16th Wave

[tentacruelest]

So it would appear that your Capt. William Bush is not the lazy, rotten imbecile he'd have yeh believe. When push comes to shove, he gets his job done. I'm done with the damned Barge for good. Hang the lot of yeh, I don't care. As far as I'm concerned, you all deserve each other.

An' the next one of yeh who wants to mention tentacles to my face, I warn yeh that aye; I have regained the strength enough to kill a man in one blow.

I'll see this ship out to the end of the month and be on my way at earliest convenience.


[Private to Sylvanas]

My lady, I didnae expect this to be so soon. I won't trouble you for forgiveness. Ask anything of me and it will be done.

[Private to Dean]

Winchester. I expect you're purring like a cat right now.

Comments

[Private]

[tentacruelest]

I don't need yeh following me to my world, Winchester. Yeh'd do poorly as a pirate.

[Private]

[surfaceshine]

Excuse you, I did amazingly as a pirate.

You said I'd do fine.

[Private]

[tentacruelest]

I'm taking back those words. I regret 'em to this day.

[Private]

[surfaceshine]

Nope, no takebacks.

You said it and I've added it to the bucket list. No stopping it now.

[Private]

[tentacruelest]

One more word out of yeh and I'm keeping your gift.

[Private]

[surfaceshine]

Just to be clear, are we still talking about a beating?

[Private]

[tentacruelest]

No, brat. We aren't.

[Private]

[surfaceshine]

[In which case Dean pointedly purses his lips together, holding one hand up in acknowledgement.

He flashes a wink and a thumbs up, and kills the feed. It takes him almost half an hour, but he does eventually show up at Davy's cabin to knock.]

[Private]

[tentacruelest]

[In his room, Davy is packing. His cabin is bare bones now, with only the pipe organ and the bunk left standing; all his other worldly possessions are tucked away in his seachest. He turns at the knock and opens the door wide, glaring at Dean]

Decided to go out for lunch, while yeh were at it?

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[But Dean only smiles back, quieter than he'd been on the network, but still bright. It's not, this time, as much of a lie as it usually is.]

Okay one, you don't rush perfection. Two, I thought you were staying to the end of the month? Whaddayou care?

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

Yer a great many things, Dean Winchester, but yer far from perfect.

And when a captain asks yer presence, it's customary to oblige him.

[But the scowl he gives is a little light-hearted in nature, as he finally steps aside to allow Dean entrance. On top of the bunk lies Grace the cat. sprawled out in a furry heap and watching Dean with mild disinterest]

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

You just said I'd make a poor pirate. I'm just trying to live up to your expectations.

[Dean is unfazed by the scowl, and the criticism rolls right off; when he steps inside at the silent invitation, the hunter glances around with barely a pause for the cat. He's fine with cats, but more of a dog person, really.

Dean raises an eyebrow at the organ, considers a cheap pun, discards it. He already knew about the music anyway. Instead he glances back, raising the other eyebrow while he's at it.]

Besides, I thought you'd like a bit more time to brace for your I Told You So.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Jones shuts the door, careful not to wreck it a second time - the first, he nearly ripped it off its hinges before he discovered his strength returned to him]

You've no call giving me any of that, boy. This graduation is a fluke.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Were he aware of that, Dean would have an I Told You So of a different type ready to hand. For some reason, the doors get the brunt of the damage here on the Barge, in his experience.

But his expression turns comically skeptical.]

How'd you figure?

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

I don't feel graduated. I don't feel diff'rent. I've still got my temper, still am irritated by the Barge and what it does, an' I'm not feeling particularly magnanimous either.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

And yet here you are not snapping my head off, literally or figuratively, and I definitely never learned not to annoy my superiors.

[He shakes his head, begins pacing around as if there's anything to see in here that hasn't already made it back into the seachest. His hands stay in the pockets of his leather jacket.]

This place isn't supposed to change you that much. It never just goes away. I don't...

What happens here doesn't pave over the damn road. It just adjusts the curve a little bit, and you have to keep doing the rest yourself. [He doesn't look while he's talking; easier not to be so obvious when his eyebrows pull together more, when the corner of his mouth pulls down for a moment. He's thinking of the inmates he's seen graduate, of Kon, of Cain, of the Marquis, of Anya. Of Felix. They were never really different, after, at least not like Jones seems to think they should've been.

Just more of one aspect of themselves than the one they'd come on board as.] I guess it's still up to you if you want to keep whatever did change, or just go back to what you were doing before the second you're out the door.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

That'd make a diff'rence to me if I was your superior, Winchester.

[Sadly, there's little else still available to pack, save for that which is most precious to Jones; his smaller chest, that contains his heart. A faint thumping is heard from it even now]

I'm going back to a battle. It's possible I'll be dying in the same manner, in the same way. I'm not a loved creature, and I fully expect betrayal.

But if I die, I won't be returning to this godforsaken ship.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Whatever Dean's reaction to the first part - confusion, mainly - is washed out completely by the last part. The hunter turns then, eyes narrowed and sharp, shoulders tense without his quite realizing it.

Protective and wary, and uncharacteristically - or maybe more characteristically than ever - serious.]

You can take people back with you, you know. I'd go back with you. Back your play, make people think twice about messing with you.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Jones gives a laugh; a full-throated, deep-bellied laugh at the thought]

Boy, if I thought one man would make a diff'rence in all this, I would.

But no; I've got a ship full o'men to do my fighting for me. This won't be a battle won with swords. I'll have to be...ehh.

Diplomatic.

But if you want to come and die on a pirate ship bound for the bottom of the sea once it's been blown to pieces by an English cannon, yer welcome to it.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Most insults, most threats, most demands slide right off Dean Winchester, hit the floor at his feet where he steps over them, unacknowledged; at the laugh, though, at the words that come after, the corner of the hunter's mouth twitches down for a second, something in his eyes flashing darker, before he glances away.]

It's not as stupid as it sounds when you put it that way. The Admiral would pull me back here.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

I wouldnae trust the Admiral to watch over a goldfish, let alone yer life or the life of any man. He'd cut yeh loose and then I'd be bringing yeh to Fiddler's Green.


Stay here, Winchester. You belong here.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

No one belongs here. This is a crossroads.

[Which he says with a quiet sound that is almost a laugh; ironic, really. Philosophers might be on to something. But he cuts a look back to Jones finally, measuring in a way few enough would suspect him of.]

Can you win?

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

It ain't a sure thing. An' the odds are against us.

But the Dutchman isn't like any other ship. If she's properly allied with the Brethren Court, who's to say which way the wind will blow?

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

Alright, I don't know what any of that means? But I'll wish you luck and call it a day, for now.

But if you need backup, it's here. I'm sure I ain't the only one.


...though diplomacy ain't exactly my strong suit.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

I have half a hundred men who can shoot a gun or wield a sword. Why d'yeh think I've got no interest in taking you?

If matters sour, drowning's an awful way to go.

[This finally reminds Jones; he had a present to give Dean. Grumbling, he stands up and goes to his packed sea chest, rummaging through it. After a brief few seconds, he returns with a small leather pouch, crafted amateurishly but looking old and worn, held together by twine]

Here.