Archive of Our Own

Scar is lying down in an old, rickety rowboat, and he knows that he’s going to die.

It’s the middle of the day, and the waves have significantly calmed down, but they’re still rocking the boat so often that it’s making him feel nauseous. He’s sunburnt, his skin hot and clammy, and he can’t sit up long enough without his head spinning violently. His throat is dry to the point of it being painful, and every breath he lets out is a soft, pained wheeze. And though he can’t lift his head up anymore- content with staying still, and waiting for everything to pass- he can see someone sitting across from him in his peripheral vision. 

He doesn’t know who he is, or where he came from. At some point, he just noticed him sitting at the end of his rowboat, and though his heart jumped into his throat at the sight- Scar couldn’t move. And, soon, he finds that he could care less about the company. Even if the company in question is quiet, and staring straight ahead the whole time- possibly even staring at him- as if he's waiting for something big to happen. From what he can see, the stranger has a head of sandy blond- almost brown- hair. There are thick eyebrows, and they're creased downwards-

But what really catches his attention is the thick, spotted fur coat that the stranger is wearing. Scar can only see the top of the hood, and can barely just make out what the pattern on it is- but, by then, he is already set on his answer. He's hallucinating. He's imagining some strange man getting into his boat (somehow, with him being completely unaware), and just sitting there- he couldn't believe that he couldn't figure it out earlier. (Or maybe it's something else entirely. And, in his hazy mind, he comes to the conclusion that this must be death itself, at the end of this boat- silently and patiently waiting to harvest his soul, and bring it to the afterlife. Or… do whatever death did, with souls like his.

Scar never really thought about it before.)

"This is it?" Death asks- and it takes Scar a second to realize that it's the figure that's speaking. And, though he hasn't moved, and though Scar can't see much more than the top of his head, he can tell that he's staring at him. 

"..." Scar's breathing evens out, somewhat, though he can't manage to fully quiet it down. Even if he had, the sound of waves crashing against the boat would almost drown out Death's voice, anyway. (And Death's voice is not one he recognizes. He thought, at least, if he were to hallucinate, he would want to hear a voice he recognized, or a person he knew, at the very least. Something about his life flashing before his eyes or something. 

Was this the real deal, then? Death himself? Scar has had plenty of near-death experiences, and he's never seen him before- is this the end of the line, then?)

The boat rocks as Death moves. He stands up, and from where Scar is laying down, he can see his face a bit better- dark eyes, flushed face, a furrowed brow- someone staring at him, and waiting for something to happen. He can see his hood a little better- how it seems to be connected to something that looked like a pelt, rather than an actual coat, wrapping him in spotted fur and keeping the majority of his body covered. Scar wonders, briefly, how he could stand wearing something like that in this searing heat- wrapped in something meant for cold weather when Scar's skin was already starting to peel off.

Death leans closer. He blocks out the sun with his face, and with the way it shines around his head, Scar almost mistakes it for a halo. His face is harder to see, but it's also impossible to miss his dark eyes- the way they lock onto his, and watch him so intently.

Then suddenly, as Death creeps closer, his abdomen stings. 

And, for the first time in a while, he lets out a pained wheeze, and his back arches up slightly.

"I'm a big fan." Death says, and Scar almost feels flattered. He would've, maybe, if he couldn't feel the distinct feeling of Death lightly pressing his cold fingers against a wound that is likely infected, despite being wrapped up. "You're a very infamous pirate, where I'm from. Your crew. The Convex. You know how famous you have to be for someone like me to care about you?"

Not that famous, Scar would assume, considering his profession. He knew what he was getting into, choosing this lifestyle, and he knew that it was never going to end well for him, or anyone else on his crew- but, surely, it wasn't that rare of an experience. Scar thinks of his crew, and thinks of how each and every one of them joined knowing that it was dangerous. They knew what kind of lives they'd be living once their boat left that shore, and Scar knew alongside them- and yet, they still joined him, and they've still stayed by his side for so many years. Scar thought- if he were to die- it likely would've been from his own hubris, or something. That he would've gotten taken out in a storm, swept into the ocean and never to be seen again, or during a deal gone bad-

In the end, it wasn't so stupid. 

It was just… unfair.

(He was stabbed, and left on a small boat tied to the end of a larger ship. He had no resources, and with how weak he felt, he was likely meant to bleed out and die within the coming days. In the middle of the night, with deft hands, he untied the ship, and spent the next few hours slowly drifting away from his captures- the hope was to, eventually, find some shore to land on, or find some way to get back to his crew-

But minutes turned to hours, and days- and at some point, he realized that it might’ve been pointless.)

“And since I'm a big fan, I’m going to save your life.” Death says, “If you give me something in return. Can you do that?"

Then, even as Scar struggles to respond, head slowly rocking in an obvious nod, Death takes off his hooded cloak. It doesn't reveal anything that he hasn't already seen.

Then, Scar can't see anything at all. His eyes are covered by the cloak, and he can feel it being draped over the rest of his body. For a moment, he braces himself, and waits for it to get uncomfortably hot or stuffy, or painful in some way-

But the feeling never comes.

If anything, the feeling that washes over him is the complete opposite. Scar closes his eyes, and for a moment, he feels the air around him cooling down significantly. The cloak is less stifling and more… comfortable, like throwing a blanket over himself on a cold night, relieving the ache in his joints, and allowing his muscles to relax. If he can ignore the feeling of the boat beneath him- the way it rocks as Death sits down again, or the way some plank digs uncomfortably into the back of his neck- or even the dulling pain in his side, Scar can almost imagine that he's on his ship again. His cat curled up at his side, the ship rocking but not uncomfortably so…

I’m going to save your life.

Something about it sounds so reassuring. It's easy to ignore the part that came after that, so long as he was saved.

And, as soon as he gets the chance to, Scar relaxes, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

-

When he wakes up again, a lot of things are happening all at once.

When he opens his eyes, Death is no longer there, sitting at the end of his boat- and it must've been later on in the day. Because even though his vision is still slightly blurry, and he's still waking up, everything is dark- and unless he's somehow lost his vision in all of this, it's safe to assume that it's just night. It's something he can figure out later- thankfully alive, and now with the option to.

Faintly- aside from the sound of waves crashing against a shore- he can hear his name being called by a bunch of frantic, familiar voices. He can hear hurried footsteps thumping against a wooden deck and, if he were any more lucid, he would've guessed that he ended up on a dock, somehow, just as he'd hoped he would. Suddenly, as if to prove his earlier worries wrong, there's a light shoved in his face- from a lantern, maybe- but it's still hard to see much of anything, in his position.

He's alive, and he can see- but it feels more like he's taking the passenger seat in his own body. It's weird, and uncomfortable. He can't move his limbs, or his head- even as he feels his body being lifted up and out of the boat, held steady by someone he hopes he can thank later- his head lolls to the side, and it stays there as he's stood upright. And as he's being moved around, he's limply following along, and unable to walk by himself.

But at the same time, even as it feels surreal and terrifying- it all seems just a little too good to be true. The last time he was conscious, he was dying- and now, he's being carried back onto his ship. Or, if he was just hallucinating when he recognized the voices- he was at least being helped to safety. (And, as he shuts his eyes again, he steadily realizes that the pain usually emanating from his side is dulled, if not gone completely. He would've felt it, being stood upright, but there was nothing there. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that a lot of his old body pains have faded- no more joint pains, or patches of skin that were sunburnt, and peeling off…

And it's not just him being unable to feel it. He can feel everything else- that pain is just… gone.)

-

The next time Scar wakes up, he's bolting upright in his bed. And, for a moment, he can almost convince himself that everything had just been one long, convoluted dream.

But then his head spins from sitting up too fast, and that pain is almost immediately drowned out by a horrible searing pain in his abdomen- almost like someone burned the tip of a metal rod, and pressed it against the skin there- and it's enough to immediately make him lay down again, and wait for the pain to pass into something manageable. His cat, who'd previously been resting on his leg, jumps at the sudden movement- but then, as he lays down again, she joins him.

He's in pain, and the past few days are slowly blurring together in his mind- but he's back on his own ship. He's in his bed, and covered by thick blankets- and, as he tentatively lifts them up, he sees that he’s shirtless, and covered in fresh bandages. His cat is curled up by his side, sitting close to his old wound, but not close enough to irritate it. He takes a slow, deep breath- ignores the stinging pain- and he relaxes into the bed again. He’s ready to go back to sleep, and wake up again when he doesn’t feel as bad.

But then the door opens. His cat flinches, but stays close to him, and Scar’s head looks over at the same time hers does. And, because the curtain that usually covers his bed is thrown open, he can easily see who walks into his room.

On the Convex ship, there were two captains that led the crew instead of just one. 

Scar was a lone captain, at first, content with a smaller crew and sole leadership. And, slowly, in letting Cub help him out as an assistant, it became a 50/50 leadership between them. (Then, as the frequency of sick days became worse, and as Scar slowly let himself become more lax on responsibilities, it began to feel more like 40/60, then 30/70- and though their input on ideas and plans are still equal, it doesn’t feel like it, sometimes.

It’s why he wasn’t too worried about his crew when he thought he was going to die. On some days, being Captain felt more like having a fancy title over his head, rather than an actual role he kept. If he wasn’t there… his crew would’ve been just fine with Cub solely leading them.)

Upon seeing Scar awake, and watching him as he walked into his room, Cub pauses. His eyebrows furrow, and hide behind a thick pair of glasses- one that he pushes up, when they start to fall down the bridge of his nose. Scar’s eyes move to his hands- and, when he sees that he’s carrying a few bottles, a few different books, and something wrapped in cloth- Scar can guess that he’s here for him.

“Hey.” Scar says, with a small twinge of pain in the back of his throat- but he can talk, now, and that’s all that really matters to him.

“Hey.” Cub repeats in a slow, quiet tone.

Then, he’s set into motion again, and he’s walking around Scar’s room. He haphazardly dumps the books and bottles on Scar’s desk- which is clean for once, he notices, and has nothing on it besides stacked papers kept under a paper weight, and an unlit lantern. He has to crane his neck to see everything properly- poking his head out of the hole-in-the wall type of bed that he’d made for himself when he first got the ship, and curiously watching Cub move around.

Scar’s room is big, and doubles as an office for the two of them- with half the room being raised a step, and both of their respective desks being on the different inclines- so it’s not unlikely to see Cub walking around and generally minding his own business… but it is weird to see that Cub had likely cleaned up his desk while he was away, or while he was sleeping. He’s a stickler for privacy, and only shares a room to work in because of the space- something that the two of them usually respect, even if they’re both not really used to it- but Scar can’t find it in himself to be too upset about it.

If Cub cleaned his side of the office, it’s likely supposed to be an act of kindness- either clearing it as a show of respect while he was missing and possibly dead, or cleaning while he was sick and obviously still recovering. (And, once Scar does feel better, the cleanliness of the room isn’t going to last much longer- he’s still going to fall into old habits, and he’s going to go back to working in an organized mess- but the gesture is appreciated nonetheless.)

As he looks over, there’s a few more things he notices.

The long windows in his room have its curtains open, but there’s no light coming through. He can’t tell how late it is, or what day it is- but it feels like it’s only been minutes since the last time he was awake, even if the memory of it was all fuzzy. Cub lights the lantern on Scar’s desk, and he guesses that it’s something he can ask him, now that he’s here… But as Cub starts walking over to him- lantern in one hand, bottle tucked under his arm, while the other is holding the object wrapped in cloth- Scar catches the sight of the chair behind his desk. Something is draped over it- something brown, and something he can’t quite make out from a distance.

It is, however, something that he immediately forgets when Cub breaks his line of sight.

There’s a chair just off to the side, near his bed- and as soon as Cub comes close enough, he sets down the lantern, drags that chair over, and sits down in it. Scar gets comfortable in his bed again.

“Can you sit up?” Cub asks.

“No.”
Cub finally holds up the bottle. He swishes it around, and Scar watches the faint, pink liquid moving around in it. He easily recognizes it as a healing potion. And, though Scar thought it to be something that was rare in their supply, he’s been gone for a while now. Anything could’ve changed, and he won’t know until he’s up and moving around again.

“Can you try?” And Scar groans, but he sits up again slowly. His cat moves further down the bed- body low, and staring openly at Cub as he gives Scar the bottle, and helps him drink it. Scar’s bandaged hands are shaking slightly, and the potion doesn’t go down easily- but once it is down, the pain in his joints subside, and the wound in his side doesn’t hurt as much. Scar takes a deep breath, and breathes out a long sigh of relief when his ribs don’t ache.

