Archive of Our Own

The Hole in the Sea is cold. Or maybe it isn’t- Chip can’t feel much these days, anyway. Here, in the dark, in the thick blanket of silence, something sinks deep into the very core of Chip’s being. 

The Hole in the Sea is cold, and Gillion and Gryffon are here with Chip. Being here weighs on them in a way that Chip can see, clings to them in a way it doesn’t to him. 

The Hole in the Sea is cold, and it welcomes Chip home. 

They’ve been walking for a long time now- hours, maybe days, or even weeks. Chip can’t tell, because as many steps as they take they don’t get hungry, or thirsty; not even a sprint leaves them breathless for long. They do get tired though- that is, Gryffon and Gillion do. Occasionally, they stop to rest, and Gryffon and Gillion sleep.

Chip doesn’t. 

He can’t tell if he doesn’t need to sleep here, or if he just can’t, or if he feels better, or worse, or more hollow. He can’t see himself, but the other two can, so he keeps his bandana on. Chip does feel different, though, less undead and more… more like himself than he has in weeks. 

When Chip sits on the floor as his companions rest, he looks up at where the sky should be. There’s no air, no wind. Everything is still, and muffled, like sitting under a blanket with a childhood friend, hiding from the outside world- but this time, the monster got in, and the monster is Chip. 

The stars are like punctures in the proverbial blanket; breathing holes poked into the box in which they are trapped. For a moment it does feel like that- a reprieve from the lack of everything in here. It’s not, though, and the stars glimmer with mirth at Chip’s misfortune. They welcome him home again, and again, and again.

There’s a rustling beside Chip; Gillion stirs from his sleep. It’s not common that it’s just the two of them, usually Gryffon is awake too, listening passively to their every word. It’s not his fault when every vocalisation here carries through the air like a paper plane, delivering messages on the wind, clumsily. 

“Chip?” Gillion’s voice is deep as he wakes.

“Yeah, Gill?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Same as always. Keeping watch.”

Gillion hums an affirmative, pulling himself into a sitting position. He settles a foot to Chip’s left, armour disengaged. He’s soft like this, Chip thinks, all scarred blue skin and loose curls. It’d be so easy for someone to catch him off-guard, hurt him in a moment of surprise. 

Deciding not to dwell on it, Chip shuffles closer to Gillion as surreptitiously as he can. It’s not as subtle as he’d like- not here. There’s nothing to distract Gillion other than the unmoving stars above them.

“Have you noticed the stars don’t rise and fall here?” Chip asks.

“What do you mean?”

Chip positions himself closer still to Gillion, lining up their faces in the same direction as best he can, using a finger to point at a few stars. “Remember I showed you these the other night? Before… before all of this? The Black Sea, everything?”

“Yes, I think so. There was a story you told me, but… I don’t think I remember it. Why don’t I remember it?”

“I say a lot of things, Gill. It’s easy to forget most of it. But look-” Chip brushes off Gillion’s lapse in memory- “They haven’t moved. The whole time we’ve been there, they’ve been just… static. Motionless.”

“That doesn’t seem good,” Gillion muses.

“No,” Chip agrees. “It doesn’t.”

Gillion makes no move away from Chip, instead resting his head on his shoulder. “It takes a powerful magic user to mess with time or, Gods forbid, the heavens themselves.”

“I mean… it could be a God, one of them. Not the true one, though.”

“You are a strange person, Chip.”

The weight of Gillion’s head on Chip’s shoulder makes the shrug he attempts lopsided. “Yeah, probably. But you’re the one going along with it so… I think that makes you just as strange.”

They’ve had this conversation before; it’s as disconcerting as it is comforting. There’s a sense of deja-vu, but as much as Gillion seems to repeat himself and stumble over his own memories, he’s still the same person. He still responds to Chip just the same, rests his head on Chip’s shoulder, tells Chip he’d lay down his life for him. Every time Gillion forgets he’s already done it, he re-swears his loyalty to Chip, teeters on the edge of breaking his oath for devotion to the undead man before him. 

And every time it happens, Chip feels warm, and a little less hollow, and a little more guilty. 

“I don’t feel as bad here,” Chip admits, breaking the silence.

“What do you mean?” Gillion asks.

“I feel… less undead, if that makes sense? It doesn’t feel good, but it’s… different.”

The coral on Gillion’s head lights up, and he sniffs at the air cautiously. It’s always been strange when he does that, but Chip is unnerved when it’s directed towards him. He feels seen, feels watched. Not just by Gillion, but by something else- perhaps Gillion’s Goddess, perhaps another that is yet to reveal itself.

“You still smell undead, but… you’re right. It’s different.” Gillion pauses for a moment, before speaking again. “It’s a little bit celestial, I think. Not anything I’ve come across before, though. Just… something. And you smell like you, too.”

“What- I don’t smell!” Chip protests.

Gillion shakes his head, laughing before resting it on Chip’s shoulder again. “Not like that. I can just… sense you. It’s always been like that, but the magic is a little more obvious here, I think. Are you sure you’ve never been here before?”

Not minding the coral poking at his cheek, Chip rests his head on top of Gillion’s. “Not so sure anymore, I think.”

“We’ll be alright,” Gillion reassures him, “We’ll find Arlin, and get out of here. And we’ll find Drey too. If not? We’ll kill whoever did it, and then find Jay and save her too.”

Chip doesn’t respond- it’s a blessing and a curse to have Gillion with him when all he wants to do is take his hand and run. 

Gryffon and Gillion are resting again. Chip is staring at the stars, listening to the faint wash of waves that echo in his ears. He doesn’t know if it’s the actual rumblings of currents, or the remnants of a life spent at sea. 

There’s buildings in the distance again, tilted, on the verge of falling. Chip remembers spinning in circles with Lizzie as a kid on the Black Rose, falling to the floor and watching the world turn without him. Everything looked like it was tipping, flicking back into place and correcting itself the moment right before anything actually moved. 

That’s how the buildings stood here- endlessly slanting further and further, yet staying in place. 

Gryffon had convinced them to go inside one a while back. It had been empty- white brick, unfinished interior, a layer of dust with no footprints left but their own. Every door was left open, some torn off their hinges, some just slightly ajar- but never closed. Nothing here was ever closed, it was an endless loop. The same conversations, the same three sets of footsteps echoing. 

