Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Shh, shh, now.” 

Scattered giggling rises up through the air. The children at Wilbur’s feet all shuffle around from where they sit on the floor, and Wil shushes them again, hoping to gain just a bit of peace. 

“Tell us a story, Mr. Soot!” One of them yells out, Wilbur huffing with a soft smile. He will never get an ounce of silence from these children. They’re too hyper and far too curious. It reminds him much of how he was when he was little, constantly running around, always needing to be told to sit down and sit still, lest he wander off right into the sea. 

He likes to think he was more well behaved then these ones, but he knows he’d be lying to himself with that one. He’s always been a headache ever since the day he was found on the doorstep, or at least that’s what the adults around him have always said. 

He takes the insult with pride. Better to be known as an annoyance rather than to have never been seen at all, in his opinion. 

A hand tugs at his boot, nearly undoing the laces. “Tell us the pirate one!” One of the children scream, and it sets off a wave of excitement, all of them chattering and squealing with delight. “Tell us about the terrible criminals on the sea!” 

“Oh, no, no.” Wilbur shakes his head, leaning forward and gently pulling off a tiny hand from his shoelaces. “Last time I did that, I…” He trails off, grimacing. “I got into a bit of trouble.” Locked into his room for a week straight, hardly any sun for days. Yelling through the door, kicking at his walls, it was all no fun. 

He wants to say that as an adult now, he’s free to not have such silly punishments, but his Aunt Cass will always insist otherwise. She’s always done what’s best for him ever since she found him as a baby, that’s what he’s been told, but even so, he can’t help but wish that she would fall down a set of stairs. He wouldn't be torn up if she were to break a leg one of these days, honestly. It'd be fitting karma for the unusual punishments she's given him. 

She says Wilbur’s her pride and joy, but with the amount of screaming she’s left in his ears, he’s not so convinced of that fact. He feels as if she may be lying to herself. 

“Just once more.” One of the kids whisper, eyes wide and full of wonder. “We won’t tell, promise! You’re the only one who tells us about pirates, Mr. Soot.” 

“My mum never says anything about pirates, no matter what!” One little girl whines, pulling at her hair with a frown. “She says if I mention them at the dinner table, I’ll curse the family.”

Wilbur snorts at that. “I don’t think a mention of pirates would curse your bloodline, but she has reason to be wary.” The children mutter anxiously at that, their giddiness still apparent. 

“My father says the only time I should speak of a pirate is when they’re sent to the gallows!” A boy speaks up, Wilbur’s expression souring a bit. “He’s always real angry, always saying ‘the only good pirate is a dead one!’ and things like that.”   

“But a dead pirate is a boring pirate.” One kid points out. 

“And a boring pirate means a safe sea.” Wilbur adds on quickly, to prevent the conversation from veering off to anywhere drastic. Time and time again he’s been told that. “You all shouldn’t be speaking of pirates. Is this what you’ve been questioning poor Miss Niki about lately? You know she’s got enough on her plate already.” 

“We haven’t, we haven’t!” The kids insist, shaking their heads, looking away in guilt. 

“She doesn’t know anything about pirates, anyway.” The same little girl from before says. “But you do! You know the commodore. So I bet that’s where you learn of the pirates.” 

A burst of excited chatter comes up at that, Wilbur rolling his eyes with fond exasperation. 

“I do know him.” He nods, not denying it. Him and Dream do know each other, but it’s not as if they are friends. They’re acquaintances, if anything. Dream more than often had ran after Wilbur when he was younger, Wil having been an overly curious child who always went for the ships on the docks. 

That’s the only reason they know each other. Wilbur grew up knowing the man’s name, harboring a slight grudge against his face, and Dream always had to wrangle Wilbur to get him back home, carrying out his civil duty in not letting a random kid fling himself out into the waves. It’s never been anything more. If he were to put it into nice terms, he'd label their relationship as an uneasy tolerance. 

Now if only he could convince the children of that. 

“So tell us a story!” The kids plead. “Tell us a pirate story! Tell us of the ones who escape from the gallows!” 

Wilbur groans, leaning his head back as little hands begin to grab at his boots, yanking the laces undone. He’s starting to think he needs to get different shoes whenever he visits them. They always untie them when he’s not looking, but he never tells them to stop. 

“I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.” Wilbur shakes his head, only furthering the children’s determination. “Why not have a story of this one merchant I heard of? I heard, once upon a time…” 

“No!” The kids refuse, cutting him off and drowning him out. “Pirates!” They demand. “Tell us about pirates!” 

“I don’t know anything of pirates!” Wilbur denies, lifting his hands in surrender. “That last story was the only one I knew.” He lies, hoping that’ll make them give up. 

“Surely not!” The kids whine, in despair of not getting their story. “You have to know something!” 

“Do you know of the Pink Delilah?” One girl asks, her hands yanking at his shoelaces. Wilbur blinks. He knows of her. A pink haired pirate known for a gentle smile that only hides a quick blade to one’s heart. A deadly-- yet kind-- soul, that is the sort of pirate she is. “I’ve heard she’s beautiful!” 

“I’ve heard the same.” Wilbur agrees. “But that’s all I’ve heard of her.” He lies, giving a shrug.

“Or! Or, have you heard about the, the-” A boy leans in close, hushing his voice into a whisper. The kids settle down into a hushed anticipation. “The Blood God?” A low oooohh spreads throughout the room at that name. 

“Let’s not speak about him, yes?” Wilbur quickly dismisses. “He is not a good man.” 

Of course he knows of that pirate. It's impossible not to. The man’s title is well earned, and Wilbur has heard the stories of how he’s brought entire fleets to rest at the bottom of the sea. He is dangerous, on water and on land. Wil hopes for everyone’s sake that he never comes near their shores. 

“But he’s cool.” Someone says, and Wilbur shushes them gently. The room has grown quiet now, with the mention of that certain pirate, and Wilbur hopes to take the chance to steer them onto another topic. 

Except the children then give one more name. 

“Do you know of the Golden Traitor?” A boy from the back yells, and Wilbur goes still. 

He jerks his head up with a surprised expression, and the kids explode in excitement, taking his sign of weakness and offering not a scrap of mercy. 

“You do, you do!” They yell, bouncing with joy, nodding their heads, ready for a good story. “Tell us about him, tell us!” 

Wilbur closes his eyes in a moment of suffering, slumping down in his chair with a long sigh. The kids practically scream in victory. 

“Okay, okay!” He yells, trying to get them to calm down before someone comes running to ask why it sounds as if the children are being murdered. “I need quiet, you all must be quiet or else no story at all.” 

And all at once, the kids hush. A good few slap their hands over their mouths. Wilbur holds back a snort at the sight. 

“Alright.” He breathes out, heart heavy. He knows he should not tell them anything more about pirates, not with the way Aunt Cass had reacted last time, but he’s a weak man. He’s always had a soft spot for that childlike curiosity, that constant hunger for knowledge. It’s something he still struggles with even today. 

Surely just a bit of a story won’t hurt. Just a little something, something harmless. Just what little he knows. 

The children have reason to want him to give a story. It is fun, he’ll admit. He knows it won’t end well, but the Golden Traitor has always been one of his favorite pirates to think about.

“It is said that out at sea, over the ruthless waves and past the thick, thick fog, you will find an old, creaking boat. A giant ship with cursed runes carved into its side, with pitch black sails that nearly look like the dead of night.” 

“What’s that gotta do with the pirate?” A kid asks, huffing with impatience. Her friend beside him smacks him in the arm. 

“He’s creating ath- aft- atmosphere!” She struggles through the word, but still nails it, looking up at Wilbur with pride. Wil gives a little nod of approval. The kids go quiet again. Wilbur goes on. 

“It is said that this ship belongs to the most deadly pirate on the seas. The most ruthless, the most deadly, the most wild soul that’s ever sailed out on the ocean. He has more than a few names, with his reputation, but the one that you know is the Golden Traitor.” 

The kids lean forward with attention, Wilbur smiling wide. 

“That name holds a specific story. Particularly one from his past.” Wilbur wags a finger at them, watching their eyes follow it with interest. “Now you see, the Golden Traitor wasn’t always a pirate. He was once a part of the Navy, just like the commodore. He did well in his role, and rose up the ranks with ease, becoming a well-known officer at a rather young age. It was said that he knew the sea like no other, and whatever boat he sailed, it flew through the water like the wind.” 

“However, that role he was in? It did not last. One day, without warning, he turned against his crew, betrayed his duty as a sailor within the Navy, and turned to a life of piracy. Hence the ‘traitor’ part of his name.”

“But where does the ‘golden’ come from?” One of the children asks, everyone nodding along. 

Wilbur lowers his head with a grin. “I knew you’d ask that. There’s more than a few things that might’ve given the golden part. It’s said he has golden hair. Blond and yellow like the color of a golden sunrise.” 

“Like mine!” One girl exclaims, pulling at her ponytail. All the kids around her stare in awe. 