“How long have I been asleep?” He passes the bottle back, and Cub easily sets it next to the lantern, for the moment. Then he unwraps the cloth, and reveals what Scar hopes is freshly made bread.

“Since you’ve been here?” Scar nods, and Cub pauses to tear off a large piece for him. When the bread touches and warms his finger tips, he almost cries in relief, and immediately goes to tear it apart and eat it with trembling hands.  “A few days. But you’ve been gone for much longer.” Cub eats alongside him, casually, and it’s over far too soon. Scar hasn’t eaten in so long- and while the potion, and open wound is likely dulling the hunger pains- he still eats like it. When he’s done, Cub silently hands over the rest.

“Is it late?” He asks.

“Mhm. We stopped in town just a few hours ago, for supplies.” That’s where the potion came from, then.

Scar feels his arm get bumped by a tiny, furry head. Cub’s gaze turns over to the offender, and Scar swears that he sees him almost start to smile.

“She missed you.” Cub didn’t even have to gesture, for Scar to know who he was talking about.

Out of everyone in his crew, Scar was the only one that Jellie really liked to hang out with. On rare occasions, she was content with stalking near the other crewmates that had the habit of feeding her their scraps whenever it was time for dinner, and she was begging- but, even then, she only lurked around them when she was hungry. 

At every other point of the day, she’s with Scar.

Usually, she’s content with laying on his desk in his office, rolling on papers or books that he’s using- or even laying in his bed, even if he wasn’t using it. She’s familiar with how the ship rocks, after being on it for almost a year, and she sleeps deeply on most nights because of it. Sometimes, when he’s walking around town, she likes to follow just a few steps behind him- tail raised, and keeping an eye out on their surroundings, like it’s something she’s tasked to do for him- but, for the most part, Scar likes to keep her on the ship, and she’s usually content with waiting for him to come back.

Scar remembers the day he got her very vividly. 

He first spotted her in a bustling town- coming across a friendly, skinny stray that he was more than happy to share some scraps with- and, after that, she never really left him alone. Somehow, without him even realizing it, she followed him, and snuck on the ship- and nobody on his crew knew that there was a cat on the ship until they were too far from the port to turn around again. And even as his crew found out, Scar didn't find out until much later- not until he walked out onto the deck of the ship, and found one of his crewmates covered in scratches, and pouting because he failed to catch the animal that was stuck onboard.

At the time, he was the only one that didn't want to get rid of her. But because his crew was reasonable- and because, as captain, he usually got his way, even as some disagreed- Jellie was soon seen as a fellow member of the crew. (And, after coming to know her, everyone else on the ship either fawned over her whenever she visited them- or they acted like they could barely tolerate her, while feeding her and scratching her behind the ears every chance they could get.

Jellie handles pests, and she keeps Scar company. As far as he knows, she’s the best decision he’s ever made.)

And now- as he lays injured, and returning to the ship after days of being gone- he knows that Jellie is going to be glued to his side for the next month. He holds his hands out, and she moves to press the top of her head into his hand- leaning into his touch as he threads his fingers through her fur. She doesn’t mind that his hands are shaky, and he’s thankful for it.

“She wouldn’t leave your office.” Cub continues, even though the conversation isn’t one he wants to linger on too much, “Everyone thought she jumped ship, at some point, since they weren’t seeing her walking around.”

“Has she been eating?”

“I’ve been leaving her food.” Scar doesn't need to hear much more to know what he's trying to imply.

“She’s the most important member of our crew.” Scar mutters, “When I go, she’s taking my place.”

Cub rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe I almost had to work with her, as co-captain.”

“She’s like me. It’d be like nothing happened!”

“She hates me.” And, though his tone makes him sound serious, Scar can see a faint smile on his face.

“Well…” He continues petting the cat in question, but his voice trails off, and he lets the sentence fall flat there.

For a moment, the two of them are silent- with Scar enjoying Jellie's company, and with Cub sitting there, and zoning out. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and eyes distant, but staring straight at Jellie.

“Why are you here?” Scar asks, quietly, and it takes Cub a second to answer.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Scar sighs.

“I got stabbed.” In town, one day, leaving on his own- completely blindsided. He remembers that part frustratingly well, struggling while being pulled away from his crew- without them even knowing where he went. “Kidnapped.” He squints, while staring up at the ceiling- and he looks pensive as he genuinely tries to think about it, “And- from there, everything’s a little fuzzy- but I remember being stranded in a small boat for a while.”

“And?”

He remembers his time away in flashes. Small bits that he couldn't quite piece together, on its own- the laughter of a group he didn't know, something to do with his hands being injured, feeling too weak to stand or move on most days, long before he was left tied to that boat- but it's all barely there. And, if Scar is being completely honest, it's probably something that he will try his hardest to completely forget, if he can help it. (It's all in the past- and, really, all he's learned from it is that he needs to be more careful about who he talks with, if they ever try stopping by a town again.)

“That’s it.” He says anyway.

“Hm.”

He nodded at him, “How did you find me?”

“You were next to a dock- the one we’re still stopped at- and you were just… laying on a boat. Unconscious. We barely recognized it was you.”

“That’s… insanely lucky.” He mutters.

Scar also, faintly, recognizes a few fever dreams he must’ve had- ones with Death keeping him company throughout the trip, probably the clearest his mind’s been in days- but he’s smart enough not to vocalize anything. It was just a weird hallucination- or dream. He just… had a really rough few days, out at sea, and he’s going to have a few more as he’s recovering. That's it.

"It is." 

Scar’s next smile is pained, slightly, but Cub doesn't say anything about it. What he doesn't know won't kill him.

-

When Cub leaves- keeping the lantern lit, upon Scar's request, but still leaving him alone- Scar still has some energy left.

He knows that it's coming from the healing potion, and he knows that it's a small burst of energy that is going to dissipate very quickly- but he still takes the opportunity to move again. He carefully shuffles out of his bed- disturbing Jellie in the process, though she seems more curious than annoyed over him moving- and he sits upright on the edge of his bed. He takes a deep breath, grabs the lantern on the ground, and he braces himself before he stands up again.

Though it's difficult, Scar is used to having weak knees and spending days being bedridden, and he easily starts to shuffle around his office. Jellie is at his feet, and because his steps are slow, he's careful and doesn't trip over her or kick her- but she's clingy, and she rubs herself against his legs, and it doesn't make the walk over any easier.

The first thing he does is close the curtains to the large windows near his desk. With how he's recovering, he knows that he's going to want to sleep as much as possible- and he knows that the last thing he wants to wake up to (especially with a headache he'll inevitably have) is a big, bright light. He's fine with keeping his room a little dark, as he recovers- and he's sure that Cub won't mind not having natural light in the office for however long it takes.

Then, his attention turns to what his eyes caught onto earlier. And, as he picks at it, he realizes that it's a coat that's draped across the front of his chair- not one he recognizes, by any means, but one that's on his side of the office, and is either meant for him, or mistaken to be his. And, as he looks at it, he notices that it almost looks like an old coat he used to have way back in the day, brown and leathery, and worn every time he got the chance to. But that old coat was torn, and destroyed beyond repair, and Scar's been on a constant quest to get a new one since it's been gone.

Maybe it’s a present- he thinks, as he picks it up off the chair, and inspects it closely. And when he sticks his hand in the sleeve, he almost drops the coat.

The inside of the coat is lined with white fur, unlike his old jacket, and it’s… eerily warm, and feels like it’s been worn recently. Even if Scar could see that it’s just been sitting on his chair, and hasn’t been touched since he’s been awake. He continues to pull it on, slowly, and he finds that not only does the coat fit him perfectly, but it's also a nice, comfortable temperature. He wraps it around himself, and it feels nice.

When Scar goes to bed that night- curtains closed, and Jellie being held close to him- he’s still wearing the coat, and he falls asleep easily.

-

Scar spends, as Cub reports, the next few days laying in bed.

His sleeping schedule is uneven. Out of the 6 other people on his crew, he only gets frequent visits from a few of them, since most are too busy to see him when he's awake, and even then, it's mostly just Cub that stops by. Every day he drinks small shots of health potions, and every day he starts growing just a little stronger. 

His hands- he later found out, when Cub was helping him reapply his bandages- were more injured than anywhere else on his body. Slashes and scars cut across his palms, and one particularly shallow cut slides down the side of his forearm. He couldn't walk with a cane until those were healed. But, even then, Cub said he had a feeling that they weren't going to heal nicely, and Scar tried not to feel disheartened by the news.

("When we found you…" Cub said one night, wrapping the bandages just tightly enough to remain comfortable. Scar's head perked up immediately. "Your injuries were wrapped."

"Huh." He knew it wasn't Death, despite the promise to save his life, "I don't think it was supposed to be a kind gesture." His death, after all, was designed to be slow and painful- and all he can really thank them for is being dumb enough to not keep him on the main deck of the ship.

Cub's movements slowed.

But then, probably sensing that Scar wasn't going to talk about it much, he continued in silence.)

It isn't so bad, though. 

Cub leaves the door open during the day to get some fresh air in the cabin, and he leaves the windows open to Scar's immediate chagrin- but he also piles some books near Scar’s bed, and he checks on him once in a while to make sure that his lantern is lit, and that he's not dying from boredom. Despite giving him fresh bread on the day he first woke up, he gets soups, and broth later on- and, as days go by, and he slowly gets better, he starts to think that all of this is truly something he can just… put behind him, and forget about.

-

After falling asleep one night, Scar opens his eyes, and finds himself standing in a void of some kind.

Above him, there's a bright blue sky full of white clouds, and with a sun shining right on top of his head. Beneath him, he can guess easily that it's supposed to be the ocean- it's dark blue, yet clear enough for him to see that it's deep, and clear enough for him to spot the faint signs of wildlife moving beneath him. Schools of fish, something that looks like a shark moving around in the distance... And when he moves his foot, the stillness of the top of the water is only broken apart by a few ripples- similar to the stillness of a pond.

And despite the sun shining down on him, and despite there being no wind or any sort of weather that he can feel- Scar feels cold. It starts at his feet, and shocks all the way up his system, until he's left standing in that void, and shivering- looking around, but not seeing any visible place to go to. He wraps his arms around himself, tucking his hands under his armpits, and slouching in on himself to conserve heat- but nothing is helping.

Then, he sees something in the water below him. Small at first, but slowly growing bigger- and, easily, he sees Death’s face.

He’s wearing the pelt cloak, same as when he first saw him, but with him swimming up towards him, the hood of it falls past his shoulders, and reveals more of his head. As he comes closer to the water, close enough to touch the surface, he pauses. His hair- golden now, in the light- is flowing gently past his ears. He doesn’t look exerted in the slightest, and he doesn’t visibly look like he’s holding his breath. 

He’s just… there, and he’s staring at Scar curiously, head tilting to the side.

Scar backs up a little. And, like a fish in a tank, it follows him.

Then, Scar breaks out into a run, and he can see that Death is following him, and swimming just beneath him. He follows Scar’s every movement. And, when Scar trips over himself, and falls onto the floor, Death is there to catch him.

A hand breaks through the stillness of the water. It wraps around his ankle tightly, and then he’s being pulled into the water, and all he can do is hold his breath. Suddenly- as he claws at the water, and his fingers go through it easily- it feels like the floor beneath him vanishes completely. It’s like a sudden shock to his system. The cold that he feels is amplified, as he falls in, and the hand on his ankle doesn’t loosen its grip in the slightest. He’s being pulled down, further and further, and all he can see as he opens his eyes is the color blue- bright, at first, but slowly growing darker the further he goes down.

Scar wakes up in a pool of sweat.

He's breathing heavily, and his heart is racing- and it takes him just a little too long to realize that the darkness of his room is only there by his own design. Any sort of natural light coming from the outside is covered by the dark curtains in his room. He's not sinking into the ocean, and he isn't drowning- the pressure isn't coming from the sea, and is instead because of the heavy blankets he's mounted onto himself. He's fine.

He puts his hand up against his chest, and he takes a few deep breaths. He distantly hears a disgruntled meow, but the constant thump, thump, thump is too loud for him to hear much of anything.

Then, there’s movement. Tiny claws pad against his chest, followed by Jellie’s furry body curling around on top of him. He reaches his hand down to touch her, and she begins to pur.

