Chapter Text
Izzy has no idea how he isn’t dead yet. He’s never fought so distracted in his entire life, despite twenty fucking years of Ed’s antics. He can remember how difficult it was when they first started sailing together, the desperate instinct to keep Ed in his sights at all times, to protect. He grew used to it over time, but this…this is nothing like anything he’s ever felt before, and it’s only gotten worse as Ed’s gotten further along. Over eighty fucking raids of this.
Ed moves casually across the deck. Draped in a long, black, leather coat, he doesn’t do much to hide the swell of his stomach. Izzy’s no expert on any of this, pregnancy, omegas, pups, but he’s pretty sure a pregnant omega can’t get much more pregnant than this. As Ed cocks his gun he steps forward, coat falling back to reveal his bump as he shoots and kills the man in front of him.
“What the hell?” someone yells, and then they laugh. “Blackbeard’s got himself knocked up?”
Izzy’s blood runs cold and Ed turns sharply in place, eyes finding the man who spoke. A different crewman reaches for his knife, so Izzy jumps forward and trips him, stepping on him to keep him down, his sword at the ready. Ed is already on the first crewman, knife to his throat.
“The fuck did you just say?” he asks.
The crewman breathes in through his nose, eyes going down to the swell of Ed’s stomach again. Izzy can see Archie struggling with another crew member in his peripheral.
“Look me in the fucking eye, dog,” Ed says, and the man looks back up, swallowing, adam’s apple pressing against the knife. Then, he laughs.
“Blackbeard,” he says. “A pregnant omega playing pirate. Who kn—” He gasps, gargling blood as Ed slashes his throat.
Ed doesn’t stop there, holding the man in place as blood spurts from him. He stabs the knife through the man’s throat and twists it. He tilts his head and watches as the man goes limp, the life leaving his eyes.
A chill washes over Izzy.
He keeps Ed in his sights as he tends to the crew, helping them load and sort loot and keep the raid’s survivors incapacitated. Ed stalks about carelessly, investigating their loot. Anyone who dares look at him too long is met with the daggers shot from his glare at best and a real dagger through the eye socket at worst. After Ed’s throat cutting display, this ship’s crew seems to understand they should keep their heads down.
Ed seems to bore himself quickly enough, and then he’s ordering that the crew wrap things up as quickly as possible, flipping open a random book he’s found to thumb through the pages.
When they’re back on the ship, Izzy once again has to confront the fucked atmosphere, the tense silence, the looks from Jim, Fang, and Frenchie that he knows are asking him to do something. No one speaks aside from Izzy to give orders. The scent of heightened distress and discomfort among the pack—can he even call it a pack?—has become the new normal. He can’t really tell if it’s any worse now than it usually is. It’s difficult to smell shit over his own distress lately.
When he hears the crew start to whisper among themselves, he knows no good can come of it. Ed’s in a proper mood today. He nearly sliced Izzy’s cheek open with a thrown knife earlier. He was brutal on today’s raid. He’s obsessed with beating this record, insisting that there’s nothing they need that they can’t get out at sea. Izzy can think of quite a lot of things, not the least of which being a fucking doctor, but he knows better than to push back against Ed now. The near constant throbbing in his foot acts as a reminder of that lesson.
“Oy,” he calls. “Stop your fucking yammering, twats. Captain will be on deck soon.” He always comes to survey the loot after a raid.
Frenchie stands from where he’d been sitting, repairing an old sail, and strides over to Izzy.
“Yeah, about that,” he says. “We, um, we’re aware that Captain is, if you’ll forgive my phrasing, about to pop? Reckon he’s got just a few weeks at best.”
Izzy grits his teeth and averts his gaze to the captain’s cabin. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
Frenchie eyes him up nervously, messing with a button on his new, fancy, coat. “Right. Well, I know he’s not in his right mind, whatever that means for Blackbeard, but…I don’t know, the kid shouldn’t have to suffer for it, right?”
Izzy looks down. His foot throbs. He feels nauseous. “Get back to fucking work,” he whispers.
Frenchie frowns. “Right,” he says, dejectedly. “Yes, sir.”
When Ed comes out on deck he’s dressed in his usual leathers, heedless of the fact that they don’t actually close around the front any longer. His stomach hangs out, bare skin exposed beneath his ridden-up black shirt and open jacket. Izzy feels like he should stand between Ed and the crew, keep them from looking. Ed claps his hands together loudly, gets the entire deck’s attention.
“Eighty five consecutive raids,” he announces loudly. “Three more until we have the record.” He looks out at the crew for some sort of reaction, clapping or cheers probably, but the crew remain silent, eyes averted.