“Yes!” Wilbur nods. “It’s also said that he’s got a liking for gold. Nearly obsessed with it. Why, on the day he betrayed the Navy and became a pirate, there’s a rumor that he had gone and stolen one of their ships, with the cargo itself being piles and piles of gold. He took it all for himself, and sailed away into the sea, beginning his story there with a giant pile of loot.” 

“Pirate.” Someone says, but it is not cruel. Only an observant fact, a title given with an amazed look. 

“Pirate.” Wilbur repeats, his voice soft. “Even today, he still sails the seven seas, forever searching for more treasure, more adventure, and more danger.” 

The children make noises of wonder, imagining themselves a nearly heroic picture of a man at sea, a captain who travels the waters as he likes and does what he pleases. It’s an incredible thought, Wilbur will admit. There’s a reason he himself was so curious about pirates at a young age. Even now, his curiosity leads him to track down stories like these, rumors and tales passed down from the passing folk in town. 

Now he passes these same stories onto the youth. 

Which, in hindsight, might’ve not been a good idea. 

“Now- uh, I do want you all to remember, while a pirate does sound ‘cool’, they are very dangerous and not to be trusted.” Wilbur quickly says, trying to force a sense of scolding onto his tone. “The Golden Traitor may be rich in loot, but he is also a wanted, deadly criminal. And we all know where the criminals go.” 

“To the gallows!” A child screams, and the room is enveloped into chaos once more, Wilbur entirely losing control of their attention. They’ve gotten their story, now they speak to one another and begin playing pirates, the girl with blond hair from earlier insisting she be captain. 

Wilbur winces a bit at being the cause of all the excitement, knowing full well Niki is going to be left with the mess when she comes back. And speak of the devil, as he looks to the door, he finds the woman standing there, arms crossed over her chest with a fond sort of exasperation on her expression. Wil gives a sorry look, and stands from his seat, moving across the room filled with hyperactive children. 

Niki’s been a familiar face around Wilbur these days. She only just got the job of looking after the children a few weeks prior, and in those weeks, they’ve grown to be good friends. Enough so where Wil covers Niki’s shift in the moments where she has something urgent to attend to. 

Wil doesn’t know everything about her life, but from what they’ve shared, she often has to run home to look after a sickly little brother. She works to keep them both afloat, but worries at leaving him alone, so when the opportunity presents itself, she will run off to check on him, and convince Wilbur to stay in her spot. 

Wilbur never minds it. He’s glad to do anything for her, especially if it means he gets to have fun with the kids for a good hour. Niki always says she’ll pay him back somehow, but they never do get to that part. Wilbur supposes one day he’ll cash in the favors for something big. Maybe he’ll force her to buy him a drink. He would enjoy some free drinks. 

“What did you tell them now?” Niki asks, tilting her head to the side, a bit of her bangs falling through the bandana wrapped over her head. She lifts her hands up to adjust it, pulling back that pitch black hair with a careful touch, as if she’ll ruin it if she keeps her hand against the strands for too long. “You’ve got them all riled up.” 

“Well, technically, I didn’t mean to.” Wilbur stands beside her, looking out at the chaos of children running around the room. “They were just so persistent to hear about pirates, and they knew I had a story, so…” 

“So they weaseled it out of you.” Niki says, and Wilbur’s shoulders droop as he mutters out an apology. Niki only laughs. “It’s alright. Gives the day some energy, I suppose. Which pirate did you tell them about? The Prophet? Foxglove?” 

Wilbur barely manages to keep his face neutral at the names, trying to not let her know that he’s heard plenty of stories about those titles and the pirates who they belong to. 

“The Golden Traitor.” He says, quick and simple. 

Niki gives a noise of appreciation. “The Angel.” She speaks as if the man might be a saint, even though Wilbur knows for a fact that the tales say otherwise. 

“Angel of Death.” He corrects, a near bitterness on his tongue. Niki glances at him with something amused. He keeps his eyes firmly on the children playing pirates. Part of him wishes so badly to speak of the Angel’s crimes, his kills and his reputation, but he knows that’s not exactly a normal topic to bring up out of the blue. His talk of pirates is only something he’s allowed to do in passing with travelers he will never see again. 

“Went for the big one, did you?” Niki chuckles. “Oh, they’re going to be talking about this for weeks.” 

“That is what I’m afraid of.” Wilbur mutters, only just realizing the consequences of his actions. “My aunt will be furious...” He holds his hands to his face, dragging them down his cheeks. 

“I don’t like your aunt.” Niki declares, turning towards the hallway and having Wilbur follow her out. They hover by the doorway like that, in view of the kids, yet still having some semblance of privacy for a conversation. “Every time you speak of her, it's like she's only gotten worse. Can't you move away from her?” 

“I want to.” Wilbur hums. “She’s unpleasant to share a house with." 

“I think it's more than that.” 

“She's terrible.” 

Niki’s lips curve into a smile. “More than that?” 

“A horrid bitch.”

She laughs, Wilbur laughing with her. 

“I do want to go. Find a place of my own. I just don’t know where to head off to.” Wilbur confesses, leaning his back against the edge of the doorway. “I’m finally of age to travel the world, and yet I haven't got a clue of where to even start.” 

Niki makes a thoughtful expression, looking at Wilbur with narrowed eyes. 

“You could travel with my friend.” She says, very softly, so quiet that Wilbur nearly does not hear it. 

Wilbur blinks. “...sorry?”

“My friend.” Niki repeats, a little more confident. She gives a happy sigh. “He’s more of family, if anything. I know him well. He’s meant to arrive here in town fairly soon.” 

Wilbur raises his eyebrows in surprise. “So sudden? That's convenient timing.” 

“Well, I asked him to come help me with something weeks ago.” Niki admits, lowering her head in a nearly shameful way. Wilbur assumes it is surrounding her brother and his condition. He presses no further. “He’s only just arriving, but he won’t stay long. You could go with him. You should. He’s always liked traveling, and I trust him with my life. You'd be safe on his ship.” 

“Hm.” Wilbur considers it for a moment, the idea sailing out with a near complete stranger, despite not having a single clue of how to sail or even live at sea. He’s never even been on a boat before. His aunt says it’s bad luck, so he should be discouraged at such a suggestion. But the idea of something so new is thrilling. Interesting. A grand difference from the dullness this town holds.

Wilbur has always had his escapes from dying from boredom. The first was chasing down talk of pirates at sea, soaking in their tales of bloodshed and crime. The second was meeting Niki, sharing those very same tales with her. This just might be the third. 

“What’s his name?” Wilbur asks. 

Niki pauses for a second. “Tech.” 

“Tech?” 

“It’s a nickname.” She explains, a loving smile spreading on her face. “There are stranger names out there, don't be rude.” 

“There are.” Wilbur agrees, shrugging one shoulder. “I suppose I could go meet this ‘Tech’ when he gets here?” 

“I’ll introduce you.” Niki nods. “He'd like you. Meet me by the docks in the morning three days from now. He should be there by then.”

With that, Wilbur nods back.

He heads home soon after that, leaving Niki to the rest of her shift in watching over the mess of screaming children, who are convinced they are the best pirate of the seas. (Even despite never having sailed at sea at all.)

Wilbur leaves the daycare and heads through the town, running quickly to catch his own shift; a job at the local fish shop, gutting and putting away fish bits. 

It’s not a desirable job. It certainly wasn’t his first choice. But it’s a good chance for money, and that’s all he really needs. All he needs is a chance.

He’s been saving up for the past few months, collecting it all in a satchel tucked underneath his mattress back at home. When the time comes, he’ll take that satchel with him and make a run for it. It’ll be a heavy weight on his shoulder, no doubt, but it’ll fund him for a new life somewhere else. Or at least, that's what he hopes. Quietly, he knows he's never had the courage to really go for it. 

His aunt has always been stingy regarding any money he’s made. She’s always been condescending on his dreams, kicking at his goals with a cruel, stern sense of reality. She says that the money he makes could do them both good somewhere else, rather than silly dreams on the sea, and she takes it for bills, for money, for food, for medicine, the list goes on and on. The more it happens, the more Wilbur knows it’s only an excuse for her to take what he’s made, to set him back a step. He never argues, though. Screaming back at her never did him much good, only hurt his ears and throat. 

Instead, he's learnt to bide his time. Instead, he’s tucked two coins away from every piece of profit he’s made, letting it pile up into a saving grace. He lets his aunt take the rest, spend it all on whatever she deems it necessary for, but the little he gets, he adds it to the satchel. 

And that satchel is going to be a ticket out. 

Wilbur hears the loud bellow of his boss calling for a new basket, and he drowns it out with a chop of a knife against a cutting board, the smell of fish sticking to his fingers. The day goes on, and Wilbur works with quiet plans within his head, and small, racing hopes always living on in his imagination. 

When Wilbur was younger, he was told that he was too much of a handful to deal with. 

Apparently, he had a habit of running off. Away to the docks, away to the shore, it happened nearly every single day, without fail. His aunt had to lock him in the house more often than not, but he always somehow slipped out, one way or another. He’d break the window, break the locks, tear up the floor and dig a hole through there, and then he’d always return back to the sea. 

