fuck happened?" their captain hisses, looking between the group.

Dawson opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by Smitty. "I shot that guy," the gunner lies. "But I had a good reason for it!"

"You better," Siegs rolls his eyes. "Do you know what kind of hot water we're in?"

"They were kidnapping Dawson," Smith explains. "We stumbled upon them - literally, stumbled - as they were taking him back to their ship. The one with the cutlass had Dawson at swordpoint and told us either we pretended nothing happened or he was going to kill Dawson and then the rest of us. Woody," he slaps his friend on the back, "Bravely lunged forward, armed with just his dagger and liquid courage, and tried to fend him off. The cutlass guy hurt Dawson, but Woody saved him. I fired my pistol at them to try to get them away, and - it's an unfortunate circumstance, it really is, but if we're willing to forgive the attempted kidnapping of one of our crew members, we shouldn't be punished for their crewmate's death."

Miles nods to this interpretation of the facts, understanding that it's his best shot at not getting his ass kicked. "Thank God he's okay," he mumbles towards Dawson, the adrenaline coursing out of his system as he slumps onto Smith again, fully spent.

Nico looks at Dawson and shakes his head pointedly. "Keep an eye on them," he instructs the pilot's mate, already turning away. "Jonas, we've got some business to do." With that, he pulls the quartermaster along, crossing the distance between the two groups. Suzu and Gally, too, seem to have obtained the information they needed, and stride the other way to meet Nico and Siegs in the middle. The outlines of Juraj and Arber, sitting on the docks next to each other over the dead body, almost seem to ripple in the wind.

Dawson feels like shit. And not just because of the cut on the side of his face - what's one more to the collection - but there's an unwelcome emotion growing in his chest, one he can't quite name. He looks to Smith, who's pulled a passed-out Miles down to the ground and has Woody's head in his lap, then back to the duo on the other side of the negotiations, where Juraj's resting his head on Arber's shoulder, looking at the wound on Arber's cheek with concern. Dawson raises his fingers to his ear to check on the bleeding and grimaces when he finds them sticky and red.

Red is good, though. Red means you're still alive.

[devils-pirate-crew]

You can trust Siegs, Dawson.

Dawson swallows sharply, the Voice echoing in his head. Others join in, chanting the words over and over again. Trust him, trust him, trust him.

He can't trust him, though. He can't. Siegs already thinks he's crazy - Dawson can't just go and prove him right.

His mind is still reeling from yesterday, from Arber and Juraj and warm soup and connections and maybe, possibly, not being alone. But maybe - maybe he's just so insane that he dreamed it all up, took a blade to his face and hoped it would make him loved again, in this world or the next one. Maybe he's a certified lunatic, one of the ones that get locked up and chained and showed off to the public, one of the ones they hoped he'd never become. Maybe he's dreaming even this up. Maybe he's dead and all of this is just an extended delusion, something he's building and telling himself is true.

If this is the Hell he deserves, why is it trying to give him hope like this? Only to take it away and watch him suffer even more? Only to twist the knife in his heart, over and over again?

So he does what he's done for years - he pushes the Voices down, ignores how they burn his muscles as they go, screaming louder in dissatisfaction. He can't let Siegs know. He can't let Siegs have another reason to abandon him.

The quartermaster, for his part, twists a leather bracelet onto his wrist, brow furrowed. He's never seen anyone react quite like this to the prospect of medical treatment, especially not Marino's - Jersey Devil's surgeon was one of the best on any of the pirate ships Jonas knew of (and he knew of many). If he was, like, Akira with a drug cabinet full of stuff he didn't really know how to use, it would be a different story, but Johnny's educated. Johnny's good at what he does. Hell, Johnny's better at what he does than most of the doctors on land that Jonas had the pleasure of knowing.

So why was Dawson so reluctant to get help from him?

Did he want to be hurt?