Chapter Text
Dick wasn’t about to pretend he knew his navy career would end with kidnapping and keelhauling by pirates, but he wasn’t particularly surprised either.
He rolled his shoulders and tried to sit up straight, despite the ropes cutting into his wrists. Around him, cross-legged on deck, the crew of HMS Integrity fidgeted and scowled as the pirates tramped past them. The quartermaster’s powdered wig was skew-whiff, and he sported a shining black eye.
The captain was out cold.
Dick eyed his red face warily, wondering if he should stretch out a leg and nudge the captain with his boot. Check he was—well, not all right, but alive at least. He’d taken a hell of a blow.
A pirate stepped clean over the captain’s body, whistling merrily, a sack of flour bouncing on his broad shoulders. Dick flicked his gaze up.
And locked eyes with the pirate captain.
He lounged against the gunwales, tapping a flintlock against his leg. He hadn’t given much in the way of orders; mostly he just watched his royal navy prisoners, like a cat waiting for the stunned mouse to get up and run. Captain Wilson, one of the pirates called him.
He had an eyepatch. Unbelievable. Dick was going to get home and tell his brothers he’d met a real pirate captain with a real eyepatch. That was something, at least.
Assuming he ever got home. The keelhauling was still a possibility.
Dick’s stomach twisted.
Captain Wilson still hadn’t looked away. His single grey eye roved down Dick’s body and back to his face. He tilted his head. A smile touched the edges of his lips.
Kidnapped, rogered and keelhauled, Dick amended his list with a shudder.
One of the pirates nudged Wilson’s arm. He held Dick’s stare for another moment, and Dick’s face burned as the pirate followed his captain’s gaze. Then finally, mercifully, Captain Wilson looked away. Dick dropped his head.
And then jumped when Captain Wilson clapped his hands together. Dick’s crewmates—the conscious ones, at least—flinched and hissed.
‘Thank you for your hospitality. That’s all we need.’ Captain Wilson grinned down at them. His teeth were white and sharp. ‘Unless any of you want to the crew of the Deathstroke?’
A few sniggers from the pirates. Most of them were across the gangplank now on the other ship, counting out their stolen goods under the black flag.
‘We’d sooner die!’ the quartermaster spat.
The crew rumbled with agreement; a few men hissed as if they were at the theatre and this was all a show. Dick bit his tongue.
He had brothers to get home to.
He had Bruce and Selina.
Captain Wilson shrugged. ‘Fine. Overboard with all of them.’
He tilted his head at the pirates, who whooped and leered. A couple lurched forward, hands outstretched. They grabbed the quartermaster, ripping gold buttons off his frock coat as they hauled him to his feet. The quartermaster yelped and struggled. The pirates looped their arms through his and dragged him, stumbling and cursing, towards the gunwale. The quartermaster’s eyes flashed, so wide the whites were visible all around his iris.
He can’t swim.
Dick’s chest tightened. Half the crew couldn’t swim. They didn’t need to. The idea was not to fall in the water.
Not that swimming would help for long. Not out here where the ocean was black and deep and there was no shore to aim for. Not with your arms tied behind you.
‘Wait.’ It came out Dick’s throat as a croak, and then a panicked shriek as the pirates got the quartermaster up against the edge of the gunwale. ‘Wait!’
Captain Wilson held a hand up. The pirates stopped—even stepped away from the gunwale. Staring down at Dick with a thin smirk, the pirate captain raised an eyebrow.
The words, He can’t swim, died before Dick could say them. They sounded so ridiculous, even in his head.
When Dick stayed silent, Captain Wilson strode forward. He sank to one knee in front of Dick, reached out with his free hand, and straightened Dick’s collar. His hand brushed Dick’s neck. His knuckles were rough with calluses. His skin was warm a dry. A hot shiver crept up Dick’s spine.
Kidnapped and rogered and—
Captain Wilson flicked his thumb over Dick’s cheek. ‘Yes?’
And rogered and—and—
‘I—I’ll join you,’ Dick said. ‘Only let everyone else go.’