It was quite a problem. Part of the reason why his aunt feels she has to be repaid for her work. He never stayed still as a child. As he grew up, he learnt to settle down and stopped running off to the beach, but as a kid, he definitely gave his aunt more than a fair share of headaches. 

To be fair, Wilbur just loved the sea. He loved the sight of it, the smell of it, the noise of waves crashing down again and again like the rhythm of a heartbeat. Even now, in the spare moments where he can make his way to the docks, it still feels familiar, and it still gives him that same fond emotion. As if just by staying in the ocean, he will gather enough courage to achieve anything he desires. 

There on the shore, when he was little, that is where Dream had always found him. That’s where they met. 

He thinks it was a chance encounter, really. Dream is hardly that much older than him, only a few years, but as a child, the difference was apparent. He was a teen returning a lost kid back home, and they both thought it’d be nothing more after that. 

But then, it always happened again. And Dream, having joined the Navy young, with his mother being a high ranking officer, always found him at the same spot by the waters. So he continued doing the same, and always went to return Wilbur back to his aunt. 

That’s not to say Wilbur ever made it easy for him, though. More than once he remembers being chased across the sand, Dream screaming his name and trying to tackle him so he may drag him home before sundown. Things shifted a bit as they both grew into their own, but the routine always sort of stuck. He’d always be escorted back, time and time again. 

It started as a teen hauling back a kid. Then it was a man dragging back a stubborn teenager. It became an officer bringing back a foolish man, then a commodore walking a tired soul back home, who always went with just a bit of grumbling, now, rather than entire dramatic escape attempts. 

They have their routine, and everyone’s gotten used to it. No one else goes to get Wil on the shore, only Dream does. And Wilbur always returns back home, one way or another, even if he is bitter on the way back. 

It’s not as if he’s got anywhere else to really go, honestly. The only house he has is his aunt’s and she’s settled in where she is. 

He’s asked her before why they don’t move anywhere else, maybe even farther from the sea if he really did give her such a headache on constantly breaking out to go see it. The only answer he got to that was that the house that they live in is paid by her husband. She cannot afford to go anywhere else, so that’s why they stay. And besides, if they are being paid to live here, why move at all? Why leave? 

She insists to Wilbur that he should stay, too. That he should take on the house for her, take care of her for all she’s done. For the kindness she showed in taking him in, he should repay it, when she’s older, and watch over her for the rest of her days. 

As grateful Wilbur is for her not letting him drown off in the waters when he was little, and for taking him in when he was just a child on her doorstep, he refuses to ever let his future result to just being that. 

Quietly, he hopes for something a little more- 

Daring. 

Sometimes, his curiosities towards the sea and all the dangers it holds causes him to yearn a bit. Sometimes, when he’s giving earnest questions to passing merchants, he gets to hear of the pirates out in the ocean, battling curses and finding treasure, and he can’t help but wish to have a piece of that too. 

It’s crazy. That, he knows. Pirates go to the gallows, and criminals have no place amongst the world. But even so, he can’t help but imagine. 

What would it be like to have that sort of freedom? To travel the world as he wished? To go out into the sea, to raid and pillage, to be wild and unconstrained for the rest of his days?

He knows that pirates are not good people. He is a good, honest man, that’s what he tells himself, so he also tells himself that he could never be a pirate. 

But it never stops the thoughts. It never stops him from wondering, from searching, from still sneaking out to the sea. 

Sometimes, he wishes he was pulled into that sort of life. Given an excuse to snap, given a reason to live a life at sea, a life full of only danger and adventure at every turn. 

But just as soon as he wishes, he comes to his senses, and realizes his place. He is not a pirate. He’s a young man in a simple town who lives with an old wretched woman who took him in as a baby. He’s a normal civilian, with a soft singing voice and just an unusual strong love for pirate stories. 

He is simply just human. 

Pirates can be anything but. 

Pirates, the most well known ones, can be something a little less human, over time. 

Now those are less known rumors. Those are passed whispers that Wilbur can never quite fully hear, never quite fully believe. From the quiet tales he’s been able to catch, he’s been told that some of the men at sea are not men at all. Rather, the sea changes them. Their way of life, their routines of constant danger, it changes them. It is a blessing or a curse, depending on the point of view. 

Wilbur doesn’t know if the rumors hold any truth, but sometimes, when he is bored, he likes to let his mind wander, and he goes to think of pirates with glowing eyes and echoing voices, their souls being one with the sea. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d be one with the sea as well. Ruthless, daring, and free. 

(He’s always been too curious for his own good. 

He’s always loved a good story.)

The days pass easily enough. 

Wilbur wakes and goes to the sea, only for a quick visit. He watches the boats sail in and sail out, and he leaves to visit Niki, finding the entire daycare to be a mess of children playing pirates. Miraculously enough, despite all of them causing such chaos, his aunt hasn’t heard a single thing of it. He’s glad for it. 

(Unbeknownst to him, Niki made all the children swear a ‘pirate oath’ promising they will only play as pirates within the daycare. She’s given the bribe of having Wilbur around more often if they keep the oath, so the secret is well kept.) 

Niki stays at her shift this time around, and they both watch the kids, Wilbur being pestered to give yet another story, and eventually cracking to the pressure of the children’s excitement and to his own. 

This time, he tells them of the Pink Delilah. 

He tells them of her signature bright pink hair, of her travels at sea, and of her tales of being a spy within illegal pirate markets. He tells them what he’s been told, and from what he’s been told, the pirate is an expert at slipping into towns unnoticed, and has a reputation for bringing down rival crews from the inside out. It’s part of the reason for her name. She appears kind and sweet, like a flower. Until she puts a knife into your back and steals what treasure you’ve got. 

“Pirate.” A kid says, with a wide smile on his face. 

“Pirate.” Niki repeats, laughing a little with the word. The kids then play on that day pretending to be spies, acting out betrayals over and over until everyone’s been backstabbed at least twice. 

Wilbur finds it all to be endearing. He runs off to work, and takes extra shifts until night falls, then comes home to a grumpy aunt and a cold house. He sleeps, he wakes, and repeats the day. 

He visits the sea once more, at the docks. He doesn’t quite go too close to it, but he does wander near, nearer than he did the day before. The idea of escaping out into those waves in just a few days gives him a rush of energy, and he uses it to run all the way back to Niki, bursting in with an overwhelming need to talk. 

This time, he doesn’t even protest at telling stories about the pirates. The idea of freedom being so near has coaxed him to be a little more daring, and he answers their questions freely, telling them whatever they wish. He tells them of the Golden Traitor, of all his different titles, he tells them of his ship, of his crew, of the treasures he’s supposedly found. He tells them of the Blood God, albeit a bit carefully considering the bloodshed that the pirate has caused. He tells them of Foxglove, of Two-tone, of The Prophet. 

When his time is up, the kids whine and cry for him to stay, and he apologizes over and over, having to pull children off his legs in order to run off to work. The joy sticks to him as he runs to begin his shift, but as night falls, slight regret begins to set in. 

Maybe he should be careful of what he says. Children won’t think badly of him for giving a good story to listen to, but adults are different. He trusts Niki, loves her to death for being so understanding and kind, but it doesn’t shake that wariness that he’s going to suffer consequences fairly soon. With freedom so close within reach in the form of a boat on a docks, he doesn’t want to risk it all. 

He shakes off the nerves, blames it on the fact that everything's coming up to a high point. In just a day, he will be stepping onto a boat and sailing out into the world. In just a day, he will leave this town behind, and head off to search for something more. 

Everything will work out. It has to. 

As much as he repeats it, it doesn’t quite get rid of the fear, so he visits the sea after work, rather than go straight home. He knows he’ll get yelled at for it, but he doesn’t quite care so much now that he’ll be rid of that damn lady fairly soon. 

The sand on the beach is a familiar sight. The moon is nearly full up above his head, and as he stands on the edge of the shore, only a few feet from the water, he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

“It’s a late night, Wilbur.” Dream gives as a greeting, and Wilbur turns his head with a glare, getting an annoying grin in return. “Shouldn’t you be at home?” 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Wilbur dryly responds, turning his back to Dream and trying to focus on the ocean waves. The water has always given him a sense of calm, but now he can’t get anything if there’s a particular officer demanding his attention.  

“I am working.” Dream nods, coming to stand beside Wilbur underneath the cool night. “I’m keeping watch on the shore.” 

“I’m not going to go running off into the waves.” Wilbur promises, but it’s a weak promise. 

“Sorry to say I don’t feel so convinced about that.” 

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Wilbur snorts without humor, and Dream laughs with him, shaking his head. “I’ll go home right now.” 

“Then I’ll walk you back.” 

Wilbur makes an unhappy groan. “Do you need to?”

“It’s my job, Wilbur.” 

“To be my personal escort?”

“I mean,” Dream shrugs, circling around Wil and blocking his view of the sea. “Basically? With the amount of times I’ve done it, I might as well be paid for this.” 

“You don’t get paid, though.” 

“Maybe you should start tipping me for my service, then.” 