Slowly, Scar starts to calm down. His breathing evens out, and his chest doesn’t hurt as much.

But the air inside the room still seems stuffy, and stiff, and he's still sweating too much to be comfortable. Since he’s been recovering, he sits up without much trouble, and he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabs his new jacket off the ground before he stands up, aware that the air outside is going to be slightly chilly, and that it's not going to feel great on his skin. As he starts to leave, Jellie easily follows in his footsteps.

When he steps outside, it's somewhere between midnight and dawn. The sky is dark, but light enough for him to see his surroundings- and, because there's no light on the ship, he can see a sky full of faint stars, and he could effortlessly look out onto the water. 

The jacket perfectly shields him from the cold, and warms him as he wraps his arms around it, but he's also aware of the fact that he forgot to bring any sort of shoes with him. He was barefoot, feet hitting the deck, and making him shudder. He couldn't spend too long out here- just long enough to catch his breath. (And maybe, when he's feeling better, he could leave the door to his room open- and let the whole room just air out. It's going to lose a lot of its warmth, in the process, but he'll breathe easier, and that's all he really needs.)

For a minute, everything is good, and Scar can almost forget about the dream he had.

Then, he hears Jellie start to hiss. 

He looks down, and sees that her sights are locked onto the water. Her back is arched, hair and tail raised in the air- for such a mellow cat, it's a startling sight to see her be so aggressive all of a sudden.

“Oh- what’s wrong?” He croons, easily picking her up, and resting her on his shoulder. And though she lets him pick her up and carry her, that doesn't stop her from letting out quiet, throaty growls. Even as she lays on Scar's shoulder, her head whips around, and Scar can hear her displeasure over something in the water. He can vaguely feel her claws gripping into his jacket, but it's just thick enough for him to not feel it puncture his skin.

And when Scar looks back out at the ocean, he doesn't see what she had, at first. He expects to see a bird, or some other form of wildlife that just happened to catch her eye, and freak her out- something that Scar would barely spot at a distance. Something he wouldn't care too much about, or something ridiculous that he could tell Cub about later.

Instead, as he looks out, Scar can clearly see that there’s a head in the water.

His arms break out in goosebumps the minute he realizes that it looks like a human head. Not one that's dead, either. One that's alive, and watching him- head just barely poking out, water rising to the bridge of their nose- and it takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Scar to realize who it is. To recognize the color and length of their hair, even though it's wet, and to recognize someone that he'd only ever seen twice. (Three times, now.)

It's Death.

He can’t see his face well, and he doesn’t know what kind of expression he’s making- but Scar knows that he’s being watched, and he swears that he can see his eyes from where he's standing. Cold, dark, and calculating. Menacing, in a certain way. (He wonders how long he's been watching him- and it's only a matter of why he's watching him, and not if- because Scar knows that he's here for him. And he knows that, if he'd been dreaming, he would've woken up by now- gasping for breath, heart racing- just like he did moments earlier.

But this is real. This is the person who saved him- and this is his way of knowing that he's keeping an eye on him.)

Then, as he’s watching, the head slowly dips below the water, and disappears.

Scar doesn’t sleep for the rest of that night. 

He locks his door, shuts the curtains, and wraps his blankets around himself as tightly as possible- as if it'd do anything to stop him.

-

Later that day- restless, and looking for a reprieve- Scar heads down below deck, and toward a specific place he’s been to countless times.

There wasn’t much space on the ship, but there was enough for a couple of rooms. And- because of the nature of their ship, and the crew he's chosen- a few of their rooms have turned into workshops with beds stacked in the corner. Without warning- as he usually had, before he was stuck in recovery- Scar enters one of these many rooms, and meets with an old friend of his.

Out of everyone on the ship, he's known Mumbo Jumbo the longest. Back when they were much younger, his parents owned a shop that Scar and his family frequented, and he saw the mustached man too many times to count. And, because he was the only person around his age that he actually liked, Mumbo was treated to frequent conversations with him.

And, ever since finding out he had a thing for redstone, the choice to hire him felt like the easiest decision he's ever had to make. Because, while it took a while to get used to and trust everyone else on the crew, Scar and Mumbo already had a few years of friendship under their belts.

As soon as the door opens, and Scar wordlessly steps inside, Mumbo casts the door a confused look-

Until he realizes that it's Scar entering.

"Scar!" Mumbo cries, eyebrows shooting up, and knees banging on the table he'd been hunched over just moments ago, "I thought you were in bed."

Mumbo looks almost the same as he did when he was a teenager. Though his mustache was a little more well-kept, and he had much more of an attitude, now that he knew he wouldn't get in trouble for it… he was still tall, and lean. He still carried himself with hunched shoulders, and he still regularly spoke in a quiet voice. (Sometimes, when Scar entered his workshop, it was like no time had passed between them at all.)

"Hey, Mumbo! I just wanted to see how… progress was coming along." He says, as vaguely as possible, hoping that Mumbo could fill in the blanks for him. He stalks forward, and leans some of his weight against the table. "Last I checked, you were working on something great."

“You’re… not usually interested in this sort of thing.”

“I’ve changed!” He says, and it sounds fake in his own ears. But he keeps going, because if Scar is anything, it’s stubborn. He pulls up a chair, and carefully sits down in it- using the table to help him, in case even that proves to be too strenuous. "Come on- humor me. I've been bored out of my mind. Give me some good news."

Scar doesn't expect to immediately become lost- but when Mumbo’s mouth opens, and the word redstone comes out, he feels like his eyes start to glaze over against his will, and all that he hears coming out is a bunch of convoluted… mumbo jumbo. He still sits there, nodding along, and looking like he's paying attention to whatever he's saying- but not a single word is coming through to him.

And you'd think someone like Scar- who supplies and transports redstone to other pirates for a living, mind you- would have the barest inkling of how it worked, and how it could be used… but he doesn't. He pretended to, at first. He used to go on about how he was incredibly proficient, being one of the only pirates on the open seas to distribute it to outlaws- but the truth is that he just saw an opportunity, and he took it as quickly as he could. Redstone is incredibly useful to a lot of pirates, and incredibly lucrative to him, so they set out on the seas to distribute it.

"Are you even a pirate?"- he'd been asked far too many times before, after revealing what he did for a living, and Scar would simply say that he was just… a pirate-adjacent businessman, at the very least. The law saw them as criminals, the navy saw them as a nuisance that should've been put down ages ago, and your fellow pirates considered them to be allies- or, just, someone to make temporary deals with. (Rarely, they were targets for an attack, seeing as most pirates considered them to be useful as they were on their own. The attack on the dock just weeks ago now- Scar getting stabbed and dragged around, almost dying in the process- was something that was so extraordinarily rare that he had the feeling it wouldn't happen again.)

He picked up the members of his crew ages ago- each having either the barest knowledge of redstone, or the barest knowledge of what being a pirate is like- and they've been sailing just fine, so far, even if one of their captains wasn't as knowledgeable about their main export.

Scar sees Mumbo's face twist up. And, just as he tunes back into the conversation, his tone is deadpanned. "And then… we'll make jetpacks." He says, slowly turning back to whatever he was tinkering with before Scar came in, "And we'll start flying around, instead of staying on the ship all day, for the sake of your safety."

Scar perks up immediately. "What do jetpacks have to do with anything?" He didn't even think they had that sort of technology yet- it was something that was theorized, sure, but never finalized.

Mumbo looks pained as he speaks again. "Scar, you don't have to listen to me if you're not interested."

"But I am!"

"What did I say, then?"

"You were… talking about redstone. And… jetpacks." He says the last part so quietly that it's barely heard above a whisper, and Mumbo sighs.

"We're not making jetpacks, Scar," Mumbos says, just as quietly. "We don't even have that sort of technology, yet. And, even if we did, it's absolutely not Scar-safe. You would not be allowed to use it."

Scar leans against Mumbo's workbench- elbow propped up on the table, before his head is pillowed by the crook of his arm. Mumbo looks over at him for a second, but he doesn't seem all that interested in talking to him anymore.

"Well- maybe I just like hearing you talk." Mumbo hums, but doesn't seem to be tuned in. "I missed it."

He sees Mumbo pause, for a second.

"I missed you too, Scar." He says stiffly. "Nobody else comes in, and bothers me while I'm working."

A moment of silence passes- with Mumbo tinkering away, and Scar happily watching him from a distance- even if such a thing was foreign to him. He almost asks about it- if it's something he was working on for the ship, or for the sake of satiating his own boredom. Then, as if remembering that his line of conversation usually ends up taking Mumbo away from his work, (and, after his mind wandering causes him to think about the dream he had, and the sole reason for why he was bothering Mumbo in the first place), Scar huffs.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Mumbo?"

"No." He says, quickly. "Why?"

Scar's hand presses against his mouth. And, slowly, he begins to lean his weight against it. He contemplates what to say next- because it's frustratingly easy to talk to Mumbo, sometimes, but he also doesn't want to talk about Death at the risk of sounding… crazy.

"Just… stirring up some conversation." He says, and leaves it at that.

-

When Scar goes to bed that night- a little hesitant, due to the previous night's antics- he keeps the lanterns lit beside his bed, and he does so reluctantly.

He opens his eyes, and finds himself in a church, bathed in the same warm and low light that was previously shining from the lantern.

More specifically, in a booth of some kind- and because it's a dream, he knows where he is. (In real life, Scar’s never been inside a confessional booth before. He’s been to a church before- several times, back when he was a child, and when he’d be forced to go- but as an adult, he kept his distance. He adored the designs and architecture, but always at a distance.)

He doesn’t know what to do- almost as if he was stuck in there, without any sort of direction. Soft music plays in the distance, matching up with what he vaguely remembers from going to church as a kid, and he sits there while his brain tries to come up with some sort of context. 

His palms are clammy, and his face is prickling as he says- “I think I’m being haunted.”

There is a thin barrier between himself and whoever’s on the other side. And though he could see through it, he couldn’t make out the features of the person sitting next to him. He knows, however, that he's supposed to be talking to the church’s priest.

“Is that so?” A voice responds, and it’s all he needs to continue.

“By Death.” His hands clasp together, and his dirtied fingernail starts drawing lines into his hands. He’s trying to soothe himself, and it’s not working. The church is stifling, and hot, and the booth is suddenly too cramped, and only getting worse- like it's actively closing in on itself. “I’ve escaped him, and now he’s coming after me. I don’t know what to do.”

“...Wait.” The voice says.

“Wait?”

“I’ll catch up eventually.”

When Scar wakes up again, it’s a quick jolt.

This time, instead of being thrown into a blind panic, a wave of relief immediately crashes over him. He’s in bed- he’s fine. And even though the room is stuffy again, and he wants some fresh air- there's absolutely no way he's going to go outside, or open his door again.

-

(And when he eventually goes back to sleep, he’s immediately thrown back into that church- except, that time, it’s slowly being flooded.

Scar tries every door, and throws himself upon every window that can be reached- even, at some point, trying to look for the source of the rising water- but nothing stops the flood. He starts swimming once the water is high enough. And in the end- when he’s pressing his face against high, painted ceilings, and he’s taking in every breath he can- the water creeps up around his chin, and eventually engulfs him entirely.

Breathing underwater is possible, barely, but it leaves him feeling heavy. When he wakes up, the covers are pulled over his head, and it does nothing to help calm him down.)

-

Scar’s recovery doesn’t feel linear.

Physically- though it’s horribly scarred now, and he doesn’t know when it’ll fully heal over- his injuries are basically fine, thanks to the health potions he's been consistently sipping at. He hasn’t been doing anything strenuous to irritate it, and he's even started taking walks around the ship to try and speed it up. Physical therapy, and all that.

The only problem is that he's not getting enough sleep. And it's something that's definitely noticeable. Cub comments on it when he helps Scar change bandages, and he tells him that he should lie down and get some rest- even if his wounds were healed enough for him to be able to walk around with a cane, now.

But he’s restless, and taking the chance to move around when he can.

When he walks into their kitchen- walking into their resident cook, just as he was keeping himself busy with a giant pot (of stew, Scar guesses)- he’s greeted with a smile.

"Scar-" And, the minute he sees him- likely spotting the dark bags under his eyes- Impulse immediately winces, "Oh, you've got-"

Scar slams his hands on the counter separating them. 

