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Izzy wakes with a gasp. He's been having nightmares lately, each one worse than the last.
The ship, becalmed, Izzy watching helplessly as crewmates succumb to dehydration, their mouths bloody and cracked, eyes wild with madness as they throw themselves into the sea—
A raid where they're outnumbered, and Izzy is two steps too slow, forced to watch as some faceless pirate plunges his sword deep into Ed's chest, blood pooling on the deck below them—
A storm, the Revenge tossed about in the waves and driving rain like a child's toy, the scene illuminated only by brief flashes of lightning, Izzy trying desperately to bark orders that can't be heard over the howling winds, watching as the mainmast splinters and falls—
The dreams keep him awake, anxious and wired and jittery, and he, in turn, takes it out on the crew. He pushes them harder, keeps them working until they can barely stand, does his best to teach them how to manage the ship. They complain about it often, loudly and to his face. They think he's being cruel and unfair. He lets them. How could he explain the night terrors, his burning desperation to keep them alive?
He's exhausted, between the nightmares and the long days and the burden of keeping it all to himself. It's been so long since he's been able to rest.
When he was younger, he used to curl up with Ed on nights like this. He'd force his way into Ed's hammock and allow himself to be lulled by the steady beating of Ed's heart. On the worst nights, Ed would shake him awake, mouth downturned and expression pinched, and clamber into Izzy's bunk without a word.
It had helped, having Ed there. It kept the panic at bay.
After they'd gotten their own ship, Izzy had taken it upon himself to enter Ed's cabin whenever he had a nightmare. He'd push his way into the bed, Ed curling up around him protectively. Ed never said anything about it; never told him to stop, so Izzy kept doing it.
He doesn't have that, anymore. Even if Bonnet hadn't come back, he doubts Ed would welcome him. Not now. Not after everything.
He lays in his bed and tries to take deep breaths, tries to will his heart to stop beating quite so fast. Every time he closes his eyes he sees it all, a million disasters that could befall them. The crew, dead; Stede bleeding out on the deck of a strange ship while Ed cradles him; the crew, captured and hung for piracy; the ship, sinking; Ed, eyes empty, leaving Izzy marooned on some nameless island.
It's no use — he can't calm himself down, can't find any respite from the horrors he keeps imagining.
Ed might not accept him; might not allow him the comfort he used to receive — but Izzy doesn't know that for sure. Exhausted and desperate and out of options, he realises he has to at least try.
He dresses hastily, foregoing his shoes and his vest, and stumbles on shaking legs toward the captain's cabin.
It's dark and silent as Izzy pushes open the door. He pauses, waiting for a moment, listening to their breathing.
Izzy creeps closer, feeling foolish. He's terrified of every creak, every step he takes that's a little too heavy. He's afraid of both of them in equal parts — of Ed's ability to turn him away and ruin him; of the humiliation if it were Stede to wake up and see him first.
He should turn away, he thinks. It's the safer option, sparing him heartbreak and embarrassment in equal measure. He should go back to his room and wait it out, or go pilfer some rum from the stores and pray that it helps.
But he's just so tired. He's worn out from the constant catastrophising and sleepless nights. He misses, desperately, the feeling of Ed next to him, letting him know he's safe. He'd cut off another toe himself if he thought it might give him relief from all of it.
Izzy's not sure, in the dark, who's who. He thinks he can make out the curly mess of Ed's hair peeking above the covers on the right side of the bed. He takes a chance.
'Ed,' he whispers, voice barely audible, terrified of every possibility. 'I can't sleep.'
There's a soft, sleepy mumble, and a hand reaches out to grab his arm. It tugs at him until Izzy steps forward, his knees hitting the mattress.
'Ed,' he whispers again, heart in his throat.
The hand tugs at him again, clumsy and slow. There's another mumble.
Cautiously, Izzy sits on the side of the bed. He waits a few moments in case it's a trap, and then gingerly lays down on the edge of the bed, ready to flee, should he need to.
A warm, heavy arm settles over his waist, a forehead pressing against the back of his neck. Izzy closes his eyes, and lets himself relax.
Stede wakes with the vague idea that he's slightly more uncomfortable than usual. It's warm and cramped in their bed, and Stede is starting to sweat a little, sandwiched the way he is between two sleeping bodies. Really, he should invest in a bigger bed—
Stede frowns. Two bodies? Who—?
He opens his eyes to see Izzy curled up against him, fast asleep.
Stede blinks a few times, waiting for the image to disappear. It doesn't. Slowly, he processes the fact that Izzy — cantankerous and rude and downright hostile — is somehow in their bed, apparently content to sleep with Stede's arms around him. He looks peaceful; the tightness around his eyes is gone, his face relaxed for possibly the first time since Stede's met him.
Bravely, Stede reaches out and pets Izzy's hair very gently. Izzy makes a soft noise, exhaling as he presses closer to Stede. He's filled with an almost unbearable amount of affection, suddenly; is surprised by the force of it.
Stede remembers, vaguely, something rousing him from sleep the night before — someone at the side of the bed, looking for comfort. He'd been on autopilot, transported back to when Luis and Alma used to clamber into his and Mary's bed, spooked by bad dreams. He'd always secretly liked those nights; he liked their company, and liked the idea that he could at least comfort them in some way. Something to make up for all the other qualities he lacked as a father.
Was that Izzy, who had been standing at the side of the bed during the night? It must have been. Should Stede wake him? He can't imagine that Izzy would be particularly happy to find himself in Stede's arms.
Stede thinks that, before this exact moment, he probably wouldn't have liked the idea of cuddling Izzy, either.
Izzy sighs in his sleep, shifting a little. Stede runs a gentle palm up and down his arm, and Izzy settles down. Stede tugs him closer and closes his eyes again.
A little more sleep, he thinks, for the both of them. He'll deal with the rest of it later.