Ed growls softly, almost under his breath, and steps forward into the middle of the deck.
“Who thinks we could have the record in two days?” he asks, looking around at everyone.
No one says a word.
“Come on,” he says. “Anyone?”
They’ve done multiple raids daily more than a handful of times over the last few months. Everyone knows they can. The weariness on their faces is of no consequence. It may as well be a permanent feature now. Blackbeard’s crew of ghosts.
Ed scans the deck. Izzy watches as the crew avoids his eyes.
“Fuckin hell,” Ed breathes. “Surely someone has something to say, hm?” He looks around at them all again, and Frenchie puts two fingers in the air.
Izzy glares a warning at him, but it’s too late.
“Frenchie!” Ed says. “Go ahead, mate. What is it?”
“Well, I’ve just been thinking,” Frenchie says, a bit quietly. “Don’t you think it might be wise, to, um, to get to port soon, sir? After— after the record is broken, of course.”
Ed breathes in slowly. He looks down and closes the distance between them before looking up again to fix Frenchie with his gaze. Izzy’s impressed that Frenchie manages to keep his eyes on the omega’s face and off the swell of his stomach as he turns to face him, close enough that his distended belly nearly touches Frenchie.
“What for?” he asks.
“Oh, you know.” Frenchie swallows. “We’ve all been at sea for a while, could get some fresh water and food, see a doctor, stash some treasure, maybe, stretch our legs a little, that sort of thing.” He glances nervously from Ed to the rest of the crew, who watch him.
“A doctor?” He looks around the deck. “And why would anyone here need to see a doctor?”
Frenchie swallows. The omega’s stomach touches his own as he steps closer.
“Oh, you know. General health and…wellness and what not. I mean, it’s private business innit? You may even want to, um, get checked out maybe,” he rambles.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Well, you know, better safe than sorry.”
A knife pokes at the skin beneath his chin. Izzy didn’t even see Ed pull it.
“You’d be wise to let this go,” Ed says.
Frenchie swallows. “Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. My apologies, Captain.”
Izzy feels a tension in his muscles release as Ed steps away from Frenchie. He’s going insane with the instinct to protect the crew—which his instincts insist is his pack—as well as the need to keep Ed safe. A difficult balance to maintain when Ed’s the one threatening the crew’s safety.
“Everyone better get bloody fucking ready,” Ed all but growls, stepping back. “We’re getting this record tomorrow.”
Izzy sighs. As Ed retires back to the cabin, Frenchie’s concerned gaze finds Izzy. Izzy sniffs and looks away, spitting off the side of the ship.
It took a while for Izzy to catch onto what happened. When Ed returned to the ship, meek and reeking of distress, Izzy had been horrified by the sight of a brand new bonding mark on his neck. Made and then broken just as quickly, carelessly. He didn’t have to say “I told you so,” no matter how badly he’d wanted to.
He doesn’t want to, anymore.
Ed’s scent shifted, an almost indistinguishable change, and Izzy couldn’t place what it was at first. Then, Ed was sick all the time, unable to drink or smoke and barely able to eat. He still couldn’t be sure. All of those things could be attributed to a poor reaction to a broken bond, and Ed had never been a particularly stable man.
The crew had it figured out before he did. It was after overhearing their gossip that it clicked. Why Izzy had been running himself ragged trying to keep an eye on the mess of a man, why he took everything Ed had doled out to him so easily, why he felt he could do absolutely nothing that might result in harm to the omega.
He follows Ed back into the cabin.
Ed doesn’t look up from where he sits at the settee. He’s wearing a different shirt now, a large billowy white linen, and carving something into the upturned coffee table with a knife..
“Izzy,” he says. “What’s with everyone? We’re about to make bloody history.”
Izzy blinks at him a few times. “I don’t know,” he decides. “I’ll speak with them.”
“Hm,” Ed says, still not looking up, blowing wood chips off the table.
Izzy hesitates before saying, “They’re just trying to look out for you, Ed.”
Ed takes in a sharp breath. He stabs the knife into the table. “Tell them not to fucking bother,” he says, looking up to meet Izzy’s gaze with his cold one. “Don’t need looking out for. Don’t want it. Understood?”
Izzy swallows. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed,” he says, with a wave of his hand. He looks back down at his carving.
Izzy doesn’t move for a moment, searching his mind for something else to say, something else to do. He comes up blank. Maybe once this stupid fucking record is broken, Ed will listen to reason. He starts to leave.
“Oh, and Izzy?” Ed calls after him. “If we want to catch up to the next ones in time, we’re gonna have to lose some weight. Get the crew to dump some of the loot.”