Immediately, Impulse jumps back- and Scar is amused by it. (Even as his hands sting upon impact, and the pain tingles up his arms and reminds him why he’s been laying in bed for the past few days.)

Impulse was more of Mumbo’s friend, than his- but he was also proficient with redstone, and he was friendly enough- so Scar was more than happy to let him tag along. It was only later that he was told that Impulse used to work in a factory, manufacturing redstone with top-of-the-line machinery, and would later prove to be a great help on the Convex. He made a working stove on their ship, repairing and using it frequently, and he always made enough food for everyone. A quick, thoughtless addition later turned out to be a great idea.

“Impulse.” Scar says, slowly dragging the word out, “Please tell me you’ve made something good.”

His eyes narrow, “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.”

And then he starts moving around the kitchen. Scar slides onto a bar stool, and eagerly watches as Impulse stacks food into a bowl- rice, with some of the stew in the pot on top of it- and slides it over to him. Scar digs in immediately. It’s warm, and nice- and Scar is just thankful that he’s eating somewhere other than his room for once.

Impulse leans over the counter, “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” He mutters, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long before other people also join them. Cub shows up, for a minute- taking some food for himself, and leaving just as quickly. Impulse leaves at some point, with promises of coming back in a minute.

Then, Pearl walks into the kitchen- ducking in with a quick, dismissive greeting, and serving herself some food as well.

Out of everyone on his ship- 7 people in total, including himself- there are only 3 people that don't pride themselves on being good at working with redstone. There's himself, obviously, there's a scrappy man named Joel, and then there's Pearl. 

Pearl, who is one of the only veteran pirates on the ship- sporting a large scar cutting down the center of her face, and having the most intense neutral faces Scar's ever seen- but also genuinely one of the nicest people he's ever met. They're alike in many ways, being artists at heart- and if anyone is going to attentively listen to his thinly-veiled ramblings, it’s going to be her.

“Hey, Pearl?” He asks, just to get her attention, and she hums in response. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?" She's glaring at him, a small smile tensely stretching across her face, but Scar knows that it's not indicative of how she's feeling. She sits down next to him, a bowl of her own food set in front of her, and she waits for him to elaborate- such is their usual relationship.

"Ghosts." He repeats, "Er- mythology. Stories about anything… magical, or mythical." She raises an eyebrow, and he continues, "Any accounts of death- or, bringing someone back from the dead..?"

"Like… with Lady Death?” Then, she starts to eat, and she genuinely seems to think about it. “There are necromancers? But those are… real… um-” She hums, tapping her curled finger against his mouth, and it sounds unsure, “All that’s at the top of my head, really.”

Scar’s gaze lowers. “I don’t think that’s what I’m looking for.”

“Well, what are you looking for?”

Scar pauses to come up with an excuse.

"I had a book in my library that I've been wanting to read, again while I'm recovering-" Something briefly changes in her face, at the reminder, but Scar ignores it, "-but the only thing I can remember is that part of the story. I want to know… what kind of titles, or stories I should be looking for.”

“Can you remember anything else?”

“Uh…” The head sticking out of the water immediately comes to mind, “How about- sea creatures?”

“Like… Xisuma? And the Gods?” Scar shook his head, “Sirens? Selkies- leviathans?”

I’m going to save your life- a small, familiar voice rings in the back of his head, as a gentle reminder- If you give me something in return .

“How about… being indebted to someone?”

Her face lights with recognition in an instant, “That sounds like fae.” She says, matter-of-factly.

"Fae?"

"Fae." She repeats with a jerky nod, "Very mischievous, and alluring creatures- almost entirely made of magic. They can come in all shapes and sizes, and they're always looking to strike a deal with people who are easy to trick.”

Scar swallows thickly. His throat feels dry, again. "And, uh… if they do make a deal?”

“Hm?”

“With the fae. What happens to the people that make deals with them?”

Pearl shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s a contract you can’t break, since it’s magical, and they love tricking people into making one- sometimes, you’re forced to do something you don’t want to do. Sometimes, that little favor you’re stuck with turns into eternal servitude.” The thought makes Scar nauseous, but he keeps himself as composed as possible. “It’s all just stories, though.”

“Fae aren’t real?”

“...no?” She says incredulously.

“Well-” He sputters immediately, “How am I supposed to know which mythical creatures- are and aren’t real!? Magic is real!”

“Well- then they wouldn’t be mythical, would they?” She asks, and Scar pauses.

“When you put it like that…”

“They’re just stories.” She says again, “People like coming up with stories to make sense of everything we go through. The Gods are there to explain more natural things, like sickness- and Fae are there to explain where things like magic came from.”

“Is there any chance of them being real?”

“Maybe!” She waves her arm, “Maybe there really is some… dragon at the bottom of the ocean, making all of the rules, and intentionally sinking pirate ships in storms. And maybe there are devious little faeries that like stealing people’s names, and making them do whatever they want- but I haven’t seen them, so I can’t say either way, can I? It’s just fun to speculate, and read about.”

But not fun to actually live through, Scar thinks, but is smart enough not to say it.

Scar doesn’t think that he’s taken anything important away from this conversation. If anything, it’s made his paranoia just a tad worse.

-

When Scar goes to bed that night, he dreams that he’s in the middle of a storm.

He’s been in the middle of a storm before, being on the Convex for a long time now- but this storm is particularly brutal. And, maybe the talk with Pearl accidentally spurs it on- because it’s not a normal storm.

The waves are high. Much higher than the ship itself, rocking their boat in ways that’s hard to ignore. And when Scar stumbles onto the deck to see what’s going on, he’s met with a startling sight- the ship is riding on a wave that must be miles high, and it’s turned vertically, with the nose of it pointing downward, and headed towards the sea at a high speed. Scar knows that it’s headed to the bottom of the ocean only because of the slight context he gets from the dream.

That night is particularly rough. Every time he falls asleep, he wakes up in that storm again. Sometimes, the ship is perfectly fine, but the rainfall is heavy on him. During one dream, while it was storming, thunder rattled the ship, and lightning struck just close enough for Scar to see their ship being latched onto by a giant serpent monster. (In that one, he ran back into his office- but it did nothing to stop him from hearing their ship get torn apart, piece by piece, and it did not help that he woke up in the same room he was hiding in when he was dreaming. For just a few seconds, even though he was fully awake, he still felt like the monster was out there- and the sound of him breathing was only just loud enough to cover it.)

Death is only in the last dream.

As their ship sinks- just a small section poking out of the water, barely big enough for him to sit on- he can see Death visibly circling around the area like a shark waiting to be fed. His head pokes out of the water every time Scar looks over at him- watching, and anxiously waiting for it to sink.

After seeing Death in his dream, even though it's very early in the morning, Scar stays awake.

(And now, although Pearl gave him the idea that Death wasn’t actually Death, but instead a fae of some kind- Scar doesn’t know what else to call him. Death saved him, on that boat, and he appears in almost every dream he’s had since then- either causing death, or aiding in it. He couldn’t think of a more appropriate name for him.

Though, if he is fae, and if he does want something in return, then that means that he’ll come back, eventually.

And, when he does, he doesn't know what to expect from it.)

-

Joel is a lot like Pearl, in some ways. He looks angry, and prickly on the outside- eyebrows always furrowed, and mouth constantly pulled into a frown. The two of them are good fighters, and genuinely intimidating, sometimes- but the main difference between them is that, while Pearl is friendly, and a pleasure to talk to, Joel is actually prickly and mad all the time. The only times that Scar has ever seen him smile or laugh is at someone else's expense- and, despite all that, and despite a very constant and pessimistic attitude, he's still a valued member of the team. 

He isn't all that good with redstone, by any means, but he and his right-hand are both experienced pirates- and having them on the crew for intimidation is rewarding.

(Although, if Scar is being honest- Joel's nothing compared to his friend, Etho. Because Etho is tall, and looms over everyone easily- just barely a few inches taller than Mumbo- but whether that's because he's taller, or because he doesn't slouch is unknown to the rest of them. He's got the scars to prove that he's been through pretty violent fights, and he's got an eyepatch on the right side of his face- the classic look for a pirate. He's also quieter than Joel, at times- and there's always something so unsettling speaking to someone that gives little to no responses back.

Joel is mean, and brash. Etho is only intimidating by accident.

They were a packaged deal, when Scar found them. And, though they were the only crewmates that Scar didn't know very well before joining the Convex, they were a smart decision. Joel is good at fighting, while Etho is good at redstone. They're both loyal, he later found out- and, sometimes, they're fun to be around.)

This is not one of those times.

The minute Joel sees him, the neutral frown pinches into something worse, and it doesn't look like he thinks before he speaks when he says, "You look awful."

"So I've been told."

"More than usual." Joel can't help but continue. Etho gives him a wince of sympathy, but that's basically it- and Scar swears that it looks like he's trying not to smile.

"Mhm- hey, you two are familiar with sailing, right? More than I am?" And, after they shoot each other a look, he elaborates, "Are the clouds looking… weird to you?"

The two of them look up in unison.

"...no?" Joel mutters, after a moment.

“It looks like it’s going to rain soon.” He insists, “The clouds are all…”

When he looks up, he’s met with the sight of a bright blue sky. The only clouds in sight are white, and scattered across the sky- and while Scar doesn’t know a thing about weather patterns, he has the feeling that it’s not going to rain anytime soon.

“I think a few more hours of sleep will go a long way.” Joel says, simply, and Scar frowns.

“Nevermind.” He says, tone edging on bitter before he leaves the two of them alone.

-

A few more hours of sleep, as it turns out, doesn’t go a long way.

Scar is tired when he sits at his desk, and pours over a few books on his shelf. It's somewhere around noon, and he knows that the rest of the crew wouldn't throw a fit if he takes a nap- but something about the constant dreams have been making him anxious about sleeping. It's a fit of constant nightmares every single night, and he knows that it's not just something he can avoid-

But what can he do about it?

He tugs his jacket closer to himself, and he sighs. Talking about it, however vaguely, did not help. 

But losing sleep doesn't help, either.

It doesn't matter if it's the middle of the day, or the middle of the night. He knows that when he shuts his eyes, there's going to be something waiting for him on the other side- and he knows that it's likely going to take the form of Death, yet again. He knows that sleeping, now, is a risky move. And yet his joints ache, and his eyelids feel as heavy as lead.

So, carefully- knowing that he'll feel it in his neck later- Scar crosses his arms over the desk, and lays down on them.

This time, he feels lucky. Because, when he opens his eyes again, he's on that boat again, but lacking the constant state of dread that he carried with himself at the time. It feels less like he’s dying, and waiting for it, and more like he’s just… relaxing. The sun is giving him a nice tan, instead of burning his skin. The boat is rocking him into a false sense of security, instead of making him overtly nauseous. But it’s the fact that they’re on the boat that scares him, knowing that Death is just underneath the surface, and it eventually wakes him up again. 

He sits, staring at the wall, before he lifts his head up, and he goes back to work. He’s much more tired than he was before, even if the dream wasn’t horribly terrifying, and he feels set back.

-

“When are we docking?”

“Not for a while.” Cub’s eyes narrow, “We just stopped by a town a couple weeks ago-”

“Can we do it again? Soon?”

“Why?”

Because, if he stays out on the water, he’s more susceptible to getting a visit from Death. 

Since his near-death experience, he’s been having nightmares about the ocean, and about dying in it. It feels like his subconscious is trying to warn him. (Something, internally, is telling him that he will be safer on land. That the pirating life was never something that was meant to be his, despite how much he enjoys it, and that the easy kidnapping was just one of the many warning signs to come if he stays.

He wonders if he finds some joy in staying on land, if it really is the best decision for him to make. To retire. Leave the Convex to Cub, and a competent crew, while the weakest link resorts to staying behind. They could visit- or, somehow, keep in contact- but they'd probably be much happier as a crew, no longer needing to worry about him, and he’d certainly be much happier staying behind if he knew that it was safer for everyone. Including him.)

"I missed being out on land. From when I was recovering." He says, after a moment, and Cub's eyes take him in critically. At his gaze, Scar suddenly grows uncomfortable, "What?"

"Are you- okay?" Cub deadpans. And while it sounds confrontational , and something about his tone makes Scar want to shrink, and wither away on the spot- he knows that he's just concerned.

"I…" Am okay, he should've finished. But, instead, he says, "It looks like it'll rain soon."

"What?"

"The weather. I’m worried about the weather… picking up.”

“We’ve weathered storms before, we’ll be fine.”