Only Chip seems to be fully aware all the time. Gryffon and Gillion both forget things easily here, and Chip has to remind them of things they should know. It’s always simple things- the name of someone they’ve met, a conversation they’ve had before, a place they've been. It’s harder on Chip than it is on them, though. It’s easy to forget the forgetting itself, but Chip just worries about losing them to their own minds. He’s been there, becoming a shell of his former self when he first became undead.

It’s not a problem for him here, though, and Chip doesn’t want to dwell on why. 

Instead, they sit together, and recount stories of the past. Chip doesn’t know if they know what he’s doing as he weaves tales together, doing his best to not embellish anything- it wouldn’t help anyone to twist the truth right now. He knows it’s a good story if Gryffon chimes in to add a detail here and there, or laughs at one of Chip’s shitty jokes. 

Chip knows it’s a good story when Gillion gives him a look- like he’s proud to know Chip, like words of worship are on the tip of his tongue, like he wants to hold Chip’s face in his hands and kiss him like he did all those months ago.

Sometimes, Chip can hardly bear those stories. The cost of memory is a price he cannot always pay, especially if it’s worth far more than its weight in the golden looks he receives from Gillion. Because to be loved, Chip has learned, is to cause loss, and to feel that shame drag you into its depths, and hold you in a cold embrace. 

To be loved, Chip knows, is to love in return; and he thinks this loss may just kill him again. 

But right now, Gillion and Gryffon are resting, and Chip stares at the sky again. There’s no moon here, and it seems to be weighing on Gillion. He still prays every night before he sleeps, and again when he wakes up. 

It must be sacrilege, Chip thinks, for him to admire the way Gillion looks more divine than any being he could be praying to in those moments. When Chip looks back to the prophecy, to Gillion’s oath, he likes to imagine Gillion having been carved by the Gods themselves. Because why else would Gillion’s hair fall from its bun and around his shoulders, loose curls and every shade of kelp-green Chip can imagine? How else could someone so ethereal when they are worshipping something that Chip doesn’t even know if he fully believes?

Gillion is not made for Chip, and Chip wants to tear down every temple just so that he can imagine he was. There’s a tightness in Chip’s chest when he sees Gillion’s bare shoulders, broad and strong, and it feels the strongest when Gillion finishes his prayers and always- always- looks at Chip. To be the first one seen by him, in a quiet, sacred moment, is something Chip will always be grateful for. 

Now, Gillion sleeps, hair splayed around him, a pillow made of Chip’s jacket and their briefcase of holding. It can’t be comfortable for him- but he sleeps soundly, and Chip wants him more with every passing moment. 

There’s nobody but the three of them here; and if Gillion is not the one for Chip, then perhaps there isn’t anyone at all. 

Eventually, they find Drey. He’s sitting on the step of another empty building, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are closed, but he opens them when he hears them coming, and smiles as Chip walks up to him. 

“Took you long enough,” Drey remarks.

“How long was it?”

Drey shrugs, “Not sure. It doesn’t work like that here, you must have realised that by now.”

Chip glances at Gillion, “I’ve realised… a lot of things.”

“I get it,” Drey says, softly, “I really do.”

“What- who- Huh?” Chip stammers.

“Not here,” Drey shushes Chip. “I’ll tell you later.”

Chip sighs, and offers a hand to Drey without thinking. “Come on then, old man.”

Drey looks at the proffered hand, and scoffs. He gets up on his own, and walks over to Gryffon and Gillion. Chip watches as they greet one another, smiling to himself at Gillion’s excitement. It’s contagious in the best way, and Chip wants to take that smile and bottle it, keep it in a vial in the inside pocket of his jacket, over where his heart should be. Maybe he could keep it in that cavity inside of him- a fitting replacement.

The endless ceiling of stars hangs above them, and Chip thinks this could be the end of him. 

They walk through the buildings a while longer, vaguely in the direction the compass had pointed last they checked. It’s easy to walk in a straight line here, as the stars remain unnervingly still, they act as a constant guide to them. Chip’s even been able to teach Gillion a little basic navigation, although he doesn’t think either of them will be taking over from Jay any time soon. 

Drey and Gillion trail behind Chip and Gryffon, walking in pairs a dozen or so yards apart. Chip enjoys spending time with Gryffon, as much as they are very different people. Gryffon understands Chip’s need to fill the silence, sometimes, and Chip respects Gryffon’s desire for peace and quiet every so often. 

Though the time in the Hole in the Sea has been awful in a way Chip is unfamiliar with- an absent, still, void of everything- it’s weighing on Gryffon more. As much as Chip checks that his companions are alright, there’s nothing he can do, even if they aren’t. On the rare occasion that Gillion is the last to wake, Gryffon sits with Chip and tells him what things are like.

Gillion refuses to admit weakness, but Gryffon looks Chip in the eyes and tells him that he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to take it in here. There’d be no use, anyway, because there’s no way to tell the passage of time. 

“It’s good having Drey back,” Gryffon says as they walk.

“Yeah, but… I don’t know why he was separated from us, and I’m worried about him. And you, and Gillion.”

Gryffon laughs. 

“What are you laughing at? Not to pull rank, but why are you laughing at me?”

“Everyone knows you worry about Gillion. Don’t know when you got so sappy.”

“I am not sappy!” Chip protests, “I am worried about my friends, and that’s perfectly normal.”

Gryffon says nothing in response, just chuckling and continuing to walk alongside Chip. The clanking of Gryffon’s everything (arm, equipment, tools, weapons, all of it) is almost soothing to Chip. Certainly there is an unnerving element to it in the way sounds are simultaneously muffled and seem to carry forever, but there’s familiarity in the uneven steps beside Chip.

If Chip closes his eyes, or just looks up at the sky for long enough that it fills his entire vision, he can imagine another set of footsteps with them, light but steady. What Chip wouldn’t give to have Jay with them, calling him a dumbass and making fun of him for staring at Gillion every moment he can. Chip hopes she’s okay, and that she got to Lizzie on time. 

Has time even passed for Jay? Has it been less time, and they’ll arrive back and be able to help her, or will they get back to find she’s aged years without Chip or Gillion there beside her? Chip tries not to think about it, but the echoing of deep voices chattering is missing the higher-pitched tones of their third captain berating them for forgetting to actually try and create any form of record for how long they’ve been here, or for their lack of navigation skills.

Or maybe Jay would hug Chip, and tell him it’s okay in the stilted and jerky way she does whenever she tries to talk about feelings. She has to be okay, because Chip and Gillion will be okay, and so will everyone else. 