Izzy grits his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
Oluwande stares across at Stede. He’s sitting on the ground against the wall, outside of the back exit to Jackie’s. He hopes Stede doesn’t linger too long. Olu isn’t sure he can talk Jackie around on him again if she catches him loitering.
His eyes frantically scan maps and news clippings describing the various atrocities rumored to have been committed by the dread pirate Blackbeard. He jots something else down in his journal, which is already packed to the gills with notes and recordings of their various attempts thus far at getting back out at sea. Olu curiously flipped it open one night and let his eyes scan over the way Stede’s notes fill the pages, handwriting frantic and slanted. He’s not sure if it’s all fuckery plans, possible locations to search for Ed, or just musings and thoughts. It’s probably a mix of everything.
Stede stares across the street toward the harbor. Three large ships are currently docked, each filled with a large and intimidating pirate crews. Oluwande really isn’t sure when they’ll get the chance Stede is hoping for to take a ship. They’re down several of their already small crew.
“That’s your…friend, right?” Susan asks from beside him, jutting her chin out toward Stede as she scoops soup into a bowl.
“Yeah. Sort of,” Olu answers. “He was my Captain. Not a very good one, really, but it was a nice ship! Until his homicidal ex-boyfriend took it and left us for dead.” He shrugs, taking the soup Susan hands him with a mumbled thanks.
“Mm,” Susan hums. “So you’re helping him find his lost mate. How sweet.” She pouts exaggeratedly, blinking wide eyes at him and Oluwande laughs. Of course Susan already knows what Stede’s after. The entire fucking Caribbean must know Stede Bonnet is searching for his mate.
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean look at him. Hard not to feel bad, innit?”
She looks out at Stede again and hums softly in agreement.
“I didn’t know Blackbeard was an omega,” she says, turning back to her work.
“Yeah, no one did,” Oluwande answers, idly stirring his soup as he thinks back to Ed coming out of the cabin on the Revenge, suddenly reeking of distress and omega, a bond mark exposed on his neck.
The official coverage of Blackbeard’s crimes still makes no mention of it. Perhaps the English don’t feel like divulging that hundreds of their ships had been raided and decimated by an omega. They never detail the crew, either. It leaves Oluwande with the tiniest sliver of hope that the omegas from their crew might still be on board with Blackbeard, whatever horror they might be experiencing conducting raid after bloody raid. If anyone can survive something like that, it’s Jim.
“It’s not just his mate,” he adds. “We all had people on the ship.”
Susan raises an eyebrow, somewhat obviously glances down to his barren neck.
“Not mates,” Olu sputters. “I mean—Pete, his mate was on board too, but we didn't—I’m not—Well, obviously.” He gestures to his bare scent gland. “I have—I had… someone. But, we never…” Jim’s smile dances across the front of his mind, vivid as ever and he swallows. He looks back up at Susan, who looks away quickly. “Not a mate, exactly,” Oluwande says, finally “They were like family.”
Susan smiles, tilting her head to the side.
“I’d like to at least find out what happened to them,” Olu says, swallowing and looking down at his soup.
“Well, who knows,” Susan says, glancing over at Stede again as he writes in the journal. “Maybe your friend has some master plan hidden in with all those love notes.”
Izzy pauses, holding his breath as he ever so slowly opens the door to bring Ed his dinner. Sometimes Ed’s waiting for it, sometimes he’s hiding in the corners of the room to startle Izzy, sometimes he’s asleep. Tonight, Ed lies on his side in an almost-nest, a mess of sheets and fabric, some grabbed from the ship they raided today, and what seem to be Bonnet’s old curtains. Izzy thought they’d been thrown out.
He’s curled around his stomach, both hands on it, and sobbing quietly. He’s saying something, too, Izzy realizes, but he can’t make it out. He steps inside, carefully closes the door behind himself, and without the quiet sound of the wind on the deck, he can hear Ed’s words as he cries.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Ed repeats breathlessly between sobs. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please. I can’t. I don’t want—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Izzy aches to hold him, to comfort him. He sets the plate of food down on the nearest flat surface he can find, trying not to make a sound and startle Ed.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Ed cries, gasping desperately for air. “I’m sorry, please. Please don’t be dead, please, please. Please don’t leave me too. I’m so sorry. Baby. Puppy. I’m sorry. Why did—why did he leave us?” He sobs loudly, entire body shaking with the cries.