"But I have a really bad feeling about this one."

Cub doesn't look convinced in the slightest.

"Get some sleep, Scar." And the words inexplicably fill him with dread, but he tries to look unaffected by it. "We'll see what we can do about changing our route."

-

Throughout the day, his joints hurt, to the point where Scar coops himself up in his office all day.

And when he goes out to eat later that evening, the stars in the sky are fainter than normal, and he only spots it because he's paranoid.

"Huh." Joel says, upon noticing the same thing, "Those do look like storm clouds." And Scar feels an overwhelming smugness upon being told he's right. He's told that the course will change, soon, and that they'll be headed towards the closest port they can find. Land, Scar hears, and it's like music to his ears.

When Scar goes to sleep that night, he expects to be woken up in another place entirely.

Instead, he's met with the sight of his own room on the ship. He's laying in his bed the wrong way, curtains thrown open, keeping his sights set on his desk-

And he quickly spots that there's something in the corner of his room. Or, rather, it's someone standing there, just behind his desk, staring at him from a fair distance away. He knows who it is, at this point, and he's not even slightly surprised to see him there- the only thing that he's really freaked out about is that he finds that he can't move an inch. Not even in wiggling his fingers, or toes- he lays there, staring at the figure, and staring is all he can do.

He doesn't know where Jellie is. He can't feel her, or see her from where he's angled. There's nothing he can do to try and ground himself, or wake himself up- if this is even a dream, which he's severely hoping it is- and as Death moves in the corner of his room, there's a pain in his chest that suddenly starts to form, like he's being crushed, and there's nothing he do to stop Death from walking over.

Then, Death's walk turns into a sprint. And, just before he could reach his bedside, or do something, Scar is awake in an instant, slamming his hands against the wall, and startling Jellie out of her sleep. She stiffens, and Scar's chest gets clawed up in her attempt to escape- whatever just happened.

He's breathing heavily. His heart is pounding, and he's covered in sweat- the standard, for these nightmares- but instead of laying there and waiting to calm down, or finding Jellie, Scar moves. He throws open the curtains- unprepared, if Death was there, but ready to fight-

But all he sees is his jacket, draped over the chair that he was standing behind. The ship creaks as his eyes make contact with it, and some pieces fit together into his paranoid mind. Scar wastes no time. He walks over to the chair, picks the warm jacket up by its collar, and he quickly leaves his room.

Nobody is on deck when he throws the jacket overboard. It's quiet, and peaceful. He watches the jacket as it hits the water- floating, slightly, before finally giving in, and finally sinking to the bottom of the ocean. It was a nice jacket, all things considered, but Scar would rather go back to having no jacket than having a cursed one- and, even if it isn’t cursed, Scar knows that he’ll have some kind of peace of mind with it being gone. It showed up out of nowhere, and now it’s gone just as fast.

Blearily, he wonders if that's going to be the end of it. No more nightmares, or Death sightings- if he made the right call, and recognized that the jacket belonged to Death- but there was no way to tell until he fell asleep again. And though his eye bags were heavy, and he was undeniably tired, he knows that he won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

-

(When he does go to sleep that night- spending a few minutes staring up at the ceiling, eyes shot wide open before he gets any sort of sleep- it’s still not pleasant.

He doesn’t have any discernible nightmare, but he doesn’t get a lot of sleep at the same time. He woke up a few times throughout the night, panicked, but unable to remember what was panicking him. Briefly, he wondered if it was about Death, or the ship that took him- but he couldn’t tell.

Later that morning, he doesn’t feel any better at all, but he continues. Days pass slowly like this, and Scar waits as long as he needs to before they reach land, and he can figure out what to do from there.)

-

One night, Scar wakes up to the ship rocking in a very abnormal way. 

But with how consistent and vivid his nightmares have been recently, he's quick to remember what it means. His joints hurt, but he gets up anyway, and almost slips in his quick attempt to get outside. 

Even though their ship is durable, their crew is still small. The Convex is in the middle of a storm, and he knows that his crewmates will need as much help as they can get to make sure that they don’t end up at the bottom of the ocean in a few hours.

The rain is just cold enough to shock his senses, and wake him up. He feels more awake and energized than he has in days, and he quickly jumps into action- it's clear. This is real. Though his nightmares are vivid, they aren't this vivid. He already sees his crew crowding near the front, and takes position near the back of the ship. He moves around barrels, knowing that he'll have to help with bringing them down below in a second.

But for now, fingers dance against the ropes tied to the side. Water floods the top of the deck, reaching his ankle, and he just managed to hang on before he could get knocked off. Then, his cold numbing hands start to untie a knot that's been made- all too familiar with the routine, after being out at sea, for so long, and having to weather some serious storms.

Then, Scar hears a loud snap, and suddenly, a lot of things happen in very quick succession.

The ship rocks, just as it's been doing throughout the storm, but something about the way it rocks is a lot more jagged than he's used to it being. Something hits the back of his head, small but quick, and Scar lurches forward, and stumbles. The deck is too slippery.

Scar falls off the ship. 

As he does, he tries to grab onto the railing, or something else to keep him onboard- but it easily slips right past him. And, as his stomach drops, he doesn’t have time to call out to anyone before he’s being completely submerged underwater- opening his mouth in a loud scream, and immediately getting his mouth flooded with water.

He knows how to swim. And he does so, despite the shock in his system- but the minute his head breaks the surface again, he's slammed by a wave, and sent even further down below the surface. He tries holding his breath. He tries, blindly, to find the surface again, and reach it- but the water is too cold, and his limbs are starting to go numb. Without knowing where to reach it- or without wanting to try- Scar gives into his circumstances rather quickly.

Scar feels like he's floating, under the water.

He doesn’t dare open his eyes- keeping them closed, and keeping his breath held, just in case. He's sinking, and the water surrounding him is freezing, and rushes quietly past his ears. Even if he wants to, Scar feels like he can't feel or move his limbs at all- like they're being locked in place, and he's being forced to accept his fate. It's calm, underwater, much calmer than the surface- and it's easy to fall, and slip under.

Then, as if sensing that he's supposed to die, warm hands tentatively cup the sides of his face. Scar already knows who it is. 

(Who else would it be, after all? If it were one of his crewmates- Gods forbid- he knows that they wouldn't be as careful with him. They wouldn't let him revel in how calm it is under the waves, moving just as slowly, and they wouldn't just… rest, here. If it were anyone else, he'd be grabbed, and pulled back up the surface, and back onto their ship. They'd all be worried, and frantic, and- overwhelming.

It's Death that has him in his hold. It has to be. And this time, he's not saving him from his fate- all of this is probably just some… slow, sentimental metaphor for passing on, and being brought into the afterlife. Scar isn't being held gently, and he isn't staying in place. He's sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and he's likely already drowned, by now, and died before he could feel his lungs giving out.)

He feels his head being lifted up, and out of the ball he's been curled into.

Then, he feels pressure on his lips.

His eyes are open in an instant, just in time to see Death pulling away. And, by the time he realizes that air is being pushed into his lungs, it leaves his mouth in a strangled, muffled shout- bubbles rising to the surface. Death is quick to slap one of his hands over his mouth.

For some reason, Scar can see him quite clearly. The ocean doesn't sting his eyes, and the darkness of the water surrounding them fades to the background- making it seem like they're just in a plain, black void together. There are distractions- vaguely, he can hear the sound of thunder coming from the surface, and he knows that it's much more hectic up there than it is down here- but all he can focus on right now is Death.

He appears in front of him- same as he did on that rowboat, and in his dreams- but for some reason, he's lacking the pelt that Scar would always see him in, and instead is dressed in something that Scar would wear on a normal day- including the jacket that Scar swore he threw overboard before this whole mess even happened. He can see his expressions as clear as day, and instead of his face being neutral, or confused, he looks… incredibly upset, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed.

Scar slowly puts his hand above Death's. Death, in turn, softens his gaze, and slowly pulls his hand away from his mouth. Scar's not breathing, but it also doesn't feel like he has to.

Then, just as quickly and casually as he would if he were on the surface, Death takes that jacket off, making quick work off the buttons, and tearing it off by the sleeves. Then, he grabs Scar's shoulder, and spins him around- the movement jarring, but seamless in the water- and he starts to help him with putting it on. Scar doesn't have the strength in him to push it away, but he is surprised when it fits like a glove, despite fitting Death earlier as well.

Then, he starts to feel life pouring back into his limbs. That's the best way to describe it- what was once numb, and tingly, and painful is now warm. He can wiggle his fingers, and he's able to turn back around by himself.

Death's hands move downward. And, before he could guess what he's doing, he tugs at the front of his jacket, and slowly clips the buttons on top of it to close it. Scar can feel the chill in the water around him, prickling, and he can feel it suddenly dull into a faint, comforting warmth when the jacket is pinned up all the way.

As Death is helping him button it up, Scar almost opens his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. He points to the jacket, and to Death- who seems startled at the fact that he's addressing him so casually- and watches him nod at the silent question. Scar thumbs at the buttons, but Death's hand clasps over his, and it's quickly pulled away. Then, Death's hands keep moving- brushing the back of his neck, and the skin under his ears- and, suddenly there's a hood being pulled over his head, and tightened around his face. A part of it clips just over his mouth, and Scar feels his face start to warm up a little.

Well, that likely explained why it was a jacket, and not a pelt anymore. Death, it seems, can change it at will.

Thunder rumbles the water. And finally, after gaining the mobility to, Scar’s head snaps upward. He's alive, and warm- and if he tries, he'll make it out of here.

As Scar starts swimming upward, he's tugged down again. It's nothing like how it was in his dream- no harsh dragging, down to the bottom of the ocean, where he'd never be seen again- just… gentle tugging by his hand. And, upon seeing Death again, he sees that he looks concerned.

It's hard to communicate underwater, but they manage. Scar points upward. Death shakes his head, and makes a clawing gesture with his hands, fingers wiggling slightly- danger, he realizes. Scar doesn't know how to tell him that his friends are up there, and how they don't know if he's alive or not. Instead, he makes the same clawing gesture with his hand, but points downward. Death shakes his head. Scar makes the clawing gesture, and points to his own throat- which causes Death to shake his hand yet again. 

Scar looks upward again. He can't see much of anything, besides Death, and it's starting to frustrate him.

He gestures wildly- accidentally breaking the grip Death's hand had on his wrist- in an attempt to get across the message that his friends are important too. He uses the danger clawing gesture multiple times, while pointing up to the surface- even trying different sorts of gestures for friend, hands clasping around each other, fingers hooking together, anything- and, after a moment, even as Death seems to understand it, he still shakes his head.

Danger, Death insists, before holding his hand again. Danger, danger.

I’m going to save your life.

Give me something in return.

Scar’s hands clasp around Death’s. Death startles at the motion, and Scar can see his face change.

It’s jarring. Scar is in an inky, black void- and he can see the face of Death so clearly in front of him.

He sees that Death seems to think, for a moment.

Then, he shakes his head, and he starts swimming downward, and he brings Scar along with him, gently taking him by the hand instead of pulling him down by his ankle. The way he leads him down, tentative and careful, doesn't make the deja vu any less intense for him, but he's thankful that he's not forcing him. It feels more like he's being guided- carefully drawn to the bottom of the ocean.

Scar, he remembers, has always had a slight fear of the ocean. Not an intense one, that wouldn't let him go out at the sea at all- but enough of a fear to keep him from doing anything too reckless while they were sailing. During the first few days on the Convex- while he still considered himself to be a rich kid looking for a quick thrill, rather than an entrepreneur and a businessman- every intense rock of the ship and every cloudy sky would leave him feeling anxious. Nature is unforgiving, especially on the open ocean, and he knew that it took just one particularly bad storm to wipe everyone out.

Then, he went onto the sea more often- until he practically lived and breathed sailing, and preferred to be out on the sea, rather than on the land. He went through many storms, and has had plenty of near-death experiences to consider himself an expert. And, at some point, the fear faded almost completely.

Almost.

Because, on a ship, he could ignore how daunting the sea is. But under the water- being led closer to a ground he couldn't see, with miles and miles of open ocean on every other side of him, trusting the whims of a man that he assumed wanted him dead just moments ago- that anxiety comes back tenfold. He shudders, and the hand gripping his wrist starts rubbing his hand with his thumb- but it does almost nothing to quell his anxieties.