Chip wonders what he is, if not a patchwork of those around him, a collection of memories of his friends and enemies, of anyone he’s ever loved or hated. He speaks with an accent he got growing up on the streets, with words he learnt from Arlin and the Black Rose Pirates. He fights with magic that Gillion taught him, and with a blind spot behind him that Jay usually fills. Even echoes of Price are within his trickery, and Gillion, again, in his honesty. 

If Gryffon and Gillion, and now Drey, are forgetting, then who will that make them? If Chip is not from where he thinks he is from, then who is he? Do Gillion’s claims of birthright and destiny apply to Chip, too?

Welcome home, the stars whisper, and Chip imagines them speaking in Jay’s voice. 

When they next rest, Drey sits next to Chip. Apparently, he doesn’t need to sleep as much here. Maybe it’s something to do with the way they’ve both been in the Hole in the Sea before, or maybe Drey is just, as he claims, “built differently.”

Gillion is praying, facing away from Chip. Gryffon is tinkering with his arm, cleaning gears and checking it’s still running smoothly. It is- it always is. Nothing here changes. 

Gillion finishes his prayer, and turns around to look at Chip. Hair falls in front of his face, and he shakes his head to fix it. Even though he knows he shouldn’t, Chip’s hand raises of its own volition towards Gillion, as if reaching to brush the hair back. Tilting his head in question, Gillion smiles at Chip, and starts preparing his things to sleep. 

It doesn’t take long for Gryffon and Gillion to fall asleep, they have a well-oiled routine by now. Chip returns to his nightly routine of staring at the stars and listening to echoes of the ocean above them. 

“So, Gillion, huh?” Drey says.

Chip doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Come on, kid. You can tell me, y’know?”

“Yeah, Gillion,” Chip responds, hushed, barely a whisper. 

“How long?” Drey asks.

Chip shrugs, “A couple months? Maybe longer. It used to be just some crush, I think. You know, a gorgeous man with a destiny bigger than anything you’ve known before on my boat, willing to save people at any cost.”

“Yeah, I know,” Drey agrees. Chip decides to address that later.

“Then one day, he just… looked at me. And it clicked. It’s when he came back, when we got him back in that storm. I lied to him, and then I challenged him to that stupid fuckin’ arena battle. He got this look, this passion for battle, and, like, unrestrained joy. Like a little kid at a candy store, like he had everything he’d ever wanted. And he was looking at me, y’know? I just thought… I’d do anything to make him look at me like that again.”

“You’ve got it bad, huh?” 

Chip shrugs again. “Not so bad, really. Not when it’s him. Yeah it sucks that it’s not- he’s not like that, you know? He’s got bigger things to deal with. I’ll be there with him, but he’s Gillion motherfucking Tidestrider. There’s nobody better to be completely gone for, I think.”

Drey nudges Chip’s leg with a knee, a comforting touch in the moment. It’s a rarity, and Chip wishes he could cry. 

“Listen,” Drey says. “You clearly care for him a lot. You care a fuck-ton more than most people do, and it’s what makes you who you are. Makes you Chip. He probably sees it too. Don’t spend your life trailing after someone that doesn’t want you alongside them. Just ask him, I think he’ll want you to stay. Probably tell everyone it’s destiny too.”

“When did you get all poetic and wise?” Chip sniffles instinctively, though the tears don’t come. 

“When I lived twice as long as you have, dumbass.”

“You’re not that old,” Chip says, nudging Drey back. 

“I’ve lived a big life, kid. Haven’t had people living it with me in far too long.”

“You got us now, though.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Chip looks over at Drey, only to see him staring into the distance at some unknown point. His expression is soft, but partially vacant- there’s something missing for Drey, Chip realises, in the same way there is for him.

“Hey, Drey?” Chip asks, as if there’s someone else to talk to.

“Yeah?”

“Are you… forgetting things, here?”

“No.” Drey shakes his head, still looking into the distance. “I think I remember more here, actually.”

“Gryffon and Gillion are forgetting things. Gillion keeps forgetting he’s already told me he’s okay with me being undead, and keeps just… telling me it doesn’t matter, and that he’s still my friend.”

“That’s the issue? Being put in the- what’s it called- the friend zone?”

“No, dumbass. I have to remind them of things all the time. Gillion forgot Marshall John’s name the other day, and Gryffon forgot the name of our ship.”

“And you?” Drey asks.

“Nothing. I’m fine- better, even. It’s not as hard to be undead here, but… I don’t feel undead the same way. Something feels wrong, sure,” Chip shrugs, “But it’s not… I don’t know, I just keep saying it’s different, ‘cause there’s nothing else to say about it.”

“This place changes you,” Drey says, “Better, worse, who knows. It’s different, like you said.”

“Do you… Did I fall in here? I always remembered Arlin saving me, but… this place welcomed me home.”

“I’m sorry, Chip, I-”

“You don’t remember?” Chip cuts him off. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” And Chip is telling the truth. It’s not Drey’s fault, but he wishes someone would tell him something about this place. He doesn’t know where they’re going, or how long it’s been, and it’s an aching feeling of dread that twists into a spike of terror every time he thinks about it. 

“I’m gonna try get some sleep, you should too.”

“I can’t,” Chip shakes his head. “Not here.” 

“I’m sorry, kid,” Drey repeats himself a third and final time. 

“It’s alright,” Chip responds. 

It’s not.

They explore a building the next day, vacant though it may be. Gryffon wants to climb to the top to look around, and Drey follows him to avoid anyone going off alone.

Chip and Gillion don’t bother heading up. They both know there’s nothing out there, and the slanted stairs are dizzying. Gillion is standing on the third stair, looking out a window with a pane cracked cleanly in two. The light from Destiny’s Blade cuts through the shadows cleanly, and it bathes Gillion in its silvery glow. 

Looking away from the window, Gillion takes a step down towards Chip. He has an inquisitive look on his face, the same as when Chip uses a saying he hasn’t heard before. Gillion somehow appears simultaneously curious, and entirely bewildered. He makes Chip’s heart skip a beat when he looks like that, clumsily learning to speak like him; vernacular slipping closer and closer to Chip’s own every day. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Gillion asks, breaking the silence.

“Like what?” 

“So… intensely? Like you’re worried about me. You don’t need to worry about me, Chip, I can take care of myself.”