Wilbur turns his nose up at that, and turns around, stomping off back to town. “Absolutely not.” 

“Hey!” Dream calls out, quickly following at his heels. “I’m a poor man, Wilbur! I need every coin I can get-”

“You are literally the commodore-!”

“-times have been hard-”

“Oh, fucking liar.” 

Dream wheezes with a shake of his head, and Wilbur huffs, the two of them heading back onto solid ground to get Wilbur back to where he belongs. 

Wilbur ignores the pang of pain within his chest when turning his back to the sea. Even with years of practice, it never gets easier.

Wilbur wakes slowly on his last day in town. 

He sleeps in late and gets an earful for it, and he waves his aunt off as he runs out the door, escaping her shrill voice echoing out into the street. He heads through town with a jump in his step and a slight excitement beginning to unfurl in his heart. 

He’s going to be leaving. 

Tomorrow morning, he will be at the docks, and he will be leaving. 

The idea is thrilling. More and more, he thinks of the sea, of adventure and danger and all the things that could come with finally exploring out past this little town on the shore. He knows that all his expectations will only ever be fulfilled with a life of piracy, but that doesn’t really stop his mind. He tells himself he will not become a pirate, but yet he still wishes for the experience of being one anyhow. 

Maybe he’ll become a merchant. Or join the navy, become a sailor. Anything to stay close to the sea. Anything to finally let himself be near those waters. 

He hasn’t even stepped foot on a boat, yet he’s so confident he will love it more than life itself. He’s setting himself up for disappointment, and he can’t even bother to care. It’s all just too exciting. 

For so long, he’s always been trying to run, now he will be able to get away. 

Wilbur means to head off to the daycare to talk with Niki over any details, but as he gets there, he doesn’t find her. Instead, in her place, there is an old grumpy man with a squinty sort of gaze, who seems to be covering her shift. 

Wilbur asks where she’s gone, and he’s told  that she simply just couldn’t come in for today, something having come up. The news is slightly worrying, but Wil assumes it must be her brother, with his sickness growing worse. He’s tempted to head to Niki himself and help out anyway he can, but he never did find out where she lived. He leaves the daycare with the children screaming his name, and he apologizes for the lack of stories on that morning. 

He heads through the streets with a bit of free time on his hands. Usually, he takes up the morning by visiting Niki and watching over the children, but now, Niki’s busy, and he’d rather not bother that old man who’s taken her spot. 

Wil instead heads off to a nearby pub. 

Most times, when he visits a bar, it’s at the late hours of the night, where most of the men inside are drunk and tired, and are willing to answer any pestering questions for a free drink. That’s how he’s gotten most of his stories and information on pirates, and that’s how he’s grown a skill in poking people with the right questions to hear what he wants. 

Here, at this time, no one’s nearly drunk enough to give him the time of day, but Wilbur still decides to give his best and pass the time with the effort anyhow. He buys drinks and comes up to tables, and gets waved off within a single minute. With a few failed attempts, he ends up stealing a server’s apron, and walks through the busy bar pretending as if he belongs. 

“Here are your drinks, men.” Wilbur will say, coming up to a table with nothing but a cheeky grin on his face. He looks up, and the moment he knows that the ones at the table are not from around town, he gives an expression of shock. “Say! Are you all from out of town?”

And the response will always be different, then. They’re merchants, they’re sailors, they're travelers mapping out the sea. Then Wilbur will always lean in, face full of interest, eyes wide, and ask-

“Got any good stories to tell?” When a bit of hesitation rises up, he adds- “Surely you do, if you’ve been out at sea! I’ve never been on a boat, but I’ve heard plenty of stories before, from all these people that come in.” 

“What sort of stories?” They’ll ask, a little bit of curiosity in their tones. 

“Well, it’s the sea. What would you think?” Wilbur leans closer, voice hushed in a near whisper. “Pirates.” He’ll hiss it out like it’s a distasteful sort of word, and if he’s lucky, he’ll have reined them in to complain and spill out all their experiences right there on the table. 

No prideful man will ever give up a chance to insult what criminals they’ve passed by, and no sorrowful man will ever pass up a chance to lament over what they’ve lost. Wilbur will listen with an agreeable tone, and he’ll leave not looking like a stranger who wanted stories, but as a passing server who was just curious. 

He does this for the better part of the morning, and just as he’s about to go, one more table left, he comes across an unusual sort of man. 

Someone with a sword on his hip and a gun strapped to his side. His footsteps make hardly any noise as he slips through the bar to sit near the back, and as Wilbur stares, he notices that underneath the bandana on his head, there are stripes of white hair amongst the brown. 

Wilbur recognizes the look. Colored hair is unusual on its own, but it’s also become something of a bad omen, everyone knows it.

Because pirates are known for colored hair. 

And Wilbur knows which pirate this is. 

He walks over with a near rush in his steps, almost stumbling over his feet, and as he gets closer, he finds more and more evidence that the man at that table in the corner is exactly who he thinks it is. There are thick, brown gloves over his hands, and a bright orange gem hanging from his left ear. 

Foxglove, Wilbur almost says out loud, his mouth shaping out the word, but not saying it whole, because he is then drowned out by a rush of noise, a burst of soldiers suddenly making their way through the front doors. The wood of the doors slams back into the wall with a slam, making every head turn that direction. 

“PIRATE!” One of them yells, pointing an accusing finger right at the man, and Wilbur watches as the bar falls apart into chaos, with Foxglove rising to his feet and drawing his gun more quickly than Wilbur can duck. 

A gunshot rings out, people screaming and jumping for cover, and Wilbur falls onto the ground, slamming into the floorboards with a grunt. The soldiers fire back the best they can, but Foxglove is a quick sort of man, and he’s across the room before Wilbur can even crawl underneath a table. 

“Can’t a guy just get a drink!?” Foxglove yells, sounding annoyed, and he hops over tables with a startling ease, as if it’s no trouble at all. He jumps up high into the air and kicks down two soldiers on the way down, then goes for the door, zipping out in a blur of movement. 

Wilbur rips off his apron and throws it to the side, quickly crawling away to the backdoor and making his way out through there. It’s already open from a few people escaping out from it, and Wilbur stumbles outside with people’s panicked yells still surrounding him whole. 

He can hear another gunshot ring out on the other side of the building, and while he knows he should let it be, and just head off to his shift for one last day of work, he ends up running after the noise instead. 

He runs down the road faster than he’s ever ran before, and he weaves through the alleyways he knows well, listening to the sound of men yelling out orders to catch the pirate. Wilbur climbs up an old rickety ladder on the side of a shop, and he pulls himself up to the roof, scrambling to get across and get a good view. 

From here, he finds the swarm of soldiers rushing through the street, people huddling within doorways with wide eyes. From here, he can see the small bit of chaos at the front of the pub, people coming out unharmed, but shaken. From here, he spots a blur of movement that belongs to a pirate. 

Wilbur knows he should stop. Knows he should turn around and go back to where he belongs.

But his heart-- it screams for a good chase. So he runs, jumps over to the next roof, following the men down on the street, trying to get ahead so that he can find Foxglove first. 

He knows that the pirate will most likely be hoping to lose the men further within the town, in the alleyways, so Wilbur goes there. He climbs down from the roof a bit further ahead, then makes a few turns, running and running until he no longer hears the men calling out for the arrest of the pirate, and he no longer hears the panic of the crowd seeing a chase. He searches through dark paths with crumbling walls and puddles of dirty mud underneath his feet. A few of the poorer people of the town sit to the side on the ground, eyes curious as he runs past, but they don’t bother him, and he doesn’t bother them. 

The alleys don’t give much to see. Wilbur keeps his eyes open and scans across for any sort of familiar looking faces, but there is nothing to spot. Only the quiet, run-down part of the town. 

As he turns the corner with a panting breath, he begins to think he’s lost Foxglove entirely and just wasted his time and soiled his boots in the mud. 

Except Wilbur then finds the man right there in his path, and he nearly runs right into him, and the gun he’s holding. 

The pirate points his barrel at Wilbur’s throat with a click that digs its way into Wil’s ears, and Wilbur freezes perfectly still, gasping for breath and instantly raising his shaking hands up into the air. 

“Wait, wait-!” He gasps, his voice choked and without any air. He scolds himself internally for ever daring to go after a pirate. Why was he such a fool? What did he think he’d gain from that? Darn his impulse decisions!

Foxglove only narrows his eyes, pushing his gun forward and making Wilbur take a hesitant step back. 

“You’re not Navy, are you?” He asks, and from here, Wilbur can see the unusually sharp canines in the teeth of his scowl. They look like the teeth of an animal. A fox, maybe, but that might just be Wilbur’s scattered thoughts at play. “If you were, you would have a gun. And maybe like, a bit of common sense.” 

“I’m not an officer.” Wilbur agrees, tilting his chin up with a heavy swallow. The gun on his skin feels too cold. “I’m not.” 

“And yet you were still jumping over the roof to go after me.” Foxglove drawls, making an unimpressed sort of expression. His eyes are strange, now that Wilbur’s seeing them so closely. They’re too bright. Too- yellow. 