As the pressure of the water starts making his chest feel tight, he taps onto Death's arm. Once he gestures to his chest, he seems to get the message, and drags him closer. This time, when Death kisses him, he tries to feel the air being pushed into his lungs- and instead feels the way his chest seems to loosen up a little, despite feeling no air coming into them. And while he can still feel pressure, and it's tight all around him, it's no longer too much for him to handle. Death pulls away, and they keep diving. Scar's grip tightens slightly, as he looks out to where they're going- but he can't see much. 

Then, below them, Scar swears that he can see a large pair of eyes watching them.

They're yellow with slitted pupils, and glowing so faintly that Scar barely sees them- but both of them are around the size of his torso. He can't see what it's attached to, or what it is- but Death pulls him down to it, and it’s clear where he’s going.

It feels dreamlike. For a moment, as he gets closer, he feels like he’s going to wake up again, heart racing, and having trouble catching his breath. The longer he stays submerged, making eye contact with this strange creature, the faster his heart starts to beat, until it jumps into his throat while his stomach sinks in tandem. The urge to leave grows stronger, as Death pulls him towards it- and, eventually, he settles for ripping his hand out of Death's grasp, and trying to make it to the surface by himself. His friends are up there- on his ship, handling everything on their own- and Scar is just seconds away from getting eaten by some mysterious sea monster!

His hand is taken again. Not grabbed harshly, but strong enough to keep him tethered. When he looks back, Death is looking up at him expectantly, eyebrows furrowed.

Scar points up, towards the storm- and Death points downward, toward the eyes still watching them.

Then the eyes disappear. 

Scar startles as something quickly brushes up against his ankle, and bubbles trail up as his body tries to flinch away from it. But Death tugs him down again, visibly shaking his head, and guides Scar's hand down.

His palm connects with something smooth. Something he can't see, even as he tries to squint and look at it. His hand is guided up, and eventually latches onto something else. Something that feels like a spike- connected to something that makes him believe that he's holding onto a fin. Something that, almost, reminds him of a bat's wings. Then, he watches Death move to the other side of that strange fin, and he puts his hand over Scar's- as if he's afraid of him letting go. Death's free hand runs over the body of the strange creature that he can't see, and Scar feels water rush past his face as he starts to move.

As someone that's been out on sea for a while, Scar has a lot of weird knowledge about a lot of different sea creatures. When he hitches a ride on this strange creature, all his brain can conjure up is the image of a large snake- one that zips through the water at incredible speeds, swaying as it does so, and leaving Scar to deal with a terribly bumpy ride… and, though it was strange, Scar would've felt better if it was literally any other animal.

Just the thought of touching a snake makes his skin crawl. That, paired with the weird movements, start to make Scar feel nauseous- and for a moment, the grip on the fin loosens, and he tries to hover as much as possible while also hanging on for the ride.

Death is there, his hand over Scar's, and he steadies him.

-

When an island comes into sight, the water surrounding them brightens up a little- just enough for him to see more of their surroundings, and see that the ground is coming closer to the surface- they pull away from the sea creatures, and start to head towards it.

The minute he gets the chance to, Scar swims as fast he can towards the shore.

The jacket is dry when he gets out of the water. 

The grains of sand on the shore aren’t sticking to his body as he crawls the rest of the way up, and once he catches his footing, he sprints the rest of the way- until his feet hit dry sand, and until his legs wobble with the effort. He almost trips, going on land again. His knees hit the sand, and then his hands- and, instead of being stuck in an inky black void with no sort of ground to balance himself onto, and no way of knowing which way was up or down- he feels perfectly balanced. Steady, if a bit dizzy. Anxious, despite his heart rate slowing down after a few deep breaths.

Then, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, he turns towards the shore again.

Death is waiting for him at the very edge of the shoreline. From where Scar’s standing, he can see his head, and a part of his torso- propped up by his elbows, and just casually watching Scar from a distance. From what he can see, the white shirt that Death is wearing is completely dry as well.

This feels like a dream he hasn’t woken up from yet. He sits there, and he waits for something to happen- something big, like Death chasing him up the shore and into the grove of trees behind him, or for that giant sea monster to come back- but nothing does. Death almost seems bored, waiting for something to happen alongside him, and it locks the two of them into an awkward stare down.

This is real, he assures himself. And, maybe, the assumption that he couldn’t step onto land is based on some truth, based on how he keeps himself close to the water.

Then, with some confidence surging through him, Scar stands. He walks towards Death, hands shaking as they fiddled with the clasps of the jacket, and eventually gets them unhooked. Death watches everything with quiet, rapt attention, and Scar tries to not feel intimidated by it.

"This is yours, isn't it?" Though his voice shakes, Scar pulls it off easily, and throws the jacket into the water- just within arm’s reach of Death. “Take it. I don’t want it."

The head doesn't say anything. Death- or, whoever this person or fae may be called- stares straight at him, as the jacket floats towards him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Death catches the jacket before the tide could drag it further into the ocean. He hopes that he could get the point across- even as he shivers. Even if his clothes are bone dry, it does nothing to stop him from feeling the cold coastal winds. But, still trying to show that he’s making a point, Scar crosses his arms over his chest, and glares at him.

“I- don’t know what you want with me. Or how you found me. But this ends now. I didn’t ask you to help me, and I don’t appreciate being- tormented.” And, when the fae’s eyes narrow, but otherwise remain silent, Scar feels anger, and something equally as hurtful building in his chest. “Can’t you talk?” He presses. “You were so chatty when we first met.”

It feels all too much like he’s dreaming. He doesn’t like the feeling of Death’s eyes on him, quietly watching, and he doesn’t like being left feeling so-

Helpless.

He was stuck underwater, and at Death’s mercy- and, now, he’s stuck on some random island. His body is aching, and he’s tired, and wants to go back on his ship, and sleep for another couple days- consequences and nightmares be damned.

Then, the source of most of those nightmares finally speaks.

“I can.” And, the most frustrating part of it is that he sounds normal. If he saw him anywhere else- in a crowded town square, or anywhere else in public- he would’ve walked right past him without thinking twice. But he knows that he’s something more- and, for some reason, something all-powerful and magical pretending to be human is utterly terrifying. “You weren’t this chatty, when we first met.”

“I couldn’t talk.”

“I’m aware.”

Scar’s eyebrows narrow. “Well, are you aware that you just took me away from my crew? They were in- danger-" Scar says, while making that same clawing gesture they were making underwater, before the hand motions out towards the ocean. “And now they’re- out there, somewhere! And I have no clue where to look!”

Death's eyebrows pull together. Then, he mimics the clawing gesture, but he wiggles his fingers a little more intensely. "They were in a storm." He corrects, and Scar feels a bit silly, after getting the hand gesture wrong, “And your little crew was fine. If I remember correctly, it was your life that was in danger. You fell into the ocean, and I saved your life.” He puts in a condescending tone.

“Again.” Scar says, dryly.

“Again.” Death repeats, with a disbelieving tone. “I thought you’d be a little more thankful than that, if I’m being honest.”

“I know what you are.” One of Death’s eyebrows raises, and he moves the arm he was gesturing with to lean his head against it. “I don’t appreciate being- unknowingly indebted to you.”

“What am I, Scar?”

“Fae.” And, after he says it, Death nods- and he also seems to be a little impressed.

“You know what this is, then?” He holds up the jacket- still perfectly dry, despite being washed over with another tide every few seconds at a time.

“A… jacket.”

“My skin.” Death says. And, when he throws it over to him, Scar catches it. He holds it for almost half a second before he shrieks a little, and immediately drops it. It still feels warm, despite the air and the water- and now, instead of the warmth being comforting, it freaks him out. It almost feels… alive. 

Death seems amused by it, at the very least, his smile widening and showing off a row of very sharp teeth.

“It’s for you. Take it.” He gestures toward it, “It’ll keep you safe.”

“From what?”

“From everything.”

“I don’t want it. You can take it back- and we can go our separate ways, and pretend like this never happened.” He considers kicking it toward him. But instead, seeing that it’s important, Scar carefully takes it into his arms again, ignoring the sudden rush of warmth it brings, and he only gets closer to Death to bring it to him.

He drops it right in front of him. Quickly, the smile fades.

“You know- it’s not wise to be rude to a faerie. Or to refuse any of their gifts.” He pushes it back towards Scar, incessantly.

“I don’t want to be indebted to you.”

“I already got what I wanted.” And, something about that makes Scar’s blood run cold. Death says it so casually- and, mentally, he goes through what he could be missing- or what he could’ve done, without knowing about it- but nothing comes to mind.

“What did you take?”

“Borrow.” He corrects.

“What did you borrow?”

Death’s lips quirk upwards.

“Take a guess.” Then, as Scar goes to think about it again, Death stands up.

The thought of having an advantage on land quickly shatters. Scar staggers backward, almost tripping over in the process, but Death doesn’t come any closer to him. He watches Death pull the jacket on- watching it shift, almost melting from his jacket into the same pelt that he first saw him in. He turns back to look at him.

“Start a fire, won’t you? Scar? I’ll be right back.”

Then, Death wades through the water, and Scar watches him disappear with a final dive- swallowed by the waves, and disappearing into the ocean.

And it's only then when he wonders how Death knows his name.

-

The fire Scar starts isn’t the best, but it’s all he has to work with. 

He isn’t a survivalist. When he steps onto the island, his mind doesn’t immediately fly to what he could do to survive. He doesn’t want to go further into the forest without knowing what animals could be in there, but there were enough trees and rocks on the shore to keep him supplied. It’s small, but it does a good job of warming him up, and he’s confident that it’ll last him another few hours- through the night, maybe, if he’s lucky.

Or- however long Death plans to keep him there, anyway, but the thought of staying longer than an hour or so sets an uncomfortable stone in his stomach. He waits there, sitting by the fire, and keeping a close eye on the ocean until the black silhouette of a figure emerges from it. There's something in his hands, moving, and as Death steps closer to the fire, he realizes that it's a fish, and that there's also a fish being kept in his mouth- moving just as violently.

Death stands there, with the light of the fire shining from below him- painting his face in an ominous light. But before he could open his mouth to speak, and come off as someone who could easily stand his own ground, Death shucks off his pelt with an easy roll of his shoulders. And, seconds later, the pelt is being thrown directly at him, and hits him in the face.

Scar startles yet again, using his hand to throw it to the side, and Death makes a strange noise at the sight. When Scar looks up again, there's a curl to his lips, and he realizes that Death is laughing at him.

Then, Death sits down beside the fire. He watches Death gut the fish in his hand, opening up the stomach with one of his talons, and then he watches Death stick the fish on the end of a stick.

Death then offers the stick to Scar.

“I don’t- owe you for this, right?”

Death frowns. And, around a fish in his mouth, Scar hears a muffled, “I already have what I want?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. You don’t.” Hesitantly, Scar takes the stick, and hovers it over the fire. It's not the best meal- and, in many ways, it makes him miss Impulse’s cooking- but it's the best he's going to get while he’s out there. 

He watches Death as he cooks his fish- seeing as he bites down onto his own fish, and that it finally stops moving. Then, before he can get another word in, Death starts to eat his fish raw- taking out the head in one big bite, and casually chewing on it like it was no big deal. As Scar’s vision flits between the fish and the fae, he notices that Death’s eyes are on the ocean the whole time.

In any other instance, this would be a nice moment. The sight and smell- and the sound- of the sea on the beach at night was normally relaxing. That, along with the fire at his front, and the warm pelt laying at his side… If the scene wasn’t underlined with a faint sense of terror, and tension that didn’t seem to be affecting Death in the slightest, he could probably eat his cooked fish in peace.

In their silence, Scar decides to bite the bullet, and ask.

“Why did you save me?”

The chewing slows slightly. Death’s gaze snaps over to him, and Scar meets his eyes for half a minute before he starts speaking again.

“I saw you on that ship. Long before you were kicked off of it.” And, at the reminder, Scar feels himself start to shrink away a little. But Death is seemingly indifferent about the whole thing, based on his tone. “I don’t like the crew on it.”

“So you saved me to spite them?”

“...something like that." He murmurs.

Scar keeps his gaze steady, "Something like that?"

Then, it's Death's turn to look frustrated- as if Scar's the one that's giving him cryptic answers. As if Scar is a puzzle he can't quite figure out, and putting it together is proving to be more frustrating than it's worth.

"Fine." Death says, "I want you to be my champion."

"And what does that mean?" He says immediately.