Chip sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. This place just isn’t good for you, or Gryffon. Drey is… borderline okay, but I- I need you to be okay.”

“And I am okay. You’re the one that we should be worried about, you’re undead, and I don’t even know how we can possibly fix that. It’s a lot, it’s really high level casting, and I’m not powerful enough.”

“It’s not your job to fix me.”

Gillion looks away for a moment, and then back down at Chip. “I know it is not… befitting of my oath, but I swear I will. I couldn’t bear to see you like this for any longer than absolutely necessary, and even if Lunadeyis herself asked me to strike you down, I wouldn’t. We’re the Riptide Pirates, and you’re my co-captain.”

“Gill,” Chip has protested this a dozen times or more, every time Gillion says it. Not this time. “Thank you.”

“You’re my best friend. Oath be damned, I don’t care if you’re a skeleton, or a zombie, or even- even a lich! We’re here, and we’re together, and we’ll both be okay. I swear it.”

“Pinkie promise?” Chip jokes, trying to soften the blow of Gillion’s fealty.

Gillion nods solemnly, reaching a hand out to link his little finger with Chip’s- the real one, not his prosthetic. The vow of friendship feels stronger than anything a deity could provide either of them, and Gillion looks at Chip with a softened gaze, like Chip holds the key to everything Gillion could covet in this lifetime, and the next.

It shouldn’t be this easy, Chip thinks. 

It shouldn’t be as caring as Gillion brushing Chip’s hair back, nor as gentle as cool fingertips on his cheek. 

It should not be as natural as breathing once was. Being loved back should hurt more than this. 

There’s two sets of footsteps coming downstairs, and the moment is broken. Gillion smiles at Chip- a toothy grin, full of sharp teeth that make Chip’s breath hitch. Drey and Gryffon’s voices carry down the stairwell, echoing on the cold stone walls. 

“Find anything?” Chip asks.

He already knows the answer.

They happen upon a small settlement eventually- something closer to a village than the cities with tilting buildings. There’s actual wood here, Chip notices. It's dry, and decaying, and dead, and Chip loves the feel of it beneath his fingers. The others seem equally as shocked as he does, and Gryffon breaks some loose planks off a building to start a fire. 

Chip sits back and lets him try to work a tinderbox for a while, before remembering that this is perhaps one of the only spells he can reliably do. He debates saving his energy, but decides against it. They haven’t seen anything here, so there’s no use in letting it go to waste again. 

“Gryffon,” Chip warns. “Move out the way.”

Gryffon makes a noncommittal sound but does so anyway, getting himself firmly out of fur-singeing range. Taking a step closer, Chip calls upon the magic inside of him, remembering his lessons with Gillion. The sparks on his fingertips are a comforting warmth, and the wood catches quickly. 

“Well done, Chip!” Gillion says, like he hasn’t seen it dozens of times before. 

“Anyone got food to cook up?” Drey asks, “I’m not hungry, but I think it’d be nice if this place felt a little more fuckin’ normal.”

Chip shakes his head. “Only rations, and nothing we can do without water.”

“I have the decanter!” Gillion proclaims, brandishing it proudly. 

“Okay, so, soup?” Chip suggests.

“Can any of you kids cook?” Drey asks.

Gryffon gives Drey a glare at ‘kids,’ but nods. “I’ll do it. I don’t trust them.”

“Good call,” Chip admits, shrugging off his jacket and stepping closer to bathe in the warmth of the campfire. It’s nice, albeit technically unnecessary, and probably drawing attention that they don’t need. 

It feels almost familial as they pool their ingredients together, comforting in its mundanity. Drey scoffs at Gillion’s extensive collection of dried kelp snacks, and Chip teases Gryffon for carrying eight different seasonings on his person. Between the four of them, they manage to create something almost soup-like, and certainly more edible than anything else here. Chip feels warmth radiating through him, and he doesn’t know if it’s the fire, or the soup, or the way Gillion is arguing with Gryffon over the plural of fish. 

“No, it’s fishes for multiple species, fish for multiple fish of one species,” Gillion asserts. 

“Either is right,” Gryffon counters. “Fish can be used for multiple or the same species.”

“Well, you clearly have not read my grandpeepaw’s books.”

Drey scoffs, trying to hide it behind his mug of soup, but failing spectacularly.

“What’s so funny, Drey?” Chip taunts, “Have you read them?”

“I was there when they were written,” Drey smirks.

“No, no,” Chip’s mind involuntarily flashes back to the only chapter of Finn Tidestrider’s works he’s ever read. “No, you didn’t, you two wouldn’t, no-”

Drey laughs fully this time, shaking his head. “No, you fucking dumbass. I was sailing with him and- let me tell you- most shitty tavern walls are thin.”

Chip breathes a sigh of relief, glad that at least not all of his heroes have had their names (and bodies) tarnished by the most prolific Tidestrider. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about his books,” Gillion suggests.

All of them hum their assent, although Chip doubts Gryffon fully understands the extent of the horrors. That can be a hazing ritual for another day, he decides. Chip briefly wonders if it’s still a hazing ritual if it’s months after Gryffon joined their crew, and decides he doesn’t care. If Chip has to live with this knowledge, so does everyone else.

The silence continues, and Chip watches as Gillion stares directly into the fire, seemingly unconcerned as to its brightness. Gryffon gathers everything up, and rinses their ramshackle dishes. Drey leans back against a post nearby, just within the light of the fire, and closes his eyes. Somehow, throughout all of this, Gillion still stares into the brilliant flames. Moving to sit next to him, Chip can’t seem to take his eyes off the shadows flickering over Gillion’s face. 

“Is there soup on me?” Gillion asks.

“Huh?” Chip is startled out of his reverie.

“Soup,” Gillion clarifies. “On my face.”

“Nah, you’re good.”

“You’ve been staring a lot,” Gillion points out.

“I- uh- it’s normal. I don’t know what you’re talking about, what are you even- I would never- okay, that’s a lie- so what?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Next question?” Chip responds automatically.

“Why do you stare at me so much?” 

Chip shrugs, debating how best to answer. He pulls his knees up to his chest where he’s sitting, hugging them to his torso with both arms. There’s no real reason to do it; he’s not cold, nor does it provide any real benefit other than the physical covering of where he is soft, and vulnerable. Curled into a ball, Chip hates that this dread has manifested itself in a physical sense, in a way that Gillion can see. Chip feels like he’s a child, hiding. 