Ed has an uncanny ability to control his scent. He’s been able to do it since they were young. It let him hide his omega status for ages. Izzy had to learn to pay careful attention when he’s hiding something else, too. It’s probably why it took Izzy so long to detect the scent of his pregnancy. Now, though, he’s bathed in distress. It’s so intense, it hurts just to be near. Izzy needs to soothe the omega, to comfort and calm him. He doesn’t know anything about pups but he knows this isn’t good, that Ed needs to be cared for, needs to be kept calmer, especially this close to whelping.
Izzy opens the door again, swinging it out far enough that the hinges squeak. He taps on the door and clears his throat.
A knife sails past him, pinning a bit of his shirt to the doorframe.
“Get out,” Ed gasps.
“Ed,” Izzy starts, voice pleading.
“I said get the fuck out,” Ed yells. Something crashes and breaks against the door as Izzy closes it behind himself, heart racing.
Tears spring to his eyes, and he trembles as he stands there.
He can’t go, stands motionlessly and uselessly outside Ed’s door, his mind stuck on the image of Ed looking so small and fucking helpless, on the sound of him begging for his baby. It feels like a gut punch when he hears the sobbing begin again.
Ed needs comfort, he needs help, he needs to be getting ready to have his fucking pup. Izzy wants to stay to guard the door, but the danger is already inside the room with Ed. Every step he takes away from the cabin still feels like walking on shards of glass. He hopes Ed at least eats the fucking food Izzy left.
When the crew corner him in their nest below deck, Izzy bursts into tears. He tries to yell at them but his voice breaks, tears fill his eyes, and Fang—the fucker—takes Izzy into his arms. Frenchie reaches out and grabs his hand. Izzy can’t help but let the tears start to stream down his cheeks.
The pack’s nest is big and cozy, perfect for an omega to whelp in, but it doesn’t smell like Ed at all. He won’t want to use it, won’t be comfortable here. Izzy is nevertheless glad the crew are letting themselves do something with their nervous energy and instinctual drives. He has no idea what to do with his need to protect Ed.
Izzy’s scared to confront him. He’d be stupid not to be. Still, he can’t wait any longer. It could happen any day now, and the thought is terrifying.
Ed’s capable of acknowledging what’s happened. Izzy saw that last night. He’s scared. On some level he must understand what’s going to happen soon. If Izzy can just make Ed talk to him about it, maybe they can work this out. Maybe it’s not too late. He has to do something . He has to try.
So when he gives his report the next morning, he lingers in the cabin.
Ed looks up from the map on his desk and raises an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”
Izzy feels like bugs are crawling all over his skin as he forces his mouth to open. “I’m worried about you, Ed,” he manages, choked and small and so very un-alpha-like.
Ed groans, rolling his eyes. “Izzy,” he starts.
Izzy laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “I can’t just fucking stand here and watch while the man that I…” He chokes on his words as Ed looks up, eyes dark and daring Izzy to finish. He can’t. He swallows. “Look at yourself,” Izzy says, exasperated, as he clenches his hands into fists to stop them shaking. “What are you doing?” He keeps his gaze on Ed’s face, searching for any hint of real emotion, understanding.
Ed stands, the chair forced out behind him and squeaking as it slides against the floor. Having moved too quickly, he stumbles, one hand steadying himself on the desk and one hand coming beneath the swell of his stomach. Izzy looks down at it. It’s hanging lower than it was yesterday. Ed is so close. He needs to get the omega in a nest, get him ready, keep him safe and protected.
Ed moves his hand away, stands up straight, and it must ache to let the heavy belly hang off his too-thin frame. He’s not eating nearly enough for a pregnant omega. Blue and purplish stretch marks spread across the bottom of his belly where it hangs out beneath his shirt.
“Let me help, Ed,” he begs, voice barely there.
Ed turns his gaze back on Izzy and it’s furious, a terrifying glint to his eyes. “I told you I don’t need fucking looking after,” he spits.
“Clearly you fucking do,” Izzy shoots back. “It’s not just you you’re affecting, you know that? The atmosphere on the ship is completely poisoned.”
Ed scoffs and turns away from Izzy.
“But if we could all just…talk it through,” Izzy offers meekly.
Ed doesn’t turn back to him. “As a crew?” he asks.
Izzy’s heart sinks down into the pit of his stomach. Before he can try to take it back, Ed is hurrying out onto the deck.
“Hi, all,” he calls, smiling. “I heard you think the atmosphere on the ship is poisonous.”
Izzy’s stomach is entirely filled with knots as he watches Ed cock his gun, then turn it on the crew. His instincts scream at him to control the omega, to get between him and the pack. The crew carefully deny Izzy’s assertion about the ship’s poisoned atmosphere, and Ed raises the gun away from them.