"I don't like that crew, or that ship. I was hoping that you wouldn't remember me saving you, since you were… incapacitated, at the time." He puts it lightly, "And I was hoping, if you were to ever run into them again, I could push you to kill them for me, as my champion.” The way he says it is strangely intense- and, for a moment, it seems that his indifference breaks as he speaks. “I hoped that you’d think that you were just… satisfying a revenge itch in your head, and not even knowing that I was involved."

"I don't- kill people!" Scar is immediately quick to say, arms waving as he spoke, and almost flinging the stick out of his hands. "You got the wrong guy- I'm not even a pirate!"

"The Convex is a pirate ship."

His response is caught in his throat, for a second. "It's more like a small business…"

"Don't lie to me. I can't lie to you." Fae rules.

"But you can be- conniving, and… trick me into doing your dirty work."

"That about sums it up." He agrees casually.

He scoffed. "Out of everyone you could've picked from my crew- from the actual pirates on board- you picked me. Your worst option for a champion."

"You were also the only one, out of your crew, that almost got killed-”

“-and, maybe, that should be indicative enough of my skills! If one of my other crewmates were on it, they would’ve gotten out of it without your help!” Then, suddenly, he stops waving his hand around, and his face falls. His voice is quiet when he says, “That’s- why you picked me, isn’t it? Because it was easy to get me to make a deal with you? You saw an opportunity, and you just took it?”

Death seemed contemplative for a moment which wasn’t good, coming from someone that just said that he couldn’t lie earlier. “They wouldn’t have lived. If they were placed in that situation."

"My crew is quite talented."

"They didn't see you as a threat, so they didn't treat you as one." He puts it simply, and Scar doesn't appreciate the reminder. Getting pushed around, the distant sound of laughter- leaving him alive because he was already dying, and leaving him in that boat because they knew that he couldn't do anything to fight back. "If it was one of your friends…"

Scar tries to imagine if it were anyone else on his crew that'd gotten involved instead of him. If someone like Joel, or Pearl took the wrong route back to the ship, after a night out on the town, accidentally splitting off from the rest of his crew, but not worrying in the slightest because they should've just been right around the corner. If any of them had missed the sound of footsteps coming up from behind them, and were shocked to find that they've been being followed for a while, now. Taken when the opportunity was right.

Though the majority of his time away appears in his memory in flashes, he can remember the early bits quite well. After the first few days of recovery, it wasn't all that hard to recall, anymore. He remembers being taken, and the first night quite clearly- turning the charm 110%, just to have it all fall flat in his face when the crew found him more amusing than convincing. His crew would've lived only because they wouldn't have split up in the first place. Or, even if they were captured, they would've gotten out because- they would've known how to. They wouldn't have been left defenseless- dead, if Death had not interfered with their fate.

If Death tried to approach any of them, as they'd approached Scar- if they were any more lucid than he was, or any more aware of what Death was- they wouldn't have taken the deal. 

They wouldn't be in the mess he was in now.

"You want to know why else I picked you?" Death asks quietly, as if he's reluctant to break the silence Scar has placed himself in, but he does so anyways. "I thought you would be more upset. About getting kidnapped. Your kind tends to take all of that very… personally."

Scar looks down at himself- at his newly scarred hands, and at the healed wound on his stomach. But, instead of conjuring up any sort of rage, all he feels when he looks at it is- dread. If he ever ran into that crew again, he would rather run away than fight back. 

"You clearly don't know anything about me at all."

"Clearly. I didn't have the time to get to know you.”

Scar tries to imagine his response, if he had been lucid or aware of what he was getting himself into. Would he sign his life away just for another chance to live, or would he just lay there, and accept his fate?

“That would’ve been nice.” He murmurs absentmindedly, gaze locked on the fire burning between them. Then, slowly, he brings the fish closer to himself.

It’s slightly burnt.

“Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? The deal’s already in motion.” He huffs, “Believe me, you were not my first option.”

“...” He starts to eat it, anyway. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as Scar thought it’d be- but he still finds himself picking fish bones out of his teeth when he chews through the skin. 

“What about your skin?”

Death shoots the thing in question a glare. “What about it?”

“You put it on when you were fishing.”

“It lets me shapeshift.”

“Can I shapeshift with it?”

“No. It’s my skin.” 

“What does it do, then? When I wear it?”

“You couldn’t tell? It should’ve kept you warm- and helped with the healing process.”

It certainly felt nice when he wore it underwater, but if he’d known that it helped with the healing process, he would’ve worn it while he was recovering. “I’m… fully healed, you can take it back.”

“You hold onto it until the deal is over. It’s impenetrable, until I die. It’s a good way to have some armor on you.”

“For when I’ll…”

“Kill them. Yes. I can’t have my champion dying on me, can I?”

It explains the many times he’s had to bail him out, while being on the verge of death.

Scar taps his fingers against his chin. “Why are you so upset with them, anyway?”

Death’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, he looks thoughtful. At first, he thinks that Death isn’t going to answer his question at all.

Then he says, “There’s a faerie on that ship. He’s made deals with the whole crew, and he’s bonded with all of them… which is fine.” Even though his tone suggests that he feels otherwise, teeth gritted, “But he’s supposed to stay on land, and in nature… but recently, he’s been intruding on my territory.”

Scar leans in, with sudden interest. “The ocean?”

“He’s the type of fae that is supposed to- make faerie rings in the forest, and force people to dance until they’re sick- or turn them into trees, if they offend him!” His hand moves as he speaks, and Scar’s attention is quickly flitting between his face, and which direction his hand is waving in. “But now he’s here, deciding… what goes where, frightening pirates, and trying to influence storms- he’s completely out of his element!”

“Why can’t you take him out yourself if you’re- ruling the seas?”

“I’m not ruling anything! And, besides, when we make claims on people, or bond with them, other fae can’t touch them.” He frowns, squeezing the half-eaten fish in his hands, as if it’d personally wronged him, “No matter how many storms are sent their ways, or how many times their ships get blown up, or how many of their crew members almost get eaten by sea creatures, they’re back to normal within the next few hours- ship rebuilt, and all that- and I can’t even hurt them myself!”

Death’s face, at this point, is flushed. If he was able to, Scar bets that steam would be coming out of his ears as he spoke. And, despite the way his expression is twisted, or the way he speaks, he’s strangely nice to look at, when he talks. Scar can’t take his eyes off of him. (Then, he remembers that fae are supposed to be naturally alluring, and that they've just been casually chatting the whole time. Seeing how close he’s leaning, and how comfortable he’s suddenly getting, Scar puts his guard up just a little more.) 

“And I’m supposed to kill them?” He reiterates.

“You can kill those that have a bond with the fae. I cannot. With them dead, I’m hoping that he’ll give up, and leave.”

“And, because we’re bonded…”

“You’re claimed.” He corrects, to which Scar waves his hand.

“What’s the difference?”

“If we were bonded, we would be… evenly stuck together. If you had my true name, we could both influence each other. It’s like a partnership.”

“Claims go one way.”

“That’s right.”

“And you just have a claim on me- even though I have your skin?” Even if he doesn’t know the full extent, he knows that there’s some connection. It’s his skin, and it’s impenetrable until he dies. It helps him shapeshift, and it helps Scar heal when he wears it…

His frown deepens. “I’ve been trying to give you an advantage, and you’ve been trying to throw it back in my face.”

“I’d be less apprehensive, if you told me what was going on from the beginning!”

“I didn’t think I’d have to get involved!” Scar groans. Death continues, “You- if you just wore the skin, and if you ran into the crew, and fought them… it’d be like nothing ever happened! You could continue pirating, and I could continue with my life as well!”

It didn’t tell him much-

But it did tell him that he wasn’t controlling his dreams. If he could- if didn’t want to get involved, but he wanted to push Scar to kill someone- he likely would have plagued his nightmares with memories on the ship, or the crew. Instead, he’s had to deal with nightmares of… him. Constantly. He wonders what those nightmares would look like now. Death doesn’t seem as intimidating anymore. Not even the name fits anymore. Something so permanent, and scary given to someone so…

Well, Scar didn't want to say it, but someone that seemed so human- even if for a moment. If he can look past the raw fish in his hands, or the sharp edges to his teeth… if he just focuses on how his face twisted as he spoke, or the way his voice raises as he gets more upset- it almost seems like he wasn't talking to a faerie at all. (He didn't know much about their kind- but with how they are, Scar imagined that they'd be more… unnaturally calm. And he was, up to a certain point. Calm, and haunting his dreams- until he got comfortable.

Or, more likely, until Scar started pushing back.)

“Can I have your name?”

Death scowls. “No. Bonds are permanent. The minute this little favor is over with, I’m taking my skin and leaving.”

"No… eternal servitude?"

"Do you want eternal servitude?"

"No!"

"Good. I have no use for you."

Scar huffs. 

“Can I at least have something to call you? Since we’ll be working together?”

“...Grian.” Scar opens his mouth, inhales, and Grian is quick to snap, “Don’t ask where it came from, I have no answer for you. It's just the name I go by.”

"Noted."

Then, suddenly, Grian stands up, and starts walking towards the shoreline.

"Get some sleep. I'll be back in the morning.”

"Oh wait, you forgot your-!" But by the time he notices, and tries to call out to him, Grian is already too far away to hear, "...skin." He finishes quietly, as he watches him disappear under a slow, calm wave.

Scar collapses onto the sand with a sigh. It’s not comfortable by any means, and he doesn’t know how Grian expects him to just fall asleep there, but he knows that he might at some point. Wind quietly rushes past his ears. Scar can hear nothing but the trees rustling in the background, and the water on the shore. He barely feels the sand sinking into and itching the back of his scalp.

Grian.

What an odd name.

It feels plain, compared to Death- but it also… weirdly fits him. He’s never met anyone named Grian, but it feels more normal in comparison, and now that they’ve actually talked, everything feels- a lot more normal now. His eyelids are heavy, and his head hurts from the nightmares he’s been plagued with, and the sleep he’s lost because of it- but the constant anxiety, and the chest pains seems to have lessened. He feels like he can breathe easier.

And by all means, it shouldn’t be the case. Grian has told him what he wants him to do, and he intends to hold it up- he wants Scar to kill someone he’s only barely met- but the promise of safety throughout it has lessened that. At least he wasn’t going to be faced against someone he cared about? At least he's still alive, even after everything that's happened?

My champion.

Scar shuts his eyes, and he tries to sleep.

-

(In the middle of the night, or the early morning, Scar sleepily takes the pelt that was pushed off to the side, and brings it up to his torso to warm the upper half of his body.

He feels it stretch out under his fingers. 

He's asleep just as quickly as he'd woken up.)

-

When Scar wakes up, he thinks that he's had a horrible, horrible dream.

One where he fell off the Convex, got saved by the same faerie that's been haunting him for these past few weeks, and got himself stuck in a deal where he's supposed to kill someone. He wakes up, and for a moment, he's relieved. Then, he realizes that the covers he's laying on aren't his own. They've never been as soft as they are now, and though he's certainly complained about his bed, he knows that the mattress has never been this lumpy, or- tough.

His eyes shoot open.

Everything, for a moment, is white. He’s laying on his stomach, cheek pressed against something that does not feel like sand- and his head is covered in the same material. The sun shines through it enough to see that he’s covered, and that it’s well past morning- but that’s basically it.

It takes him just a moment to realize that it’s Death’s pelt.

Or- blearily, barely awake- he remembers that it’s Grian’s pelt. Grian, the random fae that’s saved him twice, now, and left him on an island to fend for himself for the night. (And, since he’s waking up, he’s obviously survived.)

Scar runs his fingers through the fur of the pelt. Then, as he feels that it’s unnervingly warm, it freaks him out a little, and he finally decides to get up.

Judging by where the sun is in the sky, it’s just an hour or so before noon, and Grian is still gone. He was likely up late the night before. He doesn’t know long it’s been- not since the ship was rocked by a storm, and since he fell right off the edge- but he knows that it’s been a while since his crew has seen him last, and they’ve likely already noticed his disappearance, and… likely already think he’s dead, by now.

Disappearing twice, in such a short amount of time. 

Disappearing in the middle of a storm, and living- how in the world is he supposed to explain that?

-

Grian shows up shortly after Scar wakes up.

He watches a small rowboat in the distance slowly move closer and closer to shore. Then, as it’s lifted onto the sand, Grian appears- slowly rising from the waves, clothes and hair perfectly dry, and expression neutral. Though Scar sees that he looks pale, and tired- almost sickly, like he's about to puke as he drags the boat along, but trying to push through it.