“It’s… you’re nice to look at,” Chip says, slowly and cautiously, “And… there’s nothing here that’s nice to look at, aside from the stars, and… and you.” He doesn’t look back to Gillion, not yet.

“I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before.” 

Chip looks over at Gillion in shock. “You don’t… you don’t know?”

Gillion’s cheekbones are painted a gorgeous shade of dark blue as he responds; “There’s never been a reason, I think. The Chosen One doesn’t need to be… be aesthetically pleasing. They can change the statues to whatever they want, after I save the world.”

“I hope they don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Change anything about you. You’re Gillion Tidestrider, and they better make the most Goddamn accurate statues, and stained glass windows, and- I don’t know, what else do people make? Songs, maybe?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Gillion lets out a breathy laugh. “Well then, they better put some of you and Jay there, too.”

“Oh, yeah? Like the baby statue?” Chip says, trying to lighten the mood, pull them both out of the unshielded emotion that sits between them, unspooling on the floor like a thousand reels of thread.

“No,” Gillion says softly, “Like you. If they’re putting up statues of me exactly as I am, I want you there, too.”

Perhaps, Chip thinks, the tangled threads of sentiment that he can’t seem to rid himself of could make a tapestry of the both of them, like this, in the light of the fire. 

“Alright, then. We’ll commission them before we die, so they have to do it right,” Chip says, equally as softly. 

“And if they don’t, I’ll come back, and I’ll kill them.”

“That’s- that’s a little extreme, I think,” Chip laughs.

“I’ll kill them slowly, too, like how the oversea prefers.”

“You know I was kidding when I said that, right?” 

Gillion nods, “And I, too, am jesting. I wouldn’t come back to life because I wouldn’t die. Whatever comes for me, I can take it.”

“I know, buddy. I know.”

“Unless it’s a deck of cards.”

Chip winces at the memory, but softens it with, “That’s improv, baby.”

Evidently noticing Chip’s wince, Gillion shuffles around to face Chip, and rests his head on Chip’s knees, bringing them almost face-to-face. It’s an awkward position, and the point of Gillion’s chin on Chip’s knee hurts, but neither of them move away. 

“That’s improv, baby,” Gillion echoes. Chip can feel the movement as he speaks, and it’s strange, and they’re just so close to each other. 

“Should we sleep?” Chip asks, unsure where to go from where they are, awkward and stilted from Gillion’s proximity.

Gillion shakes his head.

“What do you wanna do, then?”

“We should figure out why we haven’t gone anywhere. ‘Cause I’ve been really, really trying, Chibo, but I think this one might be on you.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” 

“I don’t know. Jay would probably know, though.”

Chip reaches a hand up and runs it through Gillion’s hair, being slow and gentle so as not to snag it on the ends where it tangles. “She would, wouldn’t she?”

Leaning into the touch, Gillion replies, “Probably. But we can do this on our own, we’ve spent enough time with her that surely we know enough about navigation.”

“That’s not how- You don’t just learn new things by being near someone, you have to actually pay attention.”

“Maybe for you. But I’m Gillion Tidestrider, Learner of Things.”

“Okay, how’s this then. I’ve been following the compass, and it hasn’t changed, and I’m pretty sure we’ve passed the same buildings a bunch of times but just… never in the right order. And I’ve sure as hell not seen this place before.” Chip gestures to their immediate surroundings. “I just can’t make sense of it, Gill, and you’re… you’re forgetting things. I’m worried about you.”

“Niklaus’ compass points wherever you desire most, doesn’t it? So… what do you want? Where are you asking it to take us?”

Chip scoffs, “It’s not that simple, I can’t just ask it-”

“What if you want two things equally? Then could it switch between the two?” 

“Don’t be stupid, Gill- actually, you know what? That’s not stupid. But how do we even know? ‘Cause I sure as hell can only think of finding Arlin and getting the hell out of here.”

“Maybe it’s stuck on getting the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out of here.”

Chip fully laughs now, slightly dislodging Gillion from his resting place. “What the fuck was that, dude? You’ve said worse before, and I’m sure you’ll say it again.”

“I’m trying a new thing, okay? And it didn’t work. I thought maybe if I was a good boy then Lunadeyis would… tell us how to escape.”

“A good-” Chip cuts himself off by laughing again. “Gill, you’re already good. And why would one sentence- okay, you know what? Go for it, man. You do you.”

Gillion sits up, frowning at Chip. “No, you do you. It’s your turn to do.”

“Do what?” Chip asks, still smiling.

“Save the day, find Arlin, get us back to the sea, and maybe put more wood on the fire, because it’s going out.”

Chip glances over and sees the fire dying next to them, and then back to Gillion. He always looks back to Gillion. “I think we should let it go out. It’s probably not safe, anyway.”

“Okay,” Gillion agrees, “But can we do the other things too, please?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s figure this shit out. But let’s do it tomorrow, you need your rest.”

“Pinky promise?” 

“Pinky promise,” Chip agrees.

The next day, Chip wakes Gillion before the others. Gillion had made Chip promise to wake him up early, and while Chip loves how peaceful Gillion looks when he sleeps, he’d much prefer to not have a grumpy triton on his hands. Chip tells himself it’s not because he can’t bring himself to break a promise to Gillion, not even a trivial one, not even one made as an off-handed joke. 

“Gill?” Chip shakes his shoulder gently. “Puzzle time, pookie.”

Gillion blinks awake blearily, looking up at Chip. 

“You good? You can go back to sleep, if you need.” Chip can feel his past self somewhere deep in the recesses of his brain gagging at the sweetness of his tone, but he doesn’t care right now.

“‘M awake.” Gillion pushes himself up into a sitting position, and Chip’s hand falls from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. 

“I know, I’m the one that woke you up.”

“I’m going to pray, and then we are going to solve this. I’m sick of there being no moon and no Jay.”

“Do whatever you need buddy, I’m not going anywhere.”

Gillion turns away from the campsite, facing the direction he normally would if the moon rose here. Again, Chip watches him mutter under his breath in primordial, and wonders why Gillion even bothers to pray when there’s nobody in this Gods-forsaken hole in the sea to listen. The thought shocks Chip in its hopelessness; he’s never been an optimist, but he’s never felt this sense of resignation to his undoing before. 

Maybe that’s what Chip wants- an unrelenting faith, someone to follow when things are bad, someone who he can blindly trust in any situation. Then again, he has that with Jay and Gillion. 