Like a fox, Wilbur's mind supplies again. Fitting to the name. 

Wilbur looks away from the man, lowering his eyes down to the dirt ground with a shaky breath. After a few still seconds, Foxglove’s gaze turns surprised as a realization seems to come upon him. 

“Wait a minute.” He says, the gun shifting against Wilbur’s throat, before leaving entirely. Wilbur breathes in deep, stumbling back to make distance. He looks up hesitantly to find Foxglove looking nearly guilty, wincing slightly as he rubs at his cheek. 

“Ohhh, that’s not-” The pirate mutters, and he scrambles to put away his gun, as if wanting to make Wilbur forget he even had it pointed at him. 

“What?” Wilbur breathes out, and Foxglove looks back up, those eyes stabbing into him and leaving him with apprehension. Wil presses his lips tightly shut. 

“Okay.” Foxglove holds his palms up, stepping back as if it’s now Wilbur who’s got the gun. “This never happened. You did not see me.” He gives a nervous, stuttering laugh. “Oh man, if- if what she said was true, the captain is going to kill me if he finds out I did that.” 

Wilbur blinks. He wants to ask who’s “she”, but his throat seems to have gotten stuck, and no words are coming out. 

Foxglove doesn’t seem to care about his confusion or panic. He points at Wilbur with a gloved finger. 

“You don’t know me!” He yells, Wilbur nodding right away. “This never happened!” He says again, and then he runs off, turning around the corner and leaving without a single noise, leaving Wil to stand there in bafflement. 

Wilbur goes home. 

The soldiers still swarm the streets looking for the runaway pirate, but as he makes the walk back to his house, it seems like they’re all turning up with nothing. Foxglove is a hard man to catch. Running after him on foot would never give results, Wilbur knows that much from what tales he’s been told. 

He knows he’s still got a shift to catch back at the fish shop, but he leaves it be and finds himself at his doorstep instead, sneaking inside with careful steps, trying to be just as silent as the pirate he had encountered earlier. His aunt is sleeping the day away inside her room, and Wilbur breathes a sigh of relief at the sight. He takes the chance to take his satchel from its hiding spot, and he changes his clothes into something a bit more suited for travel. 

As he’s pulling a coat over his shoulders, he stares down at his bed and tries to think of what exactly possessed him to go running off after a criminal on the street. He’s never done something like that before. The most trouble he’s ever gotten into was sneaking out to see the ocean, but he’s done that so many times that it no longer feels like trouble, and rather just a bad habit. 

Maybe it’s all the pirate stories. All the tales and rumors, it must’ve gone to his head, and with his ticket out being so close, he went for something exciting. 

Maybe it was the fact he recognized Foxglove. He knew that haircolor, those striking pieces of white. He knew no normal sailor would carry a gun and a sword like that, and no normal man would walk so quietly, so he thought that information would make him special. Make him different, in some sort of way. 

He sighs. Maybe the reason doesn’t matter. Foxglove is gone and has probably caught a boat ride out of here by now. Wilbur won’t see him again, but at least that single meeting will keep its place in his mind. A little story of his own, a pirate’s gun to his throat after having run a chase across the rooftops. 

Taking the satchel of gold, Wilbur pulls the strap over his shoulder and goes for the front door, not giving a single glance back. There’s no hesitation as he leaves the house, and he walks off into town, buying a room at an inn.

He won’t be sleeping underneath the same roof as his aunt tonight. He won’t be doing so ever again. By this time tomorrow, he will be gone, Wilbur’s made up his mind. Even if Niki’s friend doesn’t pull through, he’ll buy his way onto another boat anyhow, and he will go out to sea. That’s decided. 

Daylight is still bright as Wilbur gets his room, so he leaves his satchel behind a locked bedroom door, and travels out to visit the sea just one more time, before he ends up heading out to explore its waters. 

The beach is empty and a little cold with a gust of wind, and as Wil stares up at the midday sky, he finds clouds approaching along the horizon. It could just be a bit of rain, but it could also be a bad storm. Wilbur doesn’t like the sight of it, and what it could mean. 

He imagines raging waves and booming thunder in his ears, and he closes his eyes and imagines the wind on his face to be the same wind out there on the sea. His heart aches inside his chest, and when he opens his eyes back up, the world feels a little frail. 

Or maybe it’s just him who feels that way. It’d make sense if so. He has no love for this town, but change is always hard, especially for a boy who’s had everything be the same for an insufferably long time. In a way, he’s always felt trapped here, honestly. Stifled by his aunt, stifled by Dream, stifled by never being allowed to swim out into the ocean waves. 

For once, he will have more. It’s a wonderful thought. 

He walks back to the inn as the sun begins to set, and he takes an early night. He sleeps on an unfamiliar bed with his satchel sitting beside him, and he dreams of the barrel of a gun at his neck, and the noise of ocean waves echoing within his ears. 

He wakes up to the sound of far off screaming. 

Faint yelling and explosions ring out from the street outside, and Wilbur jolts up with wide eyes, turning to his window with a held breath. He climbs off his mattress and pulls the curtains open, and finds a crowd of people running down the road, all of them looking hesitantly behind them, towards the docks. 

Towards the ocean. 

Wilbur notes that it’s just barely morning. The sun has risen up, but clouds have come to block it out, so everything is held in a dim, dreary light. Fitting, for all the despair in the town. 

Another explosion rings out, like the noise of a canon, and Wilbur remembers Foxglove’s face, his eyes staring him down. He remembers what he’s heard of pirates attacking towns on the shores, and he remembers that he had a certain someone to meet on the docks later on today. 

“Niki.” Wilbur chokes out, moving away from the window and quickly grabbing his satchel off the bed. He pulls it over his head and goes out the door, leaving the key within the room. 

The inn is in disarray with people running about, and as Wilbur rushes to head outside, he can hear passing conversations, swirling around over his ears. 

“What’s going on-?!” 

“Grab your things, go, grab them-!”

“Hurry now!” 

“It’s pirates!”

Wilbur sprints out into the road outside, bumping shoulders and finding the air has become cold and moist. He comes to a stop in the middle of the chaos, and stares ahead with wide eyes, dread collecting underneath his ribs.  

“Oh no.” He whispers out, watching smoke rise out from where the docks used to be. 

If this truly is a pirate attack, then Wilbur knows he needs to run. He needs to go with the crowd, run further inland, so that he won’t become a victim to the violence that’s bound to come. Pirates can be a cruel sort. What they come for, they’ll have, and Wilbur has no doubt that they’re hoping for something valuable, without any concern of who stands in their way. 

Despite the knowledge, against all his common sense, Wilbur sucks in a sharp breath and makes a stupid choice anyway. He pushes his way through the crowd and breaks out into a sprint, making a beeline right to where most of the danger is playing out. 

Fire and smoke lifts into the air as Wilbur runs, and he feels the heat of the flames and the cold of the wind settle onto his skin all the while. He tries to head to the docks, screaming Niki’s name, but another explosion rings out as he gets near, and he jumps for cover just in the nick of time. 

Debris flies over his head as his heart races in his chest. Thinking hard, he changes tactics, and then runs the other direction, going to the naval base up on the mountain by the shore. There, he knows he’ll find Dream, and maybe once he’s in there, he can plead for help in trying to find Niki. 

He expects to see fighting as he runs up the hill. He expects to see a battle, to see an army against an army, with all the fire and chaos that’s in view on the docks. There’s an unfamiliar ship at shore firing cannonballs away into navy boats, but there’s no soldiers to be seen as he climbs higher and higher. 

Instead, Wilbur finds silence once he reaches the top. 

All the guards are gone from the base, and it’s eerily silent as he makes his way towards the entrance. He walks in through the front doors expecting someone to shout at him to leave, but no one says anything, and all he hears is an echoing sound of a crow’s call. 

“Dream!” Wilbur calls, his voice sounding so small against the thick stone walls. “I need help!” The smell of smoke reaches his nose as he gets no answer, and he turns away, walking down an empty hall, footsteps feeling too loud in his ears. 

This is a bad sign. Wilbur knows it. Many of the men here would’ve gone to protect the town, he knows that, but surely not all of them. They would have to be somewhere. He searches around, hoping to find them. 

Sure enough, he does find them. 

More accurately, he finds bodies. 

The first one is laid out across the ground, a gun still held in his hand, and a wound cut across his throat. The second is laid up against the wall, a splatter of blood painted across the stone wall, red soaking his shirt. The ones after don’t look any better, cut to pieces by a blade, and Wilbur stares in horror at the sight, before forcing himself to look away. He holds a hand over his mouth, thankful that he's not the squeamish sort. 

If all these men are dead, then where would Dream be? 

He can’t be dead. 

He can’t be-

Wilbur moves, panic curling up within his throat and making it hard to breathe, causing him to wheeze just a bit. He runs up sets of stairs and jogs past bloody halls, keeping his eyes forward and trying to not linger on all the men who had fallen in futile battle. 

He knows of a few pirates who would be able to cause such death like this, but he is hoping to the gods above that he is just wrong, and that there was an army of pirates who had done this, rather than just one.