“I know who we should ask,” he says, as he puts the gun beneath his chin. “Ol’ Blackbeard.”
Izzy’s skin crawls. He tries to think of something to do, but he comes up short as Ed begins to ramble.
When it comes to most alphas trying to use their alpha voice on him, Ed easily shrugs it off. It used to work when he was younger, but he’s built up a resistance, somehow. Izzy’s not sure how it works, just that it doesn't always seem to work with him.
He can remember Ed goading him into it when they were younger and he was first showing off his resistance to it. Izzy was reluctant, but Ed was insistent, teasing and teasing until Izzy finally relented and snapped at him in the underutilized tone. He can remember the way Ed’s eyes got all glassy, the way he rushed to comply with the useless request. He snapped out of it within seconds, but the rush had been exhilarating.
No one else ever had that control over Blackbeard.
He’s only used it once, since, in his attempt to snap Ed out of his post heartbreak haze.
He remembers it clearly. The way Ed cowered back, eyes wide and wet before he regained his ferocity, shoved Izzy back against the wall.
“Choose your next words wisely, dog.”
It was fucking cruel, what Izzy said. He hadn’t known the extent of the mess Bonnet had left behind. He quickly came to regret it, waking to the red-hot pain of a toe snipped off with shears, Ed over his bed.
“Don’t you ever fucking think about using that voice with me again,” he said after watching Izzy swallow his own toe. “You’re not my fucking alpha. I don’t need a fucking alpha. Okay? ”
His foot bleeding all over the sheets, he rasped out, “Y-Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
He watches Ed now, gut twisting. He can’t fucking take this any longer. He makes the choice.
“I don’t feel crazy,” Ed says, expression and action betraying him, finger on the trigger of the gun he holds to his chin. “I feel pretty fucking good, actually—”
“Pack it in!” Izzy roars in desperation, ears ringing.
Ed takes down the gun. He turns to look at Izzy with wide, hazy eyes that slowly clear and turn disbelieving.
“What did you just do?” he asks after a second, voice calm in an unsettling way.
“You’re fucking killing us,” Izzy says, dropping the voice and looking down at Ed’s stomach. “You understand we need to fucking protect you?”
“Protect me?” Ed asks, blinking at Izzy. “Why?”
Izzy shakes his head, laughs softly without humor. “Because you’re fucking pregnant.”
He hears the shot before he processes the pain, and then he’s on the deck, groaning and gasping.
They have the record within the day.
Ed stares at the tallies on his wall, looks out the window at the dark clouds in the distance, and smiles.
Blackbeard, scourge of the seven seas. The most dangerous, deadliest pirate of all time. That’s how he’ll be remembered. Not as some alpha’s omega.
He tells Frenchie of his plans before he retires to his cabin, lest the new first mate bother him with discussions of port again. No, no. It’s all over now. He’s never stepping foot on land again.
His cabin is filled with precious loot. Fine things the likes of which even fancyman Stede Fucking Bonnet has certainly never seen. All his. He admires the piles of gold, jewelry, ornate chests, and bolts of soft, fine, fabric. At this last raid, he even grabbed a large, golden-framed, body-length mirror. He accidentally catches sight of himself in it, as he walks over to throw himself into bed. He pauses, looking his reflection over. There’s a faint discoloration around his scent gland where the bond mark used to be. His eyes drift lower.
“Because you’re fucking pregnant.”
Ed’s skin crawls as he looks at himself. He brings a hand to rest hesitantly on the bare skin of his abdomen and a shiver runs through his entire body. Fuck. No. No way he let some alpha leave him like this.
Pregnant.
He swallows, throat suddenly feeling uncomfortable and fuzzy inside. He might be sick. He grits his teeth and pulls his gaze away from the mirror. He already had this breakdown last night, and a million times before that. He was supposed to be long gone by now. The record took longer to break than anticipated.
“It’s dead,” he says aloud to himself, and his voice comes out surprisingly sure and steady. “No way it’s not dead.”
Ed feels near-dead most of the time. He’s backed off the drinking and the smoking, it’s all made him so fucking nauseous since early on, but he’s still barely been able to stomach food most days. He feels like shit constantly. He just knows he’s carrying death inside of him, must be. How could his body be host to anything else?
Izzy’s body on the floor flashes across his mind. Fuck. Fuck.
Tomorrow, he’ll finally do it. Go out with a bang. Like he wanted. Down with the ship.
There’s no room in that plan for giving Stede Fucking Bonnet a fucking pup. There never was.
It’ll all be over soon. He’ll join them both.
He drags himself into bed.