When Gillion finishes his prayer, he returns to where Chip is still crouched, sitting with his legs folded neatly underneath him. 

“So, we’ve got to figure out what could… What could be fucking with the compass?” Chip hesitates as he speaks, suddenly realising the weight of what they’re doing here. 

“I think so, yeah. That seems right. It’s what Jay would do.”

“Nah, I think she’d call me a bastard and find her own way out of here. Besides, we’re not Jay.”

“You are a bastard,” Gillion says, but it’s hard to take it as an insult when he says it so softly. “And no, you’re not Jay. And I’m not Jay. And neither is anyone else who isn’t Jay.”

“That… that is how that works, yeah,” Chip agrees. 

“So what do you like, actually want, Chibo? What’s stopping you, pookie?” 

Chip feels himself blushing at the nickname, and thanks the maybe-non-existent-here Gods that he is still wearing his bandana. “I don’t- I dunno. Money? Riches? Fame?”

“Well, the compass isn’t taking us there, is it? So either you’re lying to me on purpose, or you’re stupid. And I don’t think you’re stupid.” 

“Thanks, I think?” 

“There will be no thanking anyone if you are lying to me,” Gillion says. “Hole in the Sea or not, I will smite you.”

“Okay! Okay, so maybe I want other things. But they’re not attainable right now, so I don’t know why the compass would do that. I also don’t want anything that badly, like, it’s small stuff.”

“So say what you want. It doesn’t even have to be to me, just spitball it. It’s like what Old Man Earl says, throw the spaghetti at the ceiling, and hope it stays.”

“That’s not the saying, what the fuck, Gill?”

“Come on,” Gillion goads Chip, poking his arm. “Spaghetti me. I’m the ceiling, spaghetti me.”

“It’s throwing it at the wall- what is wrong with you?” Chip half-laughs as he talks. 

Gillion just smiles, and shrugs, before suddenly moving forwards and tackling Chip so they’re both laying flat, Gillion on top of Chip. The closeness startles Chip, but the familiarity of the feelings it evokes make it almost comforting. Almost. 

“Gill?”

“Yes, Chip?” 

“You’re really heavy. Also, what the fuck?” 

“We’re going to stargaze and talk. Like on the ship.” 

“Yeah, but did you really have to tackle me? That hurt.”

Gillion rolls over so he’s laying on his back, side-by-side with Chip. “Yes, I did.”

“Okay, sure. Makes sense.” 

“Are you lying?”

“A little, yeah, but it’s you, man. You do weird shit all the time, it’s what makes you Gillion.”

“And you say weird shit all the time, it’s what makes you Chip.” 

Chip clears his throat, changing the topic smoothly and subtly to avoid the spinning of his head at the fact that Gillion is laying so close to him. 

“So the compass is broken. Crazy, right?”

“Crazy,” Gillion agrees.

“Crazy crazy,” Chip repeats.

“Crazy crazy crazy.”

“Crazy times four.”

“You can’t just say that, you have to repeat it that many times, that’s a coward’s move.”

“I just did,” Chip argues.

“Then I won,” Gillion counters.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.” Chip can feel Gillion nodding as he speaks. 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh- hey. You’re distracting me to avoid this. Compass time, Chibo.”

Chip rolls his eyes even though he knows Gillion can’t see, and pulls the compass out of his pocket. He sits up for a moment so it’s flat, and he watches the needle slowly move to point the same direction it has been the past however-long it’s been. The compass rests in his palm- flat, cold, and heavy- and Chip feels a tug in his sternum, a sense of dread.

It sometimes looks as if the needle is moving to point in other directions, but Chip had assumed it was due to the metal that everyone in their party carries on their person. Chip now realises that may not be the case, and says as much to Gillion as he lays back down. 

“So it knows you want something else?” Gillion asks.

“Yeah but it’s not- it isn’t pointing to anything, and it sure as hell isn’t taking us anywhere.”

“Well, what do you want, then?”

“I- I don’t know. Fame? Infamy, actually, I guess. More gold would always be nice. A bigger ship. For the crew to be happy. To find Arlin. But it’s not achievable, right? Well, infamy is. But we don’t even have a boat anymore, no gold, and the crew is split up, and I can’t find Arlin even when I have a stupid fucking compass.” Chip can feel the frustration rising within him, threatening to bubble over and pour out in a rant about how he never gets the happy ending. 

“I’m not gonna lie, Chip, because I don’t do that. There’s a lot of ‘but’s there.”

“There’s not a lot of butts, what the fuck? Be serious, Gill.”

“No, the… the reason word. You’re saying what you want, and then saying why you can’t have it. You don’t even know what you want because you think you can’t have it. But what if it’s destiny to have something, what if we find out what you need and we can get there, together?”

“Yeah, well, there’s lots of reasons I can’t have things, have you considered that?”

Gillion shuffles closer to Chip, pressing their shoulders together. “What if you could have anything? If you could have one thing right now, no questions asked, what would it be?”

Chip closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of their shoulders pressing together. He takes a deep breath, and feels no relief from it. For a moment, he lets his mind wander, lets himself fully, unabashedly want. 

The warmth of the sun, the Black Rose on a summer’s day. Ballroom dancing at Grimm’s manor, Jay laughing in her bloodsoaked new dress. Canella, a house he owns, Ollie and his mother. Somewhere in a hall of records, a birth certificate, lost papers on a boy who slipped through the cracks. The Albatross, his crew, an arena made of ice, of wood. A map of the world, Gillion standing opposite him, pointing at the ocean and calling it home, Jay and Gillion on the deck of their ship and calling it home, Gillion sitting on Chip’s bed, calling their room his home. The taste of raspberries, a freshly picked peach, the orange of the sky on the last watch of the night. 

The ocean, red hair, wings, a blue hand reaching up, a pearl, a storm, the sea. 

“What do you want, Gill?” Chip asks, scared of what might slip from his tongue if he speaks now. 

Gillion pauses for a moment, then speaks. “To help you. And I think I’d like to visit my home, and take you and Jay with me. I want to show you both where I grew up, even if it was a… less-than-pleasant experience as a child, the Undersea is beautiful. I want to show you my home, I think you’d like it.”

“Of course I’m gonna like it,” Chip nudges Gillion with his shoulder, “It’s what gave me- us- it’s what gave us you.”

“Your turn, then.” 