As he reaches the top of the next set of stairs, the hallway still empty, still stained with death, Wilbur feels desperation begin to claw up at his skin. His eyes burn as he gasps in a trembling breath, and he freezes still as he just barely catches the noise of quiet conversation from nearby. 

He jerks his head towards it with hope. Following the sound best he can, it ends up leading him to a half-open window at the side of the hall, a perfect view of a stone ledge outside. The clouds in the sky have begun to grow dark, and Wilbur shivers with a slight chill in the wind coming through. He pushes at the window, creaking it further open. 

His breath hitches as looks outside, and finds the sight of Dream cornered by a single man. 

A pirate. 

A pirate with a bloody sword in hand, and a long pink braid hanging behind his back. A pirate with scars laced all across his arms and face, and a gun strapped to his thigh. A pirate with four dead bodies at his feet, and several gleaming gold rings along his fingers. 

Wilbur watches with terror as the Blood God stands across from Dream, his back turned to Wil, his voice low against the morning air. 

“It’s already been a rather long night.” He yawns, stretching his bloody hands up to the sky, as if he’s just woken up. As if it’s just a slow day. “Can’t you make it a quick morning?” 

Dream’s face sours with a narrow glare. He has no weapon in hand, or at least not from what Wilbur can see. There are fallen guns amongst the dead men, but that is in range of the pirate, and Wilbur doesn’t think he will be going for them anytime soon. 

“We can strike a deal.” Dream offers, his voice steady despite being in the face of death. “You can spare the town.” It’s almost a plea, in the way he says it. 

The Blood God huffs. He walks away from the dead men on the ground, and makes his way towards Dream, circling around him like he’s still considering whether his bloodlust is satisfied yet. 

“I could.” He says, tilting his head to the side, Dream staring straight ahead with clenched fists. “I could leave the rest alive. I could go back on my ship, return to my captain, and leave you as you are.” 

Dream glances towards the pirate at his side, and he stands impossibly more stiffly than he did before, as if just by looking right at him, he’s only made his chances worse. 

Wilbur leans closer to the ledge of the window, straining his ears to catch their voices, trying to see every single detail, since he might be the only one left in this building to witness it. His heart slams against his ribs with so much fear that it nearly hurts, but he doesn’t falter. 

He’s terrified, from top to bottom, but there is still such a thrill that comes with seeing a pirate up close. Especially this one. This one, he’s always been a bit scared of, and yet he can’t help but be in awe. The Blood God is a merciless sort of pirate, and that’s why Wilbur’s always been so intrigued by him. How could one man be so brutal, so deadly? How could one pirate be so dangerous?

Why is this pirate, of all pirates, here?

“But.” The man stops in his pacing, and he stands at Dream’s right side, a wide grin on his face. “You have somethin' he wants.” 

Then he lifts his chin up, looking straight at Wilbur from where he’s staring from the window, like he knew he was watching the whole time. 

“Or someone.” 

Wilbur freezes, the air in his lungs feeling stuck as he sees red. 

Red eyes. Red like the color of blood stained on the pirate’s hands. Wilbur swears time seems to come to a stop, the gods themselves forever holding Wilbur in a single second of terror. 

A loud caw shatters the panic of the moment. 

Wilbur tears his eyes away from the pirate below him, and he looks up to the cloudy sky to find a pitch black crow circling overhead. It drifts along the cold gusts of wind blowing through, then it makes a steep dive, heading down to where Dream and the Blood God stand. For a second, Wilbur thinks it’s going to try and peck one of their eyes out. 

But he thinks wrong. The bird flies past the top of their heads, then goes on to land with ease onto someone else’s hand stretched out into the air. Wilbur didn't even notice them approach. He watches as someone new steps within sight, and the image of bright pink hair is so striking-- Wilbur knows who it is right away. 

“Oh, it's the Pink Delilah.” Dream grits out, like she might as well be his worst enemy. 

“Technoblade.” Her voice calls out, ignoring the commodore, and Wilbur loses what little air he has, all in one fell swoop. His heart lands into his stomach with pure dread, and he’s filled to the brim with an instant knee-jerk denial, a desperate hope that his ears are betraying him. 

The Pink Delilah is standing before the bodies on the ground, and a small, familiar laugh comes from her throat. 

Wilbur’s heard that same laugh a hundred times over. 

He’s made her laugh a hundred times over, with the children at their feet, with the sun shining on their faces-

“Did you forget what the captain asked?” She speaks, and, oh, her voice. Her voice. “I think you got ahead of yourself.” Her tone is so light, as if all the blood spilled onto the floor is just a silly mistake. The bird on her hand is moved to her shoulder, and she smiles kindly as the crow pecks at her bright pink hair for just a moment. 

“You said to get into the base. I did that.” Techno responds, his words flat. He hasn’t looked away from Wilbur. Wil’s heart jumps when he realizes it. 

“With a bit too much enthusiasm, I think.” The Pink Delilah comes closer, stepping over the bodies at her feet and resting a hand onto the gun on her side. As she stops in front of Dream, she notices Techno not yet looking her way. 

So she turns to see what he’s staring at. 

Wilbur sees Niki’s face. 

Niki is there, standing beside the Blood God, dressed in a pirate’s clothes. Niki is there, with a crow on her shoulder, and blood staining her boots. Niki is there, and she has a gun on her thigh, and a sword on her hip. 

Niki is the Pink Delilah, and Wilbur wonders why he never knew it. 

“Oh, no.” Niki breathes out, eyes wide as she watches betrayal flicker across Wil’s expression. “Wilbur?” She takes a step forward, as if she might be able to reach him from he stands at that window, but Wilbur moves back and then runs off, escaping from view as he retreats down the hall. 

Niki watches him go with a slight panic and guilt simmering in her heart. She takes in a deep breath, and lets it settle, turning back to Techno with a carefully blank face. 

“Was that him?” Technoblade asks, and Dream glances up, his eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. 

“Yes.” Niki slowly nods. “He responds to Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.” Dream goes dead still.  

Techno’s face pulls into an unamused frown at the name, like the words have wronged him somehow. Niki ignores it. She’s been used to hearing the wrong name for weeks now. It doesn’t take away the bitterness of it all, but at least she’s accustomed to it. 

“Go after him.” She orders, and Dream suddenly lunges forward, hands reaching out. 

“NO!” Dream yells, desperate and angry. Techno moves quick, slamming his elbow into the side of his face, forcing Dream to the ground before he can even get a single step towards Niki. Dream falls with a pained groan, and Niki pulls her gun, pointing it down at Dream with a click.  

“Go, Techno.” Niki repeats, the bird on her shoulder giving a loud caw, as if insisting with her. “I have words to exchange with this one.” 

Technoblade hesitates like he means to protest, but he sees that look in her eyes, and decides otherwise, leaving her with an acknowledging grunt. 

“Don’t hurt him.” Niki calls out, just as a reminder. 

“You know I won’t. Captain’s already given me that talk.” Technoblade responds, not looking back as he puts his sword away and heads inside the building with a near stomp of his boots. 

Niki listens to his footsteps leave, and she gives a huff, a small smile on her lips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Still. I know he’s going to be skittish.” She mutters, knowing Techno isn’t going to hear it. “And Techno isn’t the most gentle out of all of us.” She says to Dream, shrugging as if they’re just both sharing an inside joke. 

Dream stares up at her with a hand on his face, supporting his weight on one arm against the ground. There is nothing but burning anger in his expression, and while it is harsh, it is nothing compared to the quiet rage within the Pink Delilah’s eyes. 

“Pirate.” Dream spits out, like it is a curse. 

“Pirate.” Niki repeats, soft and sweet, like it’s a fond nickname. “Tell me, commodore, what do you know of pirates?” 

Dream looks away with a sharp breath, staring at the ground underneath him with near defeat. He moves his jaw as if testing if his teeth have been broken. 

“Not much.” He croaks out, Niki humming. 

“Do you know the Angel of Death?” 

Dream tilts his head up, just barely. 

“Or I think you’d know him better as the Golden Traitor.” Niki begins to pace around Dream, her gun never lowered. “You Navy seem to hold onto that title rather often.”

The crow on her shoulder gives a loud call, flying off in a burst of black feathers, escaping off into the sky just as water droplets begin to sprinkle down. 

“What of him?” Dream asks, staring at his dead men on the ground, their bodies having gone cold. He lifts his eyes to stare up at Niki. “Why do you ask me about him?” 

“Because he’s our captain. My captain.” Niki says, coming to a stop in front of Dream, kneeling down with the gun still pointed forward. “And whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve crossed him. So, you’ve crossed me.” 

“The Golden Traitor hasn’t been around these shores in years. He hasn’t been seen on any shore for nearly two decades.” Dream snaps out, his tone defiant. “How could I have ever crossed him?”

“You were hiding something away.” Niki shrugs, like it doesn’t quite matter, even with the anger flowing down over her shoulders, eating her whole. 

Dream swallows. Thinks of what he’s been told, what oaths he has sworn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He speaks slowly. Niki laughs, but there's no joy in the sound. 