The pirates laughed again, but the sound was as distant and monotonous as the rush of the sea against the bow. Captain Wilson grinned again, and it felt like sinking into the sea, and turning and coming face-to-face with the grin of a shark.
‘Done.’
Dick wasn’t allowed in the captain’s quarters on HMS Integrity.
A golden-pink sunset glowed through the windows of Captain Wilson’s quarters on the Deathstroke, throwing beams of light across the desk, the floorboards, the walls decorated with gleaming trinkets.
Dick stared at the sheet of paper in front of him. The quill trembled in his hand.
A contract.
Who’d have thought pirates signed a contract?
Beyond the captain’s quarters, shouts and singing rang across the deck. The pirates were celebrating. As Dick rubbed his temples, someone started up on a concertina. Bellows of laughter followed, and then tuneless singing, the lyrics incomprehensible through layers of woodwork and a decent start on the stolen rum.
Can’t join the party unless you’re in the crew.
Dick let out a huff of dry laughter.
And dropped the quill as the door opened.
Captain Wilson ducked in, bolting the door behind him. His single eye gleamed. ‘Comfortable?’
In this enclosed space, Dick suddenly appreciated how huge the man was. He had to lower his head against the low ceiling, and his body blocked the door entirely. Dick’s heart fluttered. Trapped.
He swallowed. ‘Very. Thank you.’
Wilson laughed, crossing the room in two strides and falling into his seat behind the desk. The flintlock pistol in his hand was gone; replaced with a sloshing bottle of rum. He kicked his boots up on the desk, leaned over, and offered the rum to Dick.
Dick shook his head. He dropped his gaze. But it didn’t make a difference. The room felt suddenly full of Captain Wilson. Dick could smell his sweat and the gunpowder from the warning shots he’d fired as the boarded HMS Integrity, and the eye-watering sting of rum.
Tilting his head, Wilson raised his eyebrows disparagingly, and waved the bottle under Dick’s nose. ‘Drink.’
Dick stared at the contract. His signature still wasn’t on it. He took a shaky breath.
And snatched the rum from Wilson’s hand.
He took a swig, choked, and set it down on the table.
To his surprise, Wilson didn’t laugh. Instead, he plucked the rum back and took a swig of his own. ‘You’re brave.’
Dick shrugged. He wasn’t sure if it was a question.
‘You realise I’d have pulled that proud bastard back out of the water?’
Dick looked up, his eyes wide. And once he met Slade’s cold grey stare, he couldn’t look away. ‘He can’t swim.’ But the tension was leaking out of his chest. The crew of the Deathstroke hadn’t shot anyone on the Integrity. They’d barely hurt anyone besides clobbering the captain, who’d frankly deserved a clobbering, the mean old bastard.
Wilson raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m surprised you look so relieved, considering you just sold yourself to me for no reason.’
The wording sent another shiver down Dick’s spine. Sold yourself to me. Not became a pirate. And Wilson was staring again, his single eye tight as if with pain. As if he was restraining himself.
Kidnapped—and—and—
Dick swallowed. ‘Sold … myself?’
‘Well.’ Wilson gave a sharp jerk of a shrug. ‘I need a cabin boy. I’m sure you know what that entails.’
Heat flooded through Dick’s face. And, worse, flooded between his legs. His spine went rigid, and he couldn’t remember how to breathe. Or blink.
‘You’ll be looked after, don’t worry. No one else will touch you.’ Wilson waved a hand.
Dick remembered the trace of that hand on his neck, his face. And he must’ve been at sea too long because the thought of that touch sent prickles over his skin.
‘Naturally, you’ll have a share of the loot,’ Wilson continued, as if Dick wasn’t burning in front of him. ‘And anything else I choose to give you.’ He grinned. ‘What do you say?’
It took a few attempts to force a sound out of his throat. ‘A-all right.’
Wilson nodded at the contract.
Dick picked up the quill. He let out a shaky breath.
He signed his name.
Captain Wilson eyed his signature. ‘Welcome aboard, Dick Grayson.’ He held out the rum.
Dick reached for it, leaning across the table.
And Wilson grabbed him by the lapel and yanked him into a hard kiss.