Chip turns his hand so it lies palm-up, open for the taking, even if he’s made no attempt to let Gillion know it’s there. “I want to be in the Oversea in the summer again. Or, spring I guess? When all the fruit grows. I wanna plant a bunch of fruit trees at the keep at Zero. And then we can go and pick them, and eat them together.

“You and Jay would both be there, and we get the wanted posters and- mine is the biggest, bigger than the Black Rose Pirates, bigger than anyone’s ever seen. It says Wanted: Alive because they know they can’t kill us, ‘cause we’re the Riptide motherfuckin’ Pirates.”

The truth spills out of Chip’s mouth, tumbling from his lips in an uncontrollable flow, pooling around his head where he lies next to Gillion. It splays around him in a halo, like Gillion’s hair. He turns his head to the side, seeing Gillion looking up at the stars, bathed in the pale, dim light of the Hole in the Sea. If he speaks enough, will they both drown in his candour? Chip keeps talking, looking at Gillion unabashedly.

“The Navy is smaller and stays out of our way, but I’ll let them stay because we need something y’know, to pirate against. We don’t need to be pirates anymore, we do everything we set out to do, and you stay anyway. You don’t go back to the Undersea, at least, not for any longer than a visit. Maybe you drown the world, maybe you don’t. At the end of the day, though, we’re on the Albatross, and it’s an early summer’s day, and I show you how to split an apricot in half. 

“If it’s everything I want- and I mean everything- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” 

Chip moves his hand so it’s brushing Gillion’s, still palm up, and waits to see if he takes it. There’s a pause, and then Chip feels their fingers lacing together, and he sees Gillion swallow before he looks over at Chip. 

He continues; “If it’s everything, then we eat apricots together, and you don’t even like them that much, but it’s okay because you… You touch my face, so gently, and you look at me like you did in that building, like you do when you’re caught off-guard.”

There’s silence between the two of them, Gillion looking at Chip so, so softly as he raises his free hand up, resting it on Chip’s jaw in a way that leaves his fingers on Chip’s neck, over his jugular, and his thumb stroking Chip’s cheek. 

“Like this?” Gillion asks in a murmur. 

Chip just nods. 

“What’s an apricot?” 

“Small stone fruit,” Chip whispers his response, matching Gillion’s volume, “They’re orange and sweet, and soft, but not weird and hairy like a peach.”

“I might like them,” Gillion says, smiling at Chip. 

“That’s okay, too.”

“And I haven’t decided yet if land or sea will remain.”

“That’s… really concerning, actually. You couldn’t pick, like, a middle ground?”

Gillion smiles, and tucks Chip’s hair behind his ear. “Probably not, no. I don’t think that’s how the prophecy works.”

“Well, then, that’s how I want it to work.” 

For a moment they lay there, side-by-side on the ground, Gillion’s fingers slowly tracing across Chip’s face. Chip’s eyes burn, the gentleness unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Neither of them say anything, and they don’t need to. 

Sometimes, Chip thinks, being loved is easy. 

“Can you tell me the story of how we met?” Gillion asks.

“You were there, Gillion.”

“It’s faint. I can’t quite remember how- I don’t know what happened. It’s like I’m remembering something that happened years ago, not months.”

“Okay, if it’ll help.”

Gillion nods his assent, hand coming to rest in Chip’s hair. 

“It was a normal day on the Big Chipper, Jay had been practicing archery. It was just me and her, and we didn’t know each other that well, but I still made fun of her whenever she missed and her arrows fell into the ocean. She was so mad at me, and I looked over the edge to see if any of the arrows were salvageable, ‘cause I didn’t know if they’d float or not. When I did look, I saw something a little way off, someone floating, just drifting. 

“At first I thought it might have been just a body, or a creature, but we drifted over, and I saw… I saw this triton there. I knew he was a triton, ‘cause we had an old guy called Finn on the first ever crew I was on, and he looked similar. His hair was kinda short, and he looked a little sunburnt, but he looked at me and asked what I was, and what sailing was, and asked if pirates were good. 

“And I lied, and I said yeah, and I offered him my hand, and he took it. He was kinda cold, and wet from the ocean, but I didn’t care as much as I thought I would. It took some time, but eventually I realised that maybe it wasn’t as much of a lie as I thought, ‘cause this guy, he was so good, and courageous, and taught me about the Gods and destiny. He made me want to be so fuckin’ good, just to get him smiling at me.” 

Gillion moves slightly closer, turning to his side fully, one hand between them and the other still in Chip’s hair. “And how does the story end?”

“I dunno,” Chip breathes out, reaching a hand to Gillion’s face. “It hasn’t ended yet. I really don’t fuckin’ want it to end.”

Gillion keeps looking at Chip as he speaks. “You talk about me like I’m someone… something more than my prophecy, like I’m worth more than all the gold on our ship. I’ve never… I’ve never been loved like that before. I don’t know how to be loved like that.”

“You don’t have to be anything for me to know you’re what’s pulling this compass away from where we’re trying to go.” Chip says nothing about loving, but he doesn’t deny it, doesn’t shy away from Gillion’s stare. He feels like he’s going to split at the seams, be pulled apart by the space between them.

Speaking even more softly now, Gillion says: “I don’t remember- I don’t remember everything right, it’s slipping away, but I remember how you look at me, and I hope one day I can be truly worthy of that.” 

“I’m scared,” Chip says. “I never asked for you to follow me here, and I’m scared it’s gonna get you killed, and I’m gonna lose another person to whatever this place is. I’m gonna lose myself, too.”

“What else did you want, Chip? What happens after we eat the apricots?”

Chip feels himself splitting in two as he says it, and feels the wound healing as the words fall between them in this hellscape. “You let me kiss you. You kiss me back, and we can both taste all the fruits we’ve tried that day, and Jay makes fun of us. If I can have everything I want, I want you to love me, and I want it to be safe.”

Gillion breathes in stuttering movements, and looks at Chip like he’s the rising moon. His expression is soft, and mournful, and hopeful all at once. Chip feels dizzy with want, lightheaded as Gillion’s nose brushes his. 

Without another word, Gillion takes a single, sure, breath, and closes the distance between them. He kisses Chip gently, with cool lips and salt on his breath, and Chip reaches his hands into Gillion’s hair and pulls him closer. Gillion moves, leaning his weight on Chip’s chest, half on top of him. Chip can feel Gillion’s heart racing, and pretends it’s his own. 

After a moment, Gillion pulls away, holding himself above Chip. His hair falls in a halo around his face, tickling where it touches Chip’s skin. 