“He was right here, in this town. This whole time.” Niki taps her gun on the ground twice. “You were keeping him away. You were the one who never let him get near the sea. He told me. All those years, all those times, you never let him wander off back home to where he was supposed to belong. Always, each and every time, you’d hold him back.” 

Dream’s eyes narrow. 

“Didn’t you?” Niki asks, almost hissing with it. "Admit it!"

 “...you're talking about Wilbur.” Dream says, a confession all on its own. 

Niki nods, and she stands to her feet with the rain beginning to pour down. "You know what you've done."

“I’m sorry.” Dream pleads, sitting up with a grunt. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know.” He lies, right through his teeth. “I didn’t know who he was!”

Niki ignores it. “The sea’s lover sends his regards.” She tells him. 

Then she shoots Dream straight through the skull, midway through his next plea.

It’s cathartic. 

Wilbur runs down the steps with a frantic gasp for air, trying to get to the bottom floor so that he may escape out the front door. 

He runs past dead bodies, puddles of blood, evidence that a pirate forced his way through these walls. He runs with a choked noise being pulled from his lungs, a heavy sort of pain pushing onto his chest until he can’t even breathe. It’s almost a sob that comes out. He swallows it back along with all his sharp fear that’s digging into his skin. 

Niki is the Pink Delilah. Wilbur doesn’t know how, but it’s true. That pirate's face was Niki’s face, and her voice was his friend’s voice, all the same. The hair is different, along with the outfit, but those can always be changed, can’t they? It wouldn’t be hard. Especially for a spy.

Wilbur doesn’t know how it could’ve happened. Or why it would happen. Why would the Pink Delilah be here? Why would she pretend to be living in this little town, watching over children and making friends with Wil? 

It must’ve been a job. A mission of sorts, just like all the rumors he’s always heard. But that still doesn’t make sense. The Pink Delilah is known for being a spy, that much is true, but why would she ever be a spy in a town like this? All that there is to find here is the occasional rare pirate coming through, like Foxglove. And those are awfully rare. 

Wil can’t wrap his head around it. He can’t accept it. He tries to fit the Pink Delilah and Niki into the same spot within his mind, and he just can’t do it. 

The Pink Delilah is a pirate. A deadly, ruthless, beautiful pirate, who belongs to the sea. Niki is his friend. His wonderful, kind friend, who always doted on the children, always humored him with her company. 

And now they’re the same. They are one single person, and Wilbur is the poor fool who was tricked by her. 

He wipes at his eyes and stumbles down the next set of stairs, huffing out with trembling hands against the wall for balance. As he puts his foot down on the first step, someone comes around the corner to stand in his way, and Wilbur looks up with a frozen breath. 

“There you are.” Techno says, like Wilbur’s been inconveniencing him by running around the base. 

“Oh shit.” Wilbur chokes out. 

“Don’t run.” The Blood God warns, taking a single step towards Wil. 

“Oh shit-!” Wilbur screams, immediately taking off in the other direction, not caring that it’ll lead him farther away from the exit. He sprints up the stairs, hearing loud footsteps following right behind. Just as he begins to reach the hallway he just came from, a hand grabs onto the back of his satchel, yanking him backwards. 

Wilbur quickly pulls the satchel over his head, letting the pirate have it. He throws it towards Technoblade, getting a confused face in response with chucking a bag of gold into his face. Then Wilbur gathers up all his courage, what little he has, and he kicks the Blood God in the chest with a scream, sending him backwards to go tumbling down the stairs. 

He doesn’t look back as the man falls, and he doesn’t even feel disappointment at losing the satchel. All he would like is to keep his life intact, and not end up like the many bodies that litter the ground he runs across. 

“WIL!” The Blood God calls, sounding slightly aggravated. Wilbur gasps for air, looking behind him and watching Techno climb out from the stairwell, pushing his hair out of his face with a frown. Why does he know his name?

“Oh gods.” Wilbur whispers, turning the corner and running faster, not letting himself look back. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh-” He stumbles over a body, catching his balance and coming to a sudden stop. 

He looks at the window. 

“Fuck it.” Wilbur swears, convinced that the universe has turned against him. He slams his shoulder against the window and breaks the latch open, quickly swinging his leg over to move outside. 

He climbs out onto the ledges outside, holding on for dear life as he moves slowly away from the range of the window. The rain pouring down on him doesn’t make it easy to stay held to his spot, but he’s persistent. He shivers in place as he presses his forehead against the stone before him, trying to get a gasp for air, just to calm his poor heart. 

Maybe this is a good spot, actually. The Blood God might walk past him, or forget he’s even there. That sounds like overly wishful thinking, but Wil’s feeling a little desperate right now, so he’s hoping for anything good. 

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side, because just a minute later, Technoblade pokes his head out from the window Wilbur’s climbed through, and he turns to Wilbur with an expression that can only be described as baffled. 

“How did you-?” Techno starts, Wilbur staring at him with wide eyes. “Actually, nevermind. C’mere.” He reaches an arm out, and Wilbur leans away, scooting farther onto the ledge. 

“Absolutely not.” Wilbur hisses, glaring at the pirate’s hand like it’s evil. It basically is, technically. It’s still stained with blood. 

“If you fall from here, both of us are goin’ to be in trouble, I hope you know that.” 

“Good!” Willbur responds, full of spite, and he begins to climb up, making his way to the roof. 

“Hey, hey-” Techno reaches out further, grabbing onto Wilbur’s boot. Wil pulls his foot with everything he’s got and loses the shoe. He doesn’t need it anyway. “Wilbur! Come back here!” 

Wilbur ignores him. He makes his way to the roof, grunting with the effort and pulling himself up with all the strength he has. As soon as he gets to the top, he collapses with a huff, rolling onto his back, before getting back on his feet and standing up slowly. 

The sight of smoke is a surprise. 

Is the base on fire? 

It seems to be, because there is smoke rolling out from the side of the building, thick and obvious. Wilbur stays away from it, moving across the roof and looking for a quick way down. He hopes that the light rain will slow down the flames, wherever they’re burning. 

As he leans over the edge to see the view, he realizes that the drop on the way down doesn’t look quite safe. 

He also realizes that his town is burning. 

Not all of it, but enough for it to be noticeable. The nearest buildings towards the shore, the docks that used to hold the ships, it's all ablaze with flames, and Wilbur watches with horror as it burns, the cause no doubt being that pirate ship sitting out in the water. 

The morning has fully arrived by now, but it brings no sun. The rain is beginning to pour down in buckets, and Wilbur stands there with one boot on, getting soaked to the bone. He wipes his hair back out of his face, and takes a single step back, turning around to try and look for a stairway down. 

He comes face to face with Technoblade as he turns, the pirate looking just as soaked as he is, except he seems to thrive with that disheveled look. Wilbur opens his mouth to scream, trying to move back, but there’s already a hand over his mouth, and in the blink of an eye, there’s a knife at his throat too. 

“Here’s what’s goin’ to happen.” The pirate says, his eyes nearly seeming to glow against the dimness of the storm around him. “You’re goin’ to walk with me out of here, because Niki’s already set the place on fire, and I don’t think either of us want to burn.” 

Wilbur swallows, trying to lean back. He gives a tiny nod. 

“You’re comin’ with me down to the shore, and if you don’t fight,” Technoblade raises his eyebrows. “You’ll be fine.” He drawls, like Wil doesn’t have to be worrying over silly things like getting murdered. “Got it?” 

Wil hesitates, then nods again, slowly. 

With that, Technoblade goes to drag him off the roof, finding them a way down. 

The Blood God does follow through his word in taking Wilbur down to the shore. 

Wil doesn’t protest in getting out from the building, seeing as how it’s on fire with smoke spreading through the halls, but as soon as they’re outside, heading down the hill, that’s when Wilbur begins to struggle. 

He does try his best. He drags his feet and kicks at Techno’s shins, but no matter what he does, it’s like Technoblade is an unstoppable force of nature, and Wilbur is just some sack of potatoes over his shoulder. 

Literally. Techno got annoyed with his kicking halfway through and threw him over his shoulder. Wilbur knows the pirate could kill him without much effort, but if he’s going through all this trouble to get Wilbur somewhere, then he knows he must have a certain amount of immunity from getting killed for some time. He means to use that to the best of his abilities. 

So he kicks and screams and yanks at pink hair, demanding to be let down. As they get nearer and nearer to the shore, Wilbur only grows louder, more persistent, and Techno stays resilient through it all. 

The sound of the ocean waves is a familiar noise to Wilbur’s ears as they get close, and when he turns his head to find the sea, only then does he falter for a second in his attempts at being put down. Technoblade notices it, and he chuckles at the reaction. 

“You’ve ever been on a ship before, Wil?” He asks, like they’re just good buddies sharing a nice conversation. Wilbur feels inclined to answer back with something snarky, but the Blood God sounds awfully genuine, and he has always wanted to sail away into the sea. 

