#playin around with jim and frenchie stuck on The Black Parade the ship akshfjnggjng

[izzy-b-hands]

"Mhm," Frenchie muses, a hand on his chin. "See, I think a little to the left."

"Like this?" Ed scoots the freshly looted black leather chair a bit left.

"Little more."

"The room," Izzy sighs deeply. "Is empty."

"Fuck Iz, thanks for the reminder," Ed grumbles. "Miss all the stupid books."

"We could-"

"I'm fucking aware I could buy more books!" Ed snaps in Izzy's direction. "Any other useful advice?"

Ed peers down to Izzy's foot and grimaces. "Go clean that up again. Disgusting."

Izzy doesn't say a word. He stumbles out, clearly infected foot dragging along with him.

"Hey," Frenchie says softly when the door is fully shut again. "Breathe. Chair is gonna look fine wherever it goes in the end."

"Stede would know where it looks best," Ed crumples into the chair and tears.

"Maybe, but you can discuss that with him later," Frenchie continues. Helping Ed through these moments has kept him alive thus far.

Plus, he really wants to see him feeling better. If he wants to be the Kraken, let him, but at least while approaching something like happy.

"He's dead," Ed sniffs. "You know that."

"We heard a wild rumor that he fought a jungle cat," Frenchie rolls his eyes and strides over to sit by the chair. "That's not fucking true."

Ed glares at him.

"What?! It can't be! Regular cats can already kill you with infection," Frenchie scoffs. "And it's Stede! Has he even been around a regular cat to have the vaguest idea how to handle a jungle one?"

The glare slips to a confused frown. "Did you have a cat back at home?"

"It doesn't matter," Frenchie spits it out too quickly, and he knows Ed will bring the topic up again later. "The point is, he's out there alive somewhere, and I don't believe that he isn't looking for you."

"I want you to be right," Ed sniffles and reaches down for Frenchie's hand. "Please be right."

Frenchie squeezes Ed's hand. "I will be."

--

"Fuck," Jim grimaces at Izzy's foot. "You need a doctor. No, you need Roach. He'd know if we can save it or not, plus he could do the amputation if we can't, and he'd probably make what's edible of your foot into something good for Buttons."

Izzy stares. "I asked how bad it was."

"Yeah, and I answered."

Izzy nods. "Suppose you did. Think we ought to...I mean, if we cut it off now..."

Jim shakes their head. "Again, we. Need. Roach. We're just gonna kill you faster if we do this ourselves."

"You don't think he won't just out and out kill me? Because I have to admit, were I him, this would be a golden opportunity to-"

"Do you wanna die?!"

Jim's fury dies down with the end of their shout. "Sorry."

"No," Izzy sighs. "That's a good question. I don't know if I know the answer to it anymore. You?"

"...I don't know either."

Izzy hops off the barrel he'd jumped to sit on with a loud pained groan. "I wonder what Ed and Frenchie would have as an answer."

"Bet I can guess," Jim sighs and forces Izzy to take their arm to lead him to a proper chair. It doesn't matter where or which, as long as it isn't the nice new one Ed looted.

"Yeah. I think I can too."

Jim tries not to think about that, or about what might happen if Izzy succumbs to the infection that leaves him readily clinging to their arm.