"I'm back.” He announces. There’s a rope tied to the front of the boat, and Grian uses it to keep it close to the shore, “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Morning.” Scar responds stiffly. He stands up, brushes sand off his clothes, and shakes it out of his hair- and he just barely remembers to bring the pelt along with him. He drops the pelt on one end of the boat, and Grian waits until Scar drops down on the other end before the boat starts to get pushed out to the water.

Grian pats the seat opposite to him, next to where the pelt is. Immediately, as his fingers carefully and subtly brush against the pelt, Grian sighs- and it looks like color washes into his face. Seconds later, he's normal again- now just looking grumpy because he was like that.

“There’s food under a false panel, if you’re hungry.”

Scar leans forward to check it out- balance waning, and falling forward once the boat jerks a little too suddenly- but when he lifts up the false panel, and reveals a sack. In it, just as Grian promised, is food- bread, and cheese- and, more surprisingly, fresh fruit.

Scar grabs a pear- pristine, somehow, and green- and his eyes narrow, “Where did you get all of this?”

“I found it.” The water is up to Grian’s waist, now, and going further. Scar sits back, and starts to eat the pear, “Hold on.”

“We aren’t going to get in any trouble, right?”

“We shouldn’t.” Is the last thing Grian says before he fully sinks below the waves.

Scar sees the rope in the front of the boat grow taut, and feels the boat start to speed up a little- not by much, but by the time the island is starting to fade in the background, he recognizes that they’re going a lot faster than they would’ve if they just used the boat. Scar waits patiently for Grian to show himself again-

But he doesn't come back up anytime soon. He stays below, possibly guiding the ship toward where the Convex might be, and Scar treats it as a fun little joyride. He tries to enjoy it, as much as he can- putting his hand in the water as he moves, and watching the wave that splashes up from it- but the surroundings are bleak, and he quickly becomes bored of it. There's nothing he can do on the boat to keep himself busy.

So Scar waits.

-

And, as the sun starts to set, even with no Convex ship in sight, the boat slows.

Scar waits. 

And, after another few minutes, Grian's head finally pokes out of the water- holding a fish in his mouth again, and looking up at him expectantly. The look reminds him of the look Grian gave him that one night- when Scar left his room late at night, and when Grian was hanging out nearby- but now it's significantly less intimidating. And it looks like he isn't even trying to be intimidating- it's just something that comes natural to him. Maybe it's more natural, on the head of an animal that he can shapeshift into. More than it would on a human.

(And, with him being so close now, and with it being so bright outside- Scar can now see that his eyes are a deep blue. So dark that it looked black, without the sun shining in them. Similar to the color of the sea at night, when the two of them were swimming through it.)

As Grian climbs onto the boat- perfectly dry, as always, and only slightly offsetting the balance- his hand comes up to his face, and his mouth opens as if he's trying to say something, but Scar cuts him off quickly.

"Are you supposed to be separated from your pelt?"

"What?" Grian's eyebrows furrow quickly, and his voice is muffled as he speaks. After the fish is removed, he doesn't elaborate, and instead waits for him to continue speaking. The fish, it seems, is already dead.

"You… looked sick. Earlier." He explains awkwardly. "Are you supposed to take it off?"

And, just like the night before, Grian glares at the offending item- eyes moving just besides Scar's face, and to the pelt next to his head. If looks could kill, Scar thinks that it'd be a little more effective.

"I'm not supposed to be far from it. But it's for the greater good, so I can endure it." He says valiantly. He looks down, and starts to gut the fish again, more slow in his movements this time.

"Do you get sick?"

"Yes. Very." His responses are stiff, as if he doesn't want to be answering them in the first place, and Scar almost thinks that he's crossing a line by continuing-

But Grian crossed a line a long time ago, starting this weird bond between them- and he's not exactly worried about what he's saying. Grian says that it's already in motion, and that he can't get rid of him. As far as he knows, he's safe to continue talking.

"How did you survive- with it being on the ship, and you being in the water?"

"I stuck close to your ship." He says, with a deepening furrow in his brow, "You saw me, didn't you?"

"Yes, but- every night?"

"Every night."

That means that he was there when Scar was found- likely hiding under the dock. He was there as Scar was recovering, either in the water or somewhere close by. He was there throughout every day of Scar's recovery, and every day of them being out on the open ocean- just close enough to his pelt to keep himself from getting sick.

"And-"

Grian snaps, "You're not giving it back to me. We've already established this."

Scar wilts, slightly. "I'm just curious."

Grian's claw drags against the fish's skin. This time, he cuts a piece out of it- and Scar can see that it looks like the type of piece that could be sold in markets. Fresh. Grian pinches it in-between his pointer finger and his thumb, and he holds it out to Scar.

"Peace offering." He says, before Scar can ask. 

"It's not cooked."

"It's fine."

And, tentatively, he takes it, and eats it. The fresh fish is better than the cooked fish he had last night, even if it's raw, and he makes a mental note of trying that on any fish he might catch instead of just handing it off to Impulse and seeing what he does with it. Scar washes his hand in the water next to him, as he watches Grian eat the rest just as he had the night before.

"The Convex is close." He says, with his mouth slightly full, "We'll be there early tomorrow morning. When I go below again, try to get some sleep."

"Hm."

"I got you this boat to make your return seem natural. I'll wake you up, and you can row back to it and- you can say that you just happened to find it, after the storm."

Scar pauses.

"Come with me."

"No." He doesn't even look up when he declares it.

"You can't stay too far away from your pelt, right? If you're on the ship, it'll be right around the corner at all times." Grian's eyes stray slightly from the fish, but he otherwise doesn't show that he's thinking about it. "No more hiding under the ship… is it distance that affects it too, or-?"

Grian holds his hand up.

"Even if I joined- wouldn't your crew be suspicious?"

"Of a fae joining? Oh, I'm sure it'll blow right over with them-"

Grian glares at him. "With anyone joining." 

Considering the fact that Joel and Etho were criminals, before they joined, and even attempted to rob them? People that Scar had to stand up for, in order to get Cub to agree to let them join, even after he said no the first few times? Scar knows that Cub would appreciate having someone that didn't seem as… intense, joining their little crew- even if he'd be a little wary of him, at first, just as he was with anyone else. (That sort of paranoia around meeting new people might increase tenfold, considering what happened to Scar just weeks ago- but Grian seemed… okay enough on the outside.

Cub doesn't know his reputation. Grian saved his life. Realistically, the cards were in his favor.)

Scar waves his hand. "Eh? We can just lie."

"I can't lie." He reminded him, gravely.

"I can lie."

"Why would- okay." Grian's elbows fall to rest on his knees, "Why do you want me to join? Don't you think that this'll all be easier if we left each other alone?"

Because Scar has the very distinct, and deep feeling that Grian doesn’t want to be on that ship. And he feels that, if he is supposed to be doing something out of his comfort zone, then he could at least try to drag Grian out of his. (At the same time, he almost considered retiring earlier- and this whole deal is setting that plan back by a mile. If he could take the chance to annoy Grian, he's going to take it. Malicious compliance, and all that.

Then, he can only hope that Grian will take a look at his overtly talented crew, and end up passing that sort of responsibility onto someone who could actually handle it. Or someone who wanted it, seeing that the target was the same crew that kidnapped one of their captains.)

"If you come along, you'll meet my crew. Maybe you can… find your new champion."

"I'm not looking for a new champion."

"Whatever you say." Scar hums along, and Grian's eye twitches. Maybe, he assumes, Grian's just not used to someone pushing back so much with what he says. "But I'm just saying… it'll be hard to team up and work together, with you being so far away."

"And what about when I have to leave?"

"You don't want to see us ever again, right? Just… fake your death, when all of this is over. It happens to pirates all the time, right?"

"I'll think about it." He says, and though his tone suggests otherwise, Scar knows that Grian can't lie, and he trusts that the faerie will actually think it over.

-

Just as Grian promises, they see the Convex again just the next morning- bright and early.

After a dreamless night of sleep, Scar wakes up to the boat rocking, and he's just barely awake when Grian is grabbing his pelt, and molding it back into that brown jacket. Then, he gives it to Scar for him to put on, and it's a great shield against the cold, but it does nothing to help keep him awake. 

After a quick breakfast, taking from the food already provided on the boat, Grian finally uses the oars the ship's been harboring, and he starts rowing it towards the large ship. 

The air above the water is foggy that morning, and the Convex is just a blurry little silhouette of a ship in the distance.

"You sure that's it?"

"Positive." He can't lie.

Scar knows that someone will be awake this early. He knows that all he'll have to do is get their attention, and he'll be back on that boat in minutes.

"Last chance to think about it."

Grian's lips press into a thin line.

"I'm joining you." He says, and Scar tries not to look relieved at the confirmation, "Otherwise, I would've left by now." Scar can see the tension that bleeds into his posture as he speaks. His cool confidence is waning, slightly, and it's just barely noticeable.

-

Once the two of them get close enough, Scar stands on the boat and starts to shout- trying to signal the ship, and whoever might be out on the deck. Minutes later, just as he thought, there's commotion on the ship- people calling back out to him, even if they couldn't see each other very well, and a rope ladder being thrown off the side of the ship for him to use to get back on.

Once Grian directs the boat closely enough, Scar grabs onto the ladder, and takes a second to steady himself on it. He looks back at Grian for a second- watching him grab the sack of food from under the false panel- and when he turns back around, the two of them make eye contact. They have matching expressions on their faces- both neutral, and guarded- and Scar silently stares at him for another minute or so before he finally starts to climb up the ladder.

Once he's somewhere near the top, his arms are grabbed, and he's being pulled the rest of the way up by multiple people- his feet immediately losing contact with the ladder. It feels like that night again, when they found him by the docs- everyone overwhelming, crowding him, and some holding onto him so tightly, as if they were afraid of losing him. It's nice. (There's an awful, lingering feeling underlying him- guilty for leaving them again, and guilty for thinking about retiring- but it almost completely melts when he's in their presence again.)

The nice moment is quickly cut off when, presumably, Grian climbs onto the boat right behind him.

As soon as Scar hears his boots hitting the deck, everyone shifts. Swords are being drawn from those that are efficient with them, and Scar is quickly abandoned in favor of everyone pointing their swords at this new stranger. The crew is in between him and the fae- Pearl, Joel, and Etho are in the front while Cub, Impulse, and Mumbo are in the back- Mumbo being the closest, he realizes- but Scar is barely paying attention to his own crew.

He's almost surprised at how Grian carries himself in front of his crew. He was expecting him to be standoffish, or at least a little awkward in front of so many new faces, but he seems confident, and- stoic, slightly. Like he wasn't tensing up at the thought of joining their little crew earlier, and is instead just waiting for them to put their weapons down. His gaze moves over the crew, before he makes eye contact with Scar, and his expression tenses.

He already knows what he's waiting for him to do.

"Oh- don't worry!" Scar almost trips, slipping through the wall his crew made, and standing in between them- hands held high, as he shields Grian. Immediately, even before he explains anything, swords start to lower. "He's a friend! He found me after the storm, and helped me get back on my feet."

"What is he doing here?" Cub asks, voice as cold as ever.

"I want him to join our little crew." He moves around the faerie, placing a hand on Grian's shoulder, and pushing him forward slightly. "This is Grian."

"It's nice to meet you." The fae says, stiffly, and the sound of his voice is just strained enough for Scar to question if it'll all work out like he hopes it will.

-

The crew doesn't immediately take a liking to Grian, and Scar doesn't expect them to.

But he's there, just as he wanted him to be, and he knows that he's going to be there for a while before anything major happens. He and his crew will both have to get used to his presence at the same time. (It is leagues better than their original arrangement- something about seeing Grian's face every day in real life rather than his nightmares ease his worries. And, with that fear basically gone and out of the way, he can rest easier.)

And when he does wake up from a stressful dream in the middle of the night- something he can't remember well, even seconds after he's waking up- all he needs to do is turn his head to see Grian sleeping by his side, with a rolled up pelt and Jellie settling in between them. A temporary solution until they can make room for Grian down where other people were sleeping- or, until someone on their crew agreed to make room in their rooms or workshops for someone they've never met before, and didn't trust.

Scar sighs, deep and loudly into the quiet room, and he wonders what exactly he got himself into.