“I can’t promise nothing bad will happen,” Gillion says. “But that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To get through the bad together.”

Chip doesn’t look now, but he knows where the compass is pointing, arrow hovering in the space between them. Not pulled by a magnet, but pulled by a moon, like the tide. Despite it all, he still can’t admit that just as Gillion does not know how to be loved, Chip doesn’t know how to love in a way that balances them. All he can bring himself to do is kiss Gillion again, and ignore the feeling of the stars that hang over them, endlessly watching.

As the group continue walking, Chip and Gillion lead the way. Drey doesn’t mention it if he sees their fingers brush when they walk, although Gryffon gives Chip a sly look when he notices- Gods, Chip doesn’t even know what he notices. 

There’s the endless faint wash of waves above them as they walk in silence. Chip wonders if it calls to Gillion the way it does to him, and when he turns to ask, Gillion’s head is tilted back, facing the sky. He should be in the sun; despite his ice magic, Chip knows Gillion basks in its warmth, and the coral that grows on his crown looks like tropical seas. The storms Gillion loves so much are tropical, too, and his markings look like fish that swim in warm, shallow ocean waters. 

Chip doesn’t know if he is worthy of this love. To be loved by someone so God-like feels like blasphemy itself, and perhaps comparing Gillion to the Gods is blasphemy. It’s hard to love Chip- he knows this, he has been told this- and it is harder still to want him. Gillion never says it though, never acts like caring for Chip is anything more difficult than breathing in the salty air before a storm. There has to be some reason why, and Chip promises himself that he will find it as soon as they’re safe again. 

“What will you do if you pick the sea?” Chip asks, surprising himself.

“In the prophecy?” Gillion clarifies.

Chip just nods.

“I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t think I know anymore.”

“That’s okay,” Chip reassures him, even though it’s not, because Gillion shouldn’t be unsure like this. “I’ll be there. With you.”

Gillion takes Chip’s hand, and it feels like cheating that he has it this easily. It’s supposed to hurt more than this. Why doesn’t it hurt more than this?

Chip takes the compass out of his pocket with the other hand, and it’s pointing at Gillion, just for a moment. He takes a breath, and steadies himself, closing his eyes and trusting his feet not to trip. 

Not here, he pleads with the compass. He thinks of Gillion, yes, but he thinks of him safe, on the Albatross, in the sun. He thinks of Jay, and Drey, and their crew. He thinks of the sun, and the moon, and the rare occasions where they eclipse. Canella, Allport, Shadowbeard’s Island and Lizzie; the Navy, Jay, Gillion, his family. 

Chip thinks of Arlin, remembering as much of him as he can. The way he picked Chip up as a child, swinging him around. Pranking Finn, whose grandson stays by his side like an anchor. The Black Rose, their crew. It feels hollow to remember them here, but Chip needs to, he has to save Arlin. His fingers grip tighter at Gillion’s, and still somehow when Chip feels his toe catch against something uneven on the ground he falls. 

The compass falls from his hand and to the ground, clattering on the pavings beneath their feet. Chip lets go of Gillion’s hand and scrambles to pick it up, desperate. He’s scared to look, kneeling there on the ground, compass between his hands. 

“Chip?” Gillion’s voice is concerned, and he moves closer to Chip. 

He’s not going to make it here, Chip knows that. Chip himself definitely could, and Drey has a chance, but Gillion and Gryffon need to leave. At the same time as Chip thinks this, Gillion presses a worried hand to Chip’s shoulder, sliding it up towards the side of his neck. 

There’s a tug in Chip’s chest, a pull on something that’s not there. Chip knows without looking that the compass is still pointing towards Gillion, but this- this- is something else. It’s something about this place, and his desperation, and the sky is speaking to him and he almost understands it again-

Home. 

Without thinking, Chip rips off the bandana, looking down at his hands. The black lines of decay that run through his body are shifting to something else. There’s pinpricks of light through them, like he’s made up of the gaps between roof slats that show the night sky. His fingertips almost dance with it, cracks in his dry skin filling with the night sky and this isn’t him but Chip feels like he’s at home. Something feels right, and when Gillion’s coral lights up, and Chip is seen, he knows without Gillion saying anything that something is fundamentally different from before.

“What’s happening to me?” Chip asks anyway. 

“Chip…” Gillion falls to his knees next to him, grabbing at the sides of his face. “I don’t know, Chip, I’m sorry.”

Chip feels like he’s seeing Gillion in a different light, and for a foolish moment he thinks it might be rose-tinted glasses. After that split second, Chip realises it’s more literal than that; there’s a slight glow coming off of him, reflecting off Gillion’s skin. It’s not enough to light anything up per se, but it does cast a silvery glow over them both. 

“I feel different,” Chip says, stating the obvious.

“You’re… it’s celestial, Chip. It feels like this place.” Gillion leans forward, resting his forehead against Chip’s. “But I promise, that even with my oath, I will stay by your side. Alive, undead, or whatever you might be now.”

Gillion has said it before; he will say it again. Chip leans in further, closing the gap between them and kissing Gillion firmly on the mouth. When their lips touch, Gillion makes a sound of surprise, like he wasn’t expecting it. Maybe he wasn’t, but he kisses Chip back anyway, like they’re both dying and this is all they have left. Gillion kisses like Chip is his oath, and every press of their lips is another prayer. 

Drey clears his throat pointedly, and the moment is lost. 

Chip pulls away from Gillion sheepishly, grabbing the bandana and putting it back on. He doesn’t activate it yet, because he likes the way Gillion is looking at him like he’s something incredible. 

Looking down at the compass, Chip finds it pointing exactly where he expected- at Gillion. He doesn’t need it though, not now, because the tugging at his chest is just as strong now as it was before, and it’s pulling somewhere else. The buildings around Chip feel familiar, and he knows there’s a gap between two of them that they can take to get them to Arlin more quickly. 

The Hole in the Sea has given Chip something he should not have, and it is smeared over him like the night sky. Chip may not know this place, but it knows him, and it’s giving him more than he has ever had before. There is no map or compass that could guide him like this. 

The Hole in the Sea is cold, and unforgiving, and Chip feels it singing through his body.

The Hole in the Sea may call itself Chip’s home, but so are the Riptide Pirates and Arlin, and Chip is gonna get them the hell out of here.

So Chip stands, and takes Gillion’s hand in his own, and runs.