“No.” Wil answers quietly, lowering his head to stare at the sand underneath them. If he just lands both his feet on the ground, if he gets a running start--

“That's a shame. You'll like this one.” Technoblade promises, and that sentence gives Wilbur so much hope and fear. On one hand, fuck yes, finally. Those words imply letting him get onto a boat, and he has never wanted anything more. On the other hand, that also implies he’s getting on a boat with pirates, and he’s not so sure how to feel about that one. “The sea runs through your veins, and all that.” Techno continues, sounding nearly fond. 

“What?” Wilbur asks, but just as he says it, someone’s calling them from down the beach. 

“Techno!” Niki’s voice echoes out, and Wilbur goes still, yelling in surprise as Techno suddenly lets him down. 

“Alright, on your feet.” Techno tells him, Wilbur stumbling as he’s then pulled by the arm, the two of them marching across the sand. He looks up ahead to see Niki moving towards them, and behind her-

His heart lifts with relief. 

Behind her, there’s a crowd of navy soldiers, all of them pointing their weapons at Niki, all of them blocking the path to get out to the pirate ship on the waves. She hardly even acknowledges them, and runs towards Wilbur instead, holding her hands out to cradle his face. 

“Wil!” She exclaims, sounding overjoyed. “You’re alright!” 

“I-” Wilbur opens his mouth to say something, anything of worth. He remembers the betrayal from before, the devastation of knowing he’s been lied to, and he tries to yank it back up, tries to form it into some sort of anger. 

He fails miserably. Niki hugs him with her arms around his shoulders, and Wilbur, despite it all, hugs her back. His heart aches. 

“You better have not hurt him.” Niki says, a bit of a sharp note in her tone, and when she pulls back, Wilbur finds it to be pointed towards Techno. “I swear, if I see one scratch, Tech…” 

“He’s fineee.” Techno waves a hand, Wilbur narrowing his eyes, having not forgotten being threatened with a knife. “What’s the hold up here?” Technoblade nods towards the wall of guards, trying to look past them in where Fundy should be waiting with their boat to get to the main ship. 

“The usual.” Niki shrugs, resting her hands onto Wilbur’s shoulders. She turns towards him with a reassuring smile, and Wilbur hates how familiar it is, despite all the differences. The pink hair stands out so much, and yet it suits her well. 

“Your hair.” Wilbur mutters out, scrunching his nose up with the inability to say anything meaningful. 

Niki reaches a palm up to her strands, giving a sheepish expression. “I know. I colored it black for the longest time, didn’t I? I’ll be honest, it didn’t look bad.” 

“Hm.” Techno grunts as if wanting to protest against that, and Niki gives him a little glare. 

“It was only temporary.” Niki says. 

“But-” Wilbur stammers. “You- why would you-?” 

Niki cuts him off. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise. But we do need to get you to the ship.” And with that, she takes Wilbur by the wrist, pulling him to walk towards the wall of men blocking their way. Techno walks behind him, as if making sure he’ll be able to catch Wilbur if he tries to yank away from Niki. 

They walk across the sand with the rain coming down, the sound of thunder booming out across the sea. Wilbur watches with anticipation, waiting for the men to come forward and save him from the grasp of pirates. Part of him is torn with different types of hope. He hopes to sail out at sea, get a taste of the ocean, finally for once in his life. But he also hopes to be freed from Niki’s hold, to be taken back into town and to be put away into his house, where at least he can be dry. 

If he goes to the ship, he will be stuck on board with pirates, one of them he only partially trusts. 

But if they’re stopped…

Pirates go to the gallows. Wilbur knows this. 

He doesn’t know if he can watch Niki walk to her death. 

“Stop there!” One of the men yells, Niki coming to a halt with her hand squeezing comfortingly around Wilbur’s wrist. “You will go no further!” They order. 

“We will.” Niki insists, with a burning tone that offers no argument. “You will let us go.” 

“I’m afraid not.” Someone speaks up, a woman of which Wilbur knows. 

A woman of which Wil realizes is Dream’s mother. 

Puffy stands in front of her men with a strong stance, her shoulders held back and her hands clasped behind her back. She stares at Niki with nothing but contempt, and Niki stares back with a slim smile.

“Place down your weapons and let go of the hostage. You’re under arrest.” 

“We will not be doing that, and you will not send me to the gallows.” Niki responds. “Move aside and let us through, or you’ll be sorry.” 

“You're surrounded. You're outnumbered. I’m giving you one last warning. Surrender now, or we’ll open fire.” 

Niki grins, and it is nothing but cruel, her hair flying wildly in the wind. There is anger festering in her heart, an emotion gifted to her from her respected captain. “Stand to the side and let us go to sea, or you, your men, and the rest of this town will be joining your son in the afterlife.” 

Puffy freezes, and Wilbur does too. 

“What?” Wil whispers out, and Niki’s grasp around his wrist never falters. “What do you-” He sucks in a quick breath, his chest going tight. “Where’s Dream?” 

“You-” Puffy chokes out, Niki tilting her head to the side, reminiscent of a crow. Her eyes gleam underneath the dim clouds over the beach. 

“Niki, what did you do?” Wilbur asks, taking a step forward. “What did you do?”

Niki turns to Wilbur, her smile soft. It doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“I’m taking you home, Wil.” She whispers, and Wilbur grabs at her wrist, yanking it off. He stumbles back, expecting Techno to grab him and keep him still, but Techno only walks past him, drawing his sword. 

“We have no time for this.” Technoblade says, lifting his chin. “Move.” 

There must be something in the way he says it, or something in the way Niki’s given her threat with that gleam in her eyes, because Puffy stares forward with something like terror, and she stumbles back with a shaky breath. Then, she turns to her men, and waves them off. 

Wilbur watches as they split in two, moving to the side, offering a clear path to the boat waiting off in the water on the other side. 

“Wait.” Wilbur breathes out, eyes wide. He takes a step back, and Niki reaches out, grabbing onto his wrist again. Wilbur yanks, but this time, Niki doesn’t let go. “Wait, no. No, no-” 

“Wil.” Niki pleads, and Wilbur pushes his feet against the sand, trying to pull away. Niki won’t let go. “Wilbur.”

“No!” Wilbur screams, falling to the ground to try and make it so that they’ll have to drag him if they want him to go with them. Thing is, that’s not very hard, and Techno just picks him up like a sack of potatoes again, hauling him over his shoulder. “Put me down! NO!” 

He looks to the men standing to the side, Puffy staring down at the ground with something hollow in her eyes. She's shaking in place, unaware of the world around her. Unresponsive to Wilbur's crying screams.  

“Help me!” Wilbur yells out, kicking his legs as Techno begins to quickly walk down the shore to catch their ride. “Don’t just fucking stand there, help me-! Don’t let them- fucking-” Wilbur screams, his voice cracking as it echoes out past the storm. "HELP ME!"

“I swear I’ll explain everything once we’re on the sea, this is all for the best-” Niki tries to speak, and Wilbur screams again, trying to be let down. “I made a promise for your own good! I’m sorry, I-” 

Wil falters at the genuine tone in her voice, and he grits his teeth, seething towards her with narrowed eyes. “Niki.” He hisses out, and it falls apart into something desperate. “Niki, Niki- tell him to put me down. Please. Please, please-” 

“You’ll be put down when we get to the boat.” Techno says, Wilbur trying to yank at his braid. “Ow-”

“Wilbur.” Niki sighs with near pity. “I know, I-” 

“No, no, you do not know! You are not the one getting fucking kidnapped BY PIRATES!” Wilbur shrieks, Niki wincing at his words. 

“If it helps, she has technically been kidnapped several times, so she kinda does know.” Techno offers.

“That doesn’t help.” Wilbur mutters, and he hears a new voice calling out as they start to go towards the water. 

“Niki!” A familiar voice calls, and someone circles around Techno to walk behind him so they can get a good look at Wil. “Is that our boy? We got him?” 

“Foxglove.” Wilbur hisses out, baring his teeth in pure simmering rage. 

“Yup, that’s our boy-! Okay, to the boat, to the boat!” Foxglove runs off, and Niki stares at him with something puzzled and yet amused. “Let’s get going before the captain’s love drowns us all!” 

“She’s not goin’ to drown us.” Technoblade says, wading through the shallow water. Wilbur stares down at the water around Techno’s feet, entranced by it even with the fact he’s being carried to a pirate’s boat. It's suddenly so-- mesmerizing. The wash of it around them all captures his attention enough to quiet him down. 

“Not going to drown you. We all know she’s got favorites.” Foxglove answers back, and Niki laughs. “On the boat, on the boat. Tubbo and Quackity have been holding the fort down pretty well, but I don’t trust them alone for any longer.” 

Wilbur lifts his head to try and look around at the waves around them, but he’s then being lowered down into a rowboat, dropping in unceremoniously with Niki climbing in beside him. 

“Give the oars.” Techno orders, and Fundy hands them over, Wilbur sitting up, looking over the edge of the boat with consideration. “Wilbur, if you jump out, I’m tying you down to the boat, I swear it.” 

“Techno.” Niki scolds. Wilbur pales, and they move along into the sea.