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

[ 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.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[A muscle in Dean's jaw jumps, but he doesn't argue despite the way the dismissal sits heavy in his gut. I'm not afraid of dying, he doesn't say. Half a hundred men, he wants to say, and how many of them loyal?

But recklessness and loyalty's all Dean's got - in spades, but still - and Jones may very well have a faithful lieutenant awaiting him back on his ship, so he shuts up and tries to think of another way to say goodbye. That's when Jones produces the pouch and the hunter glances at it, then reaches to take it.

He turns it comfortably but carefully in one hand, glancing up and then back down before beginning to go about opening it.]

You know I don't smoke, right? [Much. Anymore. Whatever.]

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Jones snorts in response; the pouch doesn't hold tobacco, but instead a few shells, a glass bottle with a bit of liquid inside, and some unidentified glossy paperish object best not left up to the imagination]

It saves yeh from drowning, Winchester. You keep that, the sea won't claim yeh. It'll spit yeh right back out again.

Won't do much good against sharks or blowing yer limbs off, but yeh won't die with water in yer lungs.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean realizes approximately .5 seconds from Jones saying anything at all that he's holding a goddamn gris gris bag. The recognition sparks across his eyes immediately in front of the kind of intent curiosity that is normally extremely well hidden in the hunter, careful not to tilt the contents out of the pouch lest it dick with the magic of it, but eying the contents critically nonetheless. Davy answers his question before he can work it out for himself.

Dean, in turn, goes still except the motion of his thumb turning one of the shells carefully over with the pouch between his skin and the contents; then he glances up, squinting.]

You make this?

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Jones instead watches Dean's face with a secretive, defensive scowl]

I do more'n carpentering, lad. It don't do me much good, as I am, but I've known a few sailors to carry it. We're a superstitious lot.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[He doesn't notice. His attention is back on the bag, carefully folding the contents back into it, winding the cord exactly as he unwound it.]

Yeah, I'd heard that. Hunters, too, but I'd bet we have more proof to back it up.

[He rubs the faint scar bisecting his right eyebrow with a thumb completely unconsciously, a fidget and a tell both, and then glances up again.]

Thanks. For Sam, too - he's always reminding me of that time this selkie almost did for me. Doesn't seem to care that it wasn't even s'pposed to be there, or I'd've...

Anyway. Thanks.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[If Jones notices the tell, he doesn't mention it. He does enough telling on his own without calling others out.]

Selkies are lucky. Don't be taunting their gifts.

You're welcome, lad. You're...[He fights to get the words out, looking off with an embarrassed grumble]

...Yeh ain't bad.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

Oh, it wasn't me doing the taunting...

[But this is a space-filling mutter, insincere and vague. He's distracted by whatever's going on across from him and, when he realizes, the strange feeling of discomfort lodged under his ribcage. The crawling feeling that something bad is about to happen.

He smirks, shrugging with an elaborate, seamless motion of his eyes and face more than his shoulder, but doesn't comment further. It's awkward enough without saying thanks, without pressing for more.]

I uh. Brought something for you, too. Probably less useful, but I wouldn't wanna start a new trend now, huh?

[The pouch disappears into his jacket pocket with his hand, but doesn't qithdraw it again just yet.]

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

Did yeh, now?

[Despite himself, Jones looks curious. He reaches over to pick up his cat, petting her with his free hand]

Yeh came prepared.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

Yeah, yeah, don't look so surprised.

[It's a stalling mutter because he suddenly feels stupid. It's not actually that uncommon a feeling for Dean, but this level of acuity is unusual, and he still can't figure out why. Well. He can, but he's not willing to let it be that.

He shrugs - get on with it, Deano - pulling the pocket knife out of his pocket, and holds it out to Jones.]

At the very least maybe you can throw it at someone.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Perplexed, Jones takes the knife carefully from Dean, flipping it over and looking at it]


Do yeh imagine I get into many knife fights, boy?

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[It doesn't look like much of a knife, not until Dean points out where the blade is folded in. Beside it, concealed in the handle, are several other tools which the hunter doesn't even realize until it's already done that he probably won't have use for, where he's going. He's pretty sure it's a couple centuries before the advent of the Philips screw.

Oh well. He shakes his head.]

No, but that ain't much good for knife fights anyway. It's for getting outta tight spots.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[He looks the knife over in his hand, confused, until realization dawns on him. One by one with Dean's help he manages to take out the bits and pieces, looking it over with curiosity]

...Aye. I see that.

Clever thing. It'll be useful, on any ship.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

That's what I'm hoping.

[He folds the last piece out and then steps back, relinquishing it completely to Jones.

Which means there's not much left to do or say, so he nods. A moment later, a crooked grin sprouts where a frown tried to take hold.]

Try not to need it.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[He takes the knife in hand, looking it over before sliding it into his chest pocket. With his other hand, he hesitates, before reaching out to grasp Dean's shoulder in what is, for him, an affectionate embrace]

You take care, boy.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

Don't I always?

[This with the characteristic cockiness, but underneath Davy's hand, Dean's shoulders straighten reflexively; thoughtlessly he makes himself more solid, more steady.

He raises his chin, slightly, and claps a hand over the other man's wrist for just a moment.]

You too, huh?

Don't come back here.

[ Spam ]

[tentacruelest]

[Jones has never had a son; never had the desire to keep children, not in his lifetime. He's had sailors Dean's age who he unfairly mistreated and abused, who he'll now need to face for his crimes. And it's true that he contributed next to nothing to Dean's personal growth, can't take credit for the man he sees in front of him instead of the boy he callously dismissed out of hand. If anything, it's the opposite way around and he's indebted.

Still, there's a definite stirring of what he'll later recognize as pride. He'd be proud to have the Winchester on his ship.

He lets Dean's hand grasp his wrist, before giving a steady nod]

Aye. Weren't planning on it.

You be smart, Winchester.

[ Spam ]

[surfaceshine]

[Dean doesn't linger long; he doesn't let himself. It's easy with him here in front of him to commit to that, patting the Captain's arm once and then dropping his hand away.

He wants to say something else, something stupid and needy, but even he can recognize that it's misplaced. Unnecessary and unwelcome. So instead he grins -] Aren't I always? [- and steps back.

It won't be easier, later. Tomorrow. The day after. Dean will miss him, he'll worry, but ultimately there's nothing more he can do. He has his own people to look after. So does Davy.

He tips the man a wink, and